#as someone who was roughly fiona’s age

[chloefraazers]

it’s 2023 and fiona gallagher still deserved better and also would have been amazing to have an arc with nessa and i’ll die on this hill.

[martsonmars]

SIMON SNOW TRILOGY: BIRTH YEARS

A comprehensive list of everything we know about birthdays, ages, and birth years of the Simon Snow Trilogy's characters.

I am obsessed with birthdays. And numbers. And figuring details out.

A few months ago I made this post about Baz's siblings' birthdays because, as I said, I'm obsessed. Then @carryonsimoncarryonbaz asked if someone could compile all the info about the characters' ages and I thought, "Why not?".

I also have to thank @nonbaznary because their hard work on the same topic reminded me to finish this. And @palimpsessed for her precious feedback.

Below the cut (because it's long) you can find everything I've put together. At the end I also linked the GoogleDoc containing the same material.

Before starting:

Carry On (excluding the Epilogue) is set between September and December 2015

Wayward Son and Any Way The Wind Blows are set (somehow) in June 2017

Watford tragedy: August 12th, 2002

the gang started 1st year at Watford in September 2008 (in August 2008 Simon goes off), so:

1st year Sep 2008/Jun 2009

2nd year Sep 2009/Jun 2010

3rd year Sep 2010/Jun 2011

4th year Sep 2011/Jun 2012

5th year Sep 2012/Jun 2013

6th year Sep 2013/Jun 2014

7th year Sep 2014/Jun 2015

8th year Sep 2015/Jun 2016

A note, probably useless for most of you but hopefully it helps those whose school system is way different:

in the UK the school year is September-August (though school ends earlier)

in the same grade are people born between September of year X and August of the following year (with exceptions), so the gang’s year contains people born between September 1996 and August 1997 (+ exceptions like Penny).

THE BIG 5

All five birthdays were confirmed by RR on Tumblr or Twitter

Simon: June 21st, 1997

In CO he says he is 18, and that they put 1997 as his birth year on his papers; in older editions, he said the Mage always remembered his birthday in June, but this sentence was removed from later editions; the Mage says (to Lucy) he’ll be born on the solstice

Baz: February 24th, 1997

In CO Simon mentions Baz is 16 in the spring of their 5th year (on that occasion Simon says he’s 16 too and we know he isn’t yet, but whatever); Baz says he’s 20 in WS and AWTWB

Penny: January 26th, 1998

In CO she says her mother was pregnant when she felt the shift in magic linked to Simon’s birth; in AWTWB Simon says she started school a year earlier than she should have

Agatha: October 3rd, 1996

In WS she says she’ll be 21 in four months (so in October 2017)

Shepard: May 18th, 1995

In WS and AWTWB he says he’s 22

BAZ’S FAMILY

Malcolm: born around 1963

In AWTWB Baz says Malcolm started his new family 8 years before, when he was 46

Natasha: unspecified, approximately born in the mid 1960s

We can assume she’s around Malcolm’s age, maybe a few years younger; Rainbow said in a tweet she's 9 years older than Lucy and she was a teacher at Watford during Lucy's last year of school, so it's likely Natasha was born around 1965/66: she probably started teaching at Watford in the early 1990s, got pregnant at 30/31 when she was already headmistress and died at 36/37; we also know she’s a full generation younger than Lady Ruth who’s about 70

Daphne: born between 1979 and early or mid 1980s

Baz says she’s in her 30s in 2017; since her husband’s 54 I’d say she’s in her late 30s, so born at most in the early 1980s

Fiona: born in 1978

In CO she says she’s 37; this makes her 18/19 when Baz was born

Mordelia: born in 2008

She is 7 in CO and 8 in AWTWB; she was probably born in the autumn of Baz’s 1st year at Watford

Sophie and Petra: born in the second half of 2011 or the first half of 2012

They are 5 in AWTWB, which makes them 3 ½-4 (if born between January and June 2012) or 4-4 ½ (if born between July and December 2011) in CO (December 2015)

Swithin: born in 2015, around July

He is nearly 2 in AWTWB and was roughly 5/6 months in CO (December 2015)

PENNY’S FAMILY

Mitali: probably born around 1973/1974

She says in CO that Fiona (1978) was a few years below her at Watford; Simon tells Penny in AWTWB Mitali is like her but “25 years older”, which would make her 44/45 in 2017; Penny says she got married at 19, right after Watford, which makes sense since she has a 22yo son in AWTWB

Martin: about the same age as Mitali

Premal: born around 1995

He is 20 in CO

Pacey: born around 1999 and 2000

He’s in 5th year in CO and 17 in AWTWB

Priya: born around 2005

She’s 12 in AWTWB

Pip: born around 2006 or 2007

He’s 10 in AWTWB and will start at Watford in the autumn

SIMON’S FAMILY

Lady Ruth: probably born around the mid 1940s

Baz says she’s around 70 in AWTWB

Jamie: born around 1978

Ruth shows a photo of his 38th birthday taken “last year” in AWTWB; he’s also described as “heavy in a nearly-40 way”

Lucy: probably born around the mid 1970s

Simon in AWTWB says she’d be in her 40s, around the same age as Penny’s parents; she’s one year younger than Mitali but she was in the same class; she runs away with Davy a few years after Watford, so around the mid 1990s

OTHER CHARACTERS

The Mage: about the same age as Mitali

Ebb and Nico are around Fiona’s age, since they were at school together

Simon in CO says that Ebb must be 30 or 40; in AWTWB Baz says Nico must be nearly 40 because he’s Ebb’s twin

Mrs Wellbelove: born in the late 1960s, maybe 1968

She says in CO Lucy was 5 or 6 years younger than her

Helen (Agatha’s family’s housekeeper): born in the late 1970s

She was a few years younger than Lucy

Niamh: 1993/1994

She’s three years ahead of the gang, as she says in AWTWB

Smith Smith-Richards: born around 1987

He is 30 in AWTWB

And that's it!

Here is a link to the Google Doc if you want to download it! It contains bonus material (nothing special) and it's also possible I'll edit it in the future!

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners Part IV

~Or~

A Very Amused Review of Emma (1972)

One doesn’t really know where to begin with this one. I’ve watched a few of these 70’s/80’s period drama adaptations, but I’ve never written a review for one. I think the tricky thing is it doesn’t feel fair to judge them against more recent adaptations because the approach and quality are so very different to modern television making.

But people do. I’m sure it’s different for people who grew up watching these, who are just used to them and their objectively terrible, stagey quality and can look past that particular weakness on the sheer power of nostalgia.

So I’m going to try and find a middle-ground here where I ignore the stagey and obviously dated aspects and judge it primarily on its value as an adaptation – is it faithful to the book?

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Normally I would start with Emma and Knightley but this time I’m gonna switch it up a bit and do them last because… well we’ll get there in a bit.

Let’s start instead with Mr. Woodhouse. I have to say, I kind of like this take. The 1996-7 and 2009 adaptations all kind of went for the same type of older man: a bit stout, or in Michael Gambon’s case… however you would describe Michael Gambon. With Donald Eccles, however, this version goes for a rather more frail looking Mr. Woodhouse; in fact to compare him to any recent Mr. Woodhouse, I suppose he comes closest to Bill Nighy (although the general characterization is of course very different.)  He’s a ridiculous but lovable soul who seems always, of course, worried about his own health and comfort, but in his own selfish way, concerned for his friends and family as well. My only complaint is that maybe they over-utilized him.

I thought the casting of a plump Mrs. Weston (Ellen Dryden) was an interesting choice, and definitely different from other versions. Her acting was actually really good too.

I wasn’t quite so pleased with the characterization of Mr. Weston, on the other hand. I have huge issues with this script vis-à-vis the men, but Mr. Weston and Knightley in particular. The problem with Mr. Weston is how he’s written as just verging on uncouth at some points. There are way too many rustic contractions here: “Ain’t I looking well too, Miss Emma?!’ “’Ark at that eh? The sly young rogue!” “Oh I think it looks tolerably gay and festive, don’t it?” and then just throwing himself back on the grass and chortling when Emma makes her fateful Box Hill faux pas? Like, what the hell? I’m not saying he shouldn’t use a few casual contractions (“How d’you do?” for example) but he seems almost like a positive country bumpkin and I don’t think it’s appropriate; he doesn’t talk like that in the book and I’m just all-around not here for it.

Constance Chapman, a well-respected character actress of the time was cast as Miss Bates, while Molly Sugden, of Are You Being Served? fame was WASTED in the bit-part of Mrs. Goddard. If you ask me, they should have swapped this casting, since I think Sugden, an outstanding comedienne, could have done so much more with the Miss Bates role than the usual wittery-old-lady style chattering Chapman delivered.

Mr. Elton was played by Timothy Peters (Right) and was, eh, adequate. They did slime him up a bit by having him over-eagerly offer to fix Emma’s bootlace, which she points out isn’t entirely appropriate for a man to do, especially the vicar and it’s pretty funny; but other than that, he has all the appearance of being a pleasant young man, as Mr. Elton should – becoming less pleasant as the story progresses.

One John Alkin (left) played Mr. Robert Martin, and he, too, was adequate. There’s not much of him and, since Mr. Martin wasn’t one of those characters this version decided to approach more three-dimensionally, there’s not much to say about him. 

Frank Churchill is… OMG IT’S PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER!

Ahem. Yes, Robert East (BETTER KNOWN AS PRINCE HARRY FROM BLACKADDER) plays a very agreeable (and smarmy, but not too smarmy) Frank. I think honestly this is as good as this part could get in the 70’s, although at 29 he was a little too old for the part.

John and Isabella, in an interesting (?) casting choice, were played by brother and sister duo, Yves and Belinda Tighe. I actually really liked Yves’s John Knightley (he’s actually one of the more handsome John’s, in a 70’s kind of way; for note-taking purposes I have nicknamed him “Not-Harrison-Ford”), but his sister as Isabella seemed kind of old and had just a really annoying voice. Also she doesn’t look at all like Doran Godwin, and Emma and Isabella are supposed to look somewhat alike.

The real casting stand out for me in this version is Fiona Walker as Mrs. Elton, although she too was a little old for her role, I’ve said before that there are no bad Mrs. Eltons (only bad accents) and she just absolutely nailed the insufferable chatter to a definitive standard (until the recent adaptations – 2009 onward).

I did however, get the feeling in this version that they kind of wrote in a through-line where Mrs. Elton is putting the moves on Mr. Knightley (to the point where they actually wrote out Mr. Elton from scenes he should be in) which was one of those unnecessary deviations which made me raise an eyebrow and also was just… weird.

Now my question is – why do all of the young women in this series kind of look like evil dolls?

Debbie Bowen, from a strictly book accuracy perspective is one of the most accurate Harriet Smiths I’ve seen – in fact we don’t get another this accurate (to my way of thinking) until Louise Dylan in 2009, who fits roughly the same model (fair and shapely). Its Bowen’s acting I don’t like, but I know that in the 70’s, this kind of simpering acting for this kind of character was just unavoidable. It was the style at the time, so I’m cutting her a break critically; but the performance just doesn’t cut it for me.

This Jane Fairfax (played by Ania Marson) is not my favorite interpretation of this character. At first I thought she was going to be alright, but in her first scene she bursts out and actually shouts in frustration at her chattering aunt (which she has some basis for, I’ll admit, since Miss Bates, in her muddle-headed way, could very well have unwittingly spilled the beans about Jane and Frank) but this is far more feeling than we should even have a hint of from Jane at this point. The whole reason Emma doesn’t like Jane (other than the fact that Emma is an attention whore and Jane steals her thunder by being so admired and accomplished) is because she’s timid and demure and reserved.

But the biggest problem I have with this Jane is that she can’t even fucking sing. I know they write it away as her having a sore throat (Which I think is a pull from a different part of the book?) but this was just egregiously bad to me. This is the only time in the series they show Jane singing so it’s never actually established that Jane really is more accomplished than Emma (although they don’t show Emma herself singing or even playing at all either.) Could the actresses just not sing well so they decided to write around it? You could have dubbed it; you had that technology in the 70’s!

OK. Now it’s time to talk about Doran Godwin. I’ve never seen her in anything else so I don’t know if it’s just that she can’t act, but I have no idea what she was going for with this portrayal of Emma, and this is something so consistent and unique to her that I, for once, can’t justify blaming it solely on the director because you can’t direct crazy-eyes. They just happen; and they happen A LOT in this series.

I’ve struggled to find the words to sufficiently describe my feeling about Doran Godwin’s facial expressions and her acting in this adaptation. In my ribbon rating notes I think I describe her as a “witchy automaton”? I stand by it. Every time she talks to someone her eyes go very wide and she sort of looks like she’s trying to hypnotize everyone in Highbury. The effect is just absolutely inhuman. I never thought I’d ever see anyone with more patently crazed Crazy-Eyes than Timothy “Crazy-Eyes” Dalton – but man, Doran “Hypno-Witch” Godwin just stole the prize. Perhaps she escaped from the set of a Doctor Who? telling of the story where Miss Woodhouse has been replaced by an android.

You have scenes such as this in episode 2 , where Harriet is trying to get Emma to acknowledge Mr. Elton calling after them as they walk past the vicarage, and Emma ignores her by mechanically continuing to talk, looking straight ahead with laser focus. Of course, Emma is intentionally ignoring Harriet because she wants Mr. Elton to follow them, but that wasn’t quite apparent to me until the end of her ramble – which I had assumed she was forced to complete due to some directive in her programming. I have more to say on her characterization, but we’ll get to that in a dedicated section of the review.

John Carson might actually be one of the better Knightley’s, but I’m sorry – at 45 he was just too old. This is something you can play around with in other characters (Mr. Weston and Miss Bates after all, have no stated ages in the book) but not only do we know how old Mr. Knightley is in the book, they state in the show that Emma is 21 (Doran Godwin was actually 28) and that Mr. Knightley is sixteen years older than her – 37 or 38 – and John Carson is CLEARLY no 38. This obviously-over-forty appearance does have an effect on how I view his banter with Emma, and it’s more avuncular than the older-brother feel that Mr. Knightley and Emma should have.

Whether by direction or actor’s choice, Carson’s Mr. Knightley speaks in a way that just doesn’t feel period to me. He has a very sort of 20th Century, stock British, hearty-good-fellow manner, that dates this adaptation pretty badly and feels old-fashioned (but not in a Regency/Georgian way) even in the 70’s.

Sets & Surroundings

Normally at this point in the review I would talk about the British manor houses and estates used and how they measure up to the book descriptions but the publicly funded BBC ran on a much tighter budget in the 70’s (apparent in the production values and number of obviously bad takes that they just decided to leave in, in everything they made) and as such they couldn’t afford to film in and rent out large estates quite as much, so this has the trademark 70’s/80’s BBC sound-stage quality of all of their other productions of the period. That said, this production actually has some of the better sets I’ve seen and that’s saying something, for being made in the 70’s. The walls didn’t actually shake when doors were closed, and it didn’t feel as stagey as some other Austen serials of the time. (This doesn’t improve the very “on-cue” acting in the series, but I have to give credit where it’s due.) I believe they may used a real manor house for the exterior of Hartfield (and not a landscape pastel) and maybe some of the interiors too? I can’t say for sure, and I would love to tell you what house and where it is but I can’t find any credits on it. I’ll just say that I think it’s very suitable and leave it at that.

Costumes

Much like today, the BBC almost exclusively used, re-used and rented costumes for their period productions. Almost every costume in this series was also used in the 70’s and 80’s BBC productions of Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice (P&P being the overwhelming common denominator – almost every one of Emma’s evening dresses and pelisses was seen, primarily on Caroline Bingley.) Some of the shawls have been picked out in BBC Austens as recently as 2008.

For being made in the 70’s the costumes in this production are really kind of nice. They don’t date themselves too badly. The ones that do feel 70’s retro, in fact, were mostly styles borrowed from period accurate fashions that just happened to coincide with contemporary 70’s tastes, and which aren’t often used in Regency costumes today because, well they don’t coincide with our modern tastes. For the most part, they look well-made (although some of them do have that stiff, dingy polyester look to them and there are definitely some plastic pearls here and there).

I’m quite pleased with the silhouettes which don’t suffer from Square Bust/Boob Droop syndrome the way the 1980 P&P does. All of the assets seem to be lifted and shifted in the right places.

Daywear

I like Emma’s blue day dress the best of all her day-wear looks. It’s a rich color and has pleated cups (Also on her white day dress) which is a style I really love.

Emma wears the gauzy… let’s be kind and say ivory instead of “Yellowish” ruff during the day A LOT (Emma Pic 2). It’s a popular look on Jane Fairfax too (Jane Pic 2) and I just… I don’t like it. Not that it’s not period appropriate (because it unfortunately is) it just makes them look like Dr. Seuss characters to me, especially worn with short sleeves which is something these dramas do a lot and I hate it. It just makes the person in question look very awkwardly disproportionate to me, especially because. if they had long sleeves to go with it (which would be more correct from a historical authenticity standpoint) it would even it out so much better. Compare Jane and Emma to see what I mean. The single layer ruffle (Emma Pic 1) is much more agreeable to me. (I wanna point out that Jane wears the same green dress without any partlet or undersleeves for strawberry picking at Donwell, which is blatant Eveningwear-For-Daywear™ and looked really out of place since everyone else was wearing day-appropriate attire).

Emma’s wider, cuffed, long sleeves and Mrs. Elton’s puffy segmented Renaissance sleeves are exactly what I mean about period accurate styles that suit the 70’s in a way that they just don’t jive today. Even Harriet gets some.

Mrs. Elton Orange ™ is another crayon color Crayola should consider I think.

Harriet gets stuck with a lot of brown outer wear but her day clothes are otherwise pretty nice. I especially like the ivory and blue number (Bottom right) and her white day dress with blue accents (Top right) which I think is the nicest thing she wears in this whole series. 

Evening Wear

Emma’s evening wear confines itself pretty exclusively to cool purples and blues except for her white ball gown. I find this interesting because other versions tend to dress Emma in warmer colors and pinks (As I’m very partial to purples and blues, I love all of them). I can’t say it’s inconsistent with Emma’s cold characterization in this version. Mrs. Weston’s evening gowns are uniformly amazing. I especially love her blue party dress, which is my favorite in the series.

Both of Harriet’s party dresses are characteristically pretty and girlish. The pink is a bit fussy for me but I love the blue one (which has a lot more detail but I couldn’t get a full length shot of it.)

I’m pleased that Jane is given a bit of a break from the Jane Fairfax Blue ™ trope with her evening wear. She has one light blue evening gown and gets a few green numbers, most notable being her mint ball gown. Her beige party dress is absolutely tragic though.

Mrs. Elton’s evening color seems to be chartreuse (Which I think was also the case in the ITV version? ITV fans back me up.) Her black overlay/spiky number is iconic of the Austen Bad Girl, but her ball gown is a bit disappointing in its simplicity to me.

I would love to have seen a full length shot of Isabella’s black and purple number because I have a suspicion THAT would have been my favorite but I just can’t make out enough detail on it.

Zig-zag patterns on the skirt are a huge theme in this version, which is so of the period. Mrs. Cole (shout out to another future Are You Being Served? familiar, Hilda Fenemore) looks straight out of a fashion plate in her dark green party dress, which has (drumroll please…) a padded hem! 

Outerwear

This version has SO MANY PELISSES AND REDINGOTES. Are they all nice? No. No they are not; I particularly hate Emma’s fugly salmon number that she wears for Strawberry picking/Box Hill. Mostly because she looks SO over-dressed compared to everyone else who’s wearing loose fitting light clothes (except Jane, who’s wearing an evening dress). Just looking at her makes me hot. I’m also NOT a huge fan of her pink winter cloak. The one trimmed with… faux ermine? One can only assume. It looks awfully tacky.

That russet pelisse tho! This is one of my all-time favorites. It’s SO. PRETTY and so detailed (See this number on Jane in P&P ’80). I think her gray fur-trimmed pelisse is pretty fabulous too, but I do not like the hat she wears with it. The brim is kind of a funky shape to me.

I know I’ve criticized brown before, but I do like it in moderation and this version is astonishingly brown-free for being made in the 70’s, so I really like her red/brown velvet spencer, especially with the cream dress and gloves, and her hat has some amazing decoration.

Jane and Mrs. Weston are the only other characters who get pelisses/redingotes. I’m not a fan of Mrs. Weston’s fuchsia number, and while I like Jane’s, it does put itself solidly in the Jane Fairfax Blue™ category.  

Harriet gets pretty much only one form of outer-wear, her brown school cloak (a different brown school cloak from the one in the ‘97 version, in case you were wondering) and while it’s pretty dull, it’s hardly unexpected. Here it is paired with her rather ugly blue bonnet, with yellow ribbon. The bonnet features heavily in this episode.

To be honest for the most part I totally forgot about the… 

because a lot of it is very standard. No dandy standouts here, but overall it’s pretty okay and I’m really pleased to say that there are no bib-cravats. That’s not usually so much a problem in Regency Era stuff (Since ruffles were going out at around this time), but you can really distinctly see that the ruffles (where ruffles there are – usually on older men which is good) are part of the shirt and distinctly separate from the cravat. Also there are LOTS of high collars and they’re not comically high to the point where they get wrinkled, like they were in Emma. (2020), so points for that also. These are the screencaps I gathered going back over it for posterity.

Mr. Knightley doesn’t really get a lot of cool outfits. His best is his purple velvet evening jacket which somehow manages to not look ostentatious (but is his only dress jacket), and his gold-topped Prussian boots (which you should just be able to see bottom right.) The worst though… I’m sorry, (looks up costumer’s name) Joan Ellacott – do you really expect me to feel the weight of Emma’s cock-ups when Mr. Knightley is rebuking her in such a cartoonishly proportioned top hat? It’s like being scolded by the Mad Hatter. All of the men’s hats are pretty flared in this series too, and I’m not totally sure but, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that flared top hats are not right for this period?

I think Mr. Weston only has one day outfit (which, in keeping with his characterization is pretty farmer-chic) and one evening outfit. Frank’s dark green day-jacket is a pretty standard look on him and I don’t think we get a fresh look until his fabulous blue jacket/yellow waistcoat combo that he wears for Strawberry Picking/Box Hill. I believe his evening jacket is also dark green but it was tough to tell. Again I think he has only one set of evening-wear. I would expect Frank to have more, since he’s such a dandy.

Mr. John Knightley doesn’t have much to write home about in terms of evening kit, but DAYUM, his blue traveling coat is DOOOOOPE. 

Let’s Talk Script

This adaptation was directed by John Glenister and Dramatized by Denis Constanduros.

Now I’ve seen a lot of positive reviews for this on IMDB calling it the… let’s see here… “The best Emma I’ve ever seen” and “The most true to the novel”… *Takes off spectacles and sighs heavily* I’m afraid I have to disagree. Several people also really love Doran Godwin’s Emma (We’ve already gone over why I don’t, and I have also seen reviews that name her and her lack of charisma as the main sticking point preventing them from really enjoying it, so I’m not alone). I’ve also heard it described as “sensitively handled” “Intimate” and “The most faithful to the spirit of Austen” and so forth, and again maybe it’s that prejudice against the stagey production and… no there’s definitely some other reason I have a problem with this version.

Let me make this clear – I don’t totally hate it, and I’m not here to shame the people who really love this version. Once again – if this version gives you what you want from the story I think that’s great for you. I, myself, like it pretty well and I think it’s one of the better early BBC Austen serials. It’s certainly not boring; but I do want to go over some of the changes that were made and choices in the script.

Some of them aren’t really that egregious, but they’re annoying in that I think they didn’t need to be made and don’t really add anything. Characters being added to scenes where they didn’t need to be and written out of scenes where their presence was missed. Like writing Mr. Elton out of Box Hill (And really the whole second half of the series, to facilitate Mrs. Elton flirting with Knightley), and adding Miss Bates into the after-dinner scene, I think at the Randalls Christmas party? I’m sure this was done for expediency but you have six episodes. It’s not as though you’re strapped for time.

Particularly praised, as far as I’ve seen, is the scene at Christmas when Knightley and Emma make up after their argument over Harriet. It takes place in the nursery, which I suppose isn’t an unreasonable place for Emma to be fawning over her niece (in the dramatization she seems to have been feeding the baby, where in the book she is playing with her). The book doesn’t specify where the scene takes place, although I assumed it to be a downstairs room, and I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for Emma and a man (even one connected to her family through marriage) to be alone in an upstairs room together with the door closed and no more chaperone than a baby. But in spite of this, perhaps inappropriate, level of privacy, the scene feels less intimate to me than the book, where in the course of the conversation, where Mr. Knightley takes the baby from Emma “in the manner of perfect amity” and holds her himself and it is very adorable and sweet. In the dramatization, Knightley sort of just stands next to Emma’s chair and leans down a bit. After this conversation in the book, John comes into the room to talk to George, while in the show Emma puts the baby in the cradle and they leave the room to go downstairs.

But there are more outstanding changes that just feel wrong to me. When confronting Emma about her meddling in Harriet’s response to Mr. Martin’s proposal, Constanduros changes “What is the foolish girl about?” to “What is the stupid girl about?” it’s not that big a change, but it makes Mr. Knightley sound unnecessarily mean.

I’ve already mentioned the, er, additions regarding Mr. Weston’s dialogue and Mrs. Elton, and Jane shouting at Miss Bates; but by far the biggest, worst additions were made with Emma. The worst, I think, is the handling of this scene in Episode 4 when Harriet is feeling heartsick following Mr. Elton’s marriage.

And for those of you who don’t wanna follow the link, here’s a transcription:

Emma: Now Harriet! Your allowing yourself to become so upset over Mr. Elton’s marriage is the strongest possible reproach you could make to me!

Harriet: Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes it is! You could not more constantly remind me of the mistake I made, which is most hurtful!

Harriet: Oh Miss Woodhouse, it was not intended to be!

Emma: I have not said “think and talk less of Mr. Elton” for my sake, Harriet, because it is for yours I wish it. My being hurt is a very… secondary consideration, but please, please Harriet, do learn to exert a little more self-discipline in this matter.

Harriet: {Looks down} Yes, Miss Woodhouse.

Emma: We are all creatures of feeling; we all suffer disappointments, it is how we learn to suffer them that forms our character. If you continue in this way, Harriet, I shall think you wanting in true friendship for me!  

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse! You, who are the best friend I’ve ever had? Oh what a horrid, horrid wretch I’ve been!”

Emma: Oh now Harriet – (She’s gonna console her now, right?)

Harriet: Oh yes, I have, I have!

Emma: Harriet, control yourself! (ha ha bitch, u thought) Now, you will tie your bonnet, and you are coming with me to call on Mr. And Mrs. Elton at the Vicarage…

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse –

Emma: Yes you are! And I’m sure you will find it far less distressing than you think.

Harriet: Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must I?

Emma: Yes, Harriet; but you may borrow my lace ruff if you wish.

Harriet: Oh may I, Miss Woodhouse? Oh, thank you!

(Look how evil she looks! She looks like she’s planning on baking Harriet into a pie!)

While this scene is in the book and much of the dialogue is also from the book, it’s the lines that were added that stick out to me. Emma does tell Harriet that her allowing herself to become upset over the Eltons is a reproach on Emma more than anything else and reminds her miserably of the “Mistake [Emma] fell into” but from this point, the script takes a left turn from the firm but kind appeal to Harriet to move on for both her happiness and Emma’s own comfort, to a far more manipulative strain.

Even after Harriet apologizes, she goes from simply appealing to Harriet to let herself move on, to basically telling her that she’s a bad friend. She treats Harriet like she’s unreasonable for feeling this way, where in the book Emma is very understanding and feels that “she could not do too much for her; that Harriet had every right to all her ingenuity and patience…” and only after Harriet goes all afternoon with Emma soothing her and no improvement in her spirits does Emma take any kind of reproachful tack whatsoever.

    In this scene, Emma says that her own happiness is a secondary consideration (this is stressed much more in the book) but from the way she says it, it seems more like she just wants Harriet to shut up about it rather than actually meaning it. (This is a very prominent example of Emma’s not seeming to really like Harriet at all in this version, only tolerating her presence.)

AND THEN she does something which Emma in the book most certainly did NOT do and forces Harriet to come with her to visit the Eltons, as if to put her on the spot and test how good a little friend she will be. I can’t express how disgusted I am by the changes and interpretation here. This is the culmination of the general through-line of Emma’s manipulative characterization being taken to an extreme. She looms over Harriet sounding, by turns, like a school marm and a saccharine nanny. She’s like a (very) low budget version of Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in The Chronicles of Narnia. 

My question about all of these changes is simply: Why? They don’t improve the story or the characters. They’re not big, but a lot of them just strike me as weird and unnecessary, but I guess there’s no accounting for artistic license.  

Final Thoughts

So is it a faithful adaptation? I often find this a more complex question to answer for myself than one would think, since inflection and line delivery and even, at some points, intention behind what the characters say tends to be up to the interpretation of the person reading the book.

Is the dialogue faithful? Other than the many changes I’ve mentioned (and the numerous cuts and edits I didn’t – and besides no screenplay can be 100% faithful), for the most part yes.

Are the characters accurate to description / faithful in their portrayal – again this tends to be subjective and opinions vary. In my opinion, Emma is not. I’ve mentioned that Knightley is too old, and Emma not only seems more intentionally manipulative than I believe she’s meant to be, and also just does not seem 21. She acts and looks like a much older woman, especially when preaching at Harriet) but she’s also very gawky, and Emma is supposed to look very healthy and glowing.

So my book accuracy rating meets in the middle at a 4.5. It’s NOT the most faithful adaptation I’ve seen, nor is it the most fun or the most intimate, but it’s not totally a travesty either and there are good things in it, even with a robot witch playing the main lead.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (43 Ribbons )

Tone: 4

Casting: 5 (Witchy automaton Doran Goodwin plays opposite avuncular good-fellow John Carson. Fiona Walker stands out as Mrs. Elton.)

Acting: 5 (Doran Goodwin is by turns crazed and mechanical with some momentary touches of what might be actual emotion. Raymond Adamson way over-acts Mr. Weston as a hobbeldy-hoi, verging on uncouth.)

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4 (A bump up from the usual 1 or 2 for TV dramas of the time. Surprisingly less stagey than expected.)

Sets and Settings: 5

Costumes: 7 (Very clearly of the 70’s but drawing on perfectly accurate styles that jived well with contemporary taste)

Music: 1 (Plinky, poorly played piano music. Only used for intro and outro I think? Jane Fairfax can neither play nor sing.)

Book Accuracy: 5 (They changed a lot of small details. Lines are changed unnecessarily (Calling Harriet “Stupid” rather than “Foolish” – Why?) Mrs. Elton seems to have a thing for Knightley? People present when they shouldn’t be, others absent when they should be present, again without any apparent reason.)

[ilseneumannhere-blog]

11-30

11. are you listening to music right now? : yes. fiona apple ftw!

12. what is something you want right now? : a nap.

13. how do you feel right now? : i don’t know how to word this well, but i feel Emotionally Tired.

14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you? : last night i made melchi give me a hug. 

15. personality description : i could use this as an opportunity to self-psychoanalyze, but i think telling you that i won’t because i’m to tired to do so sums me up decently well.

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t? : yes. all the time.

17. opinion on insecurities. : everyone has them, whether we’d like to admit it or not.

18. do you miss how thing were a year ago? : no. no no no.

19. have you ever been to New York? : nope 

20. what is your favourite song at the moment? : i could never pick just one favorite song!

21. age and birthday? : don’t know exactly, but probably roughly the same as moritz’s.

22. description of crush. : AMAZING INTELLIGENT SWEET INSPIRING @a-rainbow-in-grey​

23. fear(s) : losing everyone i care about. there’s more, but that’s my biggest fear.

24. height : i don’t know, but i’m taller than melchi and that’s all that matters.

25. role model : i’m my own person, i don’t model myself after anyone.

26. idol(s) : the anon that initially brought up melchi’s mothman kink

27. things i hate : i don’t hate many things or people, but i hate heinrich with my entire being. i hate him so fucking much. i hate people who destroy other people and feel no guilt.

28. i’ll love you if… : you genuinely care about people. i haven’t figured out the meaning of love yet, so i must leave this unanswered.

29. favourite film(s) : peter pan. definitely.

30. favourite tv show(s) :    i don’t really have a favorite.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

What if ... Ian and Mickey had brought Mandy home?

 “Listen to it!”

“I did! It’s …”

“He’s gonna fucking kill her, Mickey!”

“Look, I know you want …”

“What I want is to bring my friend - your sister - home!”

Ian pauses his pacing to glare at Mickey and point the cell phone at him like a weapon.

“How can you just ignore this?”

“Cause she didn’t mean to call you, Ian. She doesn’t want us fuckin’ nosing through her life.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! If we don’t help her we’re no better than he is!”

Ian fumes as Mickey pushes a hand tersely through his hair and looks up at his boyfriend with large, uncertain eyes. He doesn’t disagree with what Ian is saying, but Mandy made her choice and in his family they don’t interfere with each other. They’re not like the Gallaghers, they don’t crowd each other. If Mandy wanted them involved she would fucking ask but Ian doesn’t seem to get that at all. Kenyatta took Mandy’s phone and the idiot managed to call Ian and leave a voicemail recording of their fight. Yeah it was grim, it made Mickey’s blood boil to think of that son of a bitch hurting Mandy but she made her choice! They all told her not to fuckin’ go and Mickey doesn’t know what more Ian wants from him.

“Just … calm down …”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!”

Ian throws his cell phone onto the cluttered sofa, instantly losing it amongst Yevgeny’s baby clothes that are strewn across the worn cushions. Folding his arms and slamming his back against the wall, Ian shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to get a grip on his temper and failing.

“That voicemail was fucking horrible Mickey! The names he called her? The things he said? And Mandy! Did you hear her crying? Did you?”

“Yeah. I heard.”

Mickey says softly, averting his gaze and pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it before twisting his hand and rubbing his index finger roughly along the edge of his mouth.

“So?”

Ian demands, pushing himself upright and towering over his boyfriend, deliberately close, forcing Mickey to look up more than usual. Predictably, Mickey cranes his neck rather than stepping back out of Ian’s way. He is getting better at being open with feelings and shit like that, but years of conditioning won’t let him back down from a confrontation, even with Ian, and his fists curl loosely at his sides mechanically.

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Ian is close enough that Mickey can feel the heat pouring off of his body. In other circumstances Mickey would be rock hard and ready to go a few rounds in the bedroom with Ian all riled up like this. Maybe they’d slap each other around a little bit first, nothing too brutal but they would get a little sore, a little bruised and it would lead to some seriously amazing sex… but Mickey is pretty sure fucking isn’t on the cards right now so he pushes it from his mind and tries to focus on making Ian see reason.

“I don’t know where the fuck Mandy even is! She won’t talk to me, she won’t talk to you … She don’t want our help! What are you gonna do? Huh? Knock down every door in Indiana til you find her?”

“If I have to.”

“Okay well that’s just fuckin’ dumb so sit your ass down a minute and let’s get a plan together.”

Mickey wrenches a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket, takes one and then flips the carton over to Ian. He inhales the thick smoke, grateful for the familiar buzz of nicotine and then exhales through his nostrils, watching Ian do the same.

Swears under his breath, Mickey licks his lip, considering his options. Short of tying Ian to the bed and refusing to let him leave, Mickey isn’t going to be able to stop him. He’s gone all jutting chin and lowered ginger eyebrows and whilst Fiona might say it’s the bipolar, Mickey is pretty sure it’s just Ian’s pig-headed nature.

“Ay, alright I’ll call her from a burner. She might pick up if it’s not you or me callin’. Okay?”

Ian nods at this but his shoulders round defensively and he stubs the half-finished cigarette out viciously in the dregs of his coffee.

“Why won’t she just talk to us?”

Mickey snorts in response, already turning to rifle through his ‘stuff’ draw to find a fresh burner.

“Cause she’s a bitch and she’s a Milkovich. We ain’t the chattiest people when it comes to our problems.”

Ian’s lip quirks upwards at that, his eyes lightening just a fraction now that Mickey is helping him.

“Yeah well I did notice something like that.”

“Observent fucker, huh?”

Mickey finds what he’s looking for and flips the plastic casing off, inserting the disposable sim into the back of the cheap cell.

“Right, what’s the number?”

Ian digs around in the mess of baby stuff before coming up with his phone and reading the digits out to Mickey who thumbs them in and then lifts the phone to his ear.

“Ringing …”

He says curtly, answering Ian’s impatient expression and holding up the last half-inch of his smoke in a stilling gesture.

“Mandy? It’s me. … your fuckin’ brother? … Mickey, bitch! … No … No … fuck you! … He’s fine … he’s fine too … Yeah…”

Ian is practically crawling out of his skin with exasperation as the phone call progresses and begins miming frantically for Mickey to both hurry up and to give him the phone, which earns him a middle finger salute as Mickey turns his back on him.

“Where are you? … cause I want to know … to send a fuckin’ care package, what does it matter? … Oh I’m the asshole? You don’t answer my calls for weeks and … how is this typical of me? … Oh well excuse me for giving a shit … yes I do! … yes I do or I wouldn’t fuckin’ call … don’t bring that up … it wasn’t your fuckin’ flick-knife it was Iggy’s and Dad said I could …”

Ian can’t take any more of the sibling bickering and lunges forward snatching the phone out of Mickey’s hand

“Mandy? It’s Ian. Where are you? … Because I’m worried Mands… I know you are but please tell me… okay … yeah … I won’t, I promise. I love you. Bye.”

Ian flips the burner closed and nods to Mickey curtly

“I got the address.”

“Why the fuck did she give it to you and not me?”

Mickey asks looking truly affronted, taking the burner from Ian and tossing it back in the drawer alongside a collection of communal weapons and small baggies of powders and pills that Svetlana doesn’t let him leave around the house any more.

“I promised I wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

Ian smirks at Mickey who tongues his cheek and raises his eyebrows in response

“So we ain’t goin?”

“Of course we are. The stupid thing was letting her go in the first place.”

Ian states firmly, breezing past Mickey and heading into the bedroom to change out of his tight jeans and into something he can actually move in. Mickey follows him, rolling his eyes.

“Okay tough guy, you got the address, now what? We just rock up to Indiana?”

Ian looks up from lacing his military boots and fixes Mickey with a look that he has seldom given his boyfriend before: contempt. Mickey flinches slightly and sniffs, folding his arms defensively under Ian’s furious stare

“What?”

“Stop acting like this is bullshit. Your baby sister is in an abusive mess of a relationship with a guy who beats on her whenever it suits him.”

“I didn’t make her fuckin’ go!”

Mickey snaps and Ian slaps his hand hard against the dresser in frustration, making the cheap wood groan and tip precariously onto its side before slamming back down.

“Congratulations, asshole! It’s not your fault! Good for you! Now man the fuck up, get your shit together, and help me bring her home.”

Mickey blinks, squares his shoulders aggressively and the potential for a proper fight hangs in the air between them. The silent tension fills the room, settling in the ceiling cracks and nestling in the folds of clothes left on the floor. Ian doesn’t move, barely even blinks, just waits Mickey out – he’s never been scared of his boyfriend’s temper and he isn’t scared now.

“She needs us, Mickey. We gotta help her.”

After what feels like an age, Mickey nods to himself and just like that, things are in motion.

*

Mickey shrugs out of his grey button down and tugs a passably clean tank over his head, grabbing his cut off jacket from the floor by Ian’s side of the bed where he dumped it last night. It’s been a while since he’s gone after someone like this but the prep is comfortingly familiar and Mickey finds himself warming to it with ease.

He runs his hand fondly over the assortment of weapons in the dresser drawer as Ian types the address Mandy gave him into Google maps on his phone and plots their route.

“Take whatever weapon you want, man.”

Mickey gestures to the drawer, selecting a couple of handguns for himself and pocketing a butterfly knife and brass knuckles.

“Fuck you, Milkovich. Think I wouldn’t bring my own?”

Ian snorts and drops to his knees beside the bed, reaching under and producing a steel baseball bat with a dramatic flourish and giving it a practice swing.

“You know, some guys just bring some clothes and a toothbrush when they move in.”

Mickey grins at him, approval evident in his tone. Ian cocks his head in acknowledgement and loops the bat around the back of his neck, resting his wrists nonchalantly over either end.

“I just packed my biggest, hardest things.”

He drawls, looking Mickey over with a deliberate slowness that has the brunette adjusting himself with zero discretion. A different kind of tension begins to creep between them but Mickey shakes his head.

“Later. You ready?”

Ian nods and shakes himself to get his head back in the game. He has been finding it increasingly difficult to stay focussed lately but this is important, Mandy is important, and with a grunt of effort, he pushes other thoughts aside.

*

In the living room, Iggy and Joey are ripping their first bong of the day but both look up with mild interest at Mickey’s bark of a greeting

“Yo! On a job. You in?”

“What is it?”

“We’re goin’ to get Mandy.”

Iggy frowns and scratches at a spot behind his ear

“Our Mandy?”

“Yeah numbnuts. She’s in trouble. Bringing her home.”

Mickey’s fingers are beating against his leg impatiently. The more often he says the words the more set they become and he wonders how the Hell it has taken him so long to do this. Any of them! Fucking Milkovichs letting their sister be fucked up by some dumb prick of a boyfriend? Shame curls in Mickey’s gut and his nostrils flare at the thought of it.

“You comin’ or what?”

His tone is harsher than he intended but it doesn’t matter because it snaps Iggy and Joey out of their contemplations and both stand up, Iggy heading into the closet.

“She with that Ken … whatever the fuck his name was?”

Joey asks, slipping a stained knuckle duster out of his jacket and slipping it on, large hands flexing.

“Yeah.”

Ian nods. Joey grunts and rolls his neck, grabbing the bong and his bag of pot off the table.

“Disrespectful mother-fucker gonna regret that then ain’t he.”

“You want him dead or just fucked up, bro?”

Iggy’s head pops out of the cluttered space and as both his older brother’s look to him for instruction, the last of the uncertainty leaves Mickey.

When he came out he thought this part of his life with his brother’s was over, family or not, he was gay and he figured that it changed things between them but here they are, waiting on his word like always. Confidence blooms in Mickey’s chest and he lifts his chin, glancing sideways at Ian before clearing his throat and taking the lead.

“Fucked up, but if the asshole dies I ain’t gonna cry about it.”

“Cool.”

Iggy nods and drops the small buzzsaw he had been holding, disappearing briefly and re-emerging with a short wooden club.

As Iggy and Joey amble out to the car, Ian beams at Mickey who gives him a reserved smile back. He doesn’t actually think Ian has ever seen him on this sort of job before and he doesn’t want it freaking him out.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

He asks quietly, reaching up to smooth back a length of deep red hair from Ian’s brow.

“Fuck yes I am! I’ve been waiting a long time to get this prick. I want to do this.”

Ian’s smile twists into a grimace at the thought of Kenyatta and Mickey realises with a start that he has never seen Ian on this sort of job either. Iggy barrels back into the house and dives into the closet

“Best to be prepared.”

He shrugs, hefting the saw over his shoulder and lumbering out again. Mickey and Ian share one last look and then follow Iggy out. They’re ready.

*

Iggy drives, and he drives horribly. They break the speed limit and swerve in and out of traffic, following the little arrow on Ian’s phone screen, all of them cussing at the robotic voice when it kindly tells them they have missed a turn. The music in the car is blaring out, a mix tape of Slipknot and Korn that drowns out almost everything except the sat-nav app.

“Couldn’t they have got a better fuckin’ voice guy?”

Mickey glares over Joey’s shoulder at the screen, as Iggy slams the car into reverse, narrowly missing a cluster of trash cans and the group of teenagers pissing against them.

“Why the fuck are kids peeing in gangs nowadays?”

“Fuck knows. Animals got no respect.”

Joey grumbles, toking on a blunt before handing it back to Ian who takes it with grateful surprise. Whilst Iggy didn’t seem phased by Mickey coming out, Joey has given Ian more than a few unpleasant looks.

“What is it with you and respect at the moment? You keep banging on about it.”

“What do you mean? I’m always respectful.”

“Joe, you’re the least respectful asswipe I know.”

Mickey laughs, lifting his boot heels onto his seat as Joey swings a fist round trying to clip a knee or ankle.

“Fuck you! Name one time when …”

‘In 200 yards, turn right.’

“Fuck sake! Give me street names mother fucker!”

Iggy yells at the phone and Ian grins despite himself. He doesn’t think he has ever heard Iggy lose his shit before, it makes the family resemblance to Mickey much more obvious.

“You tell it, man.”

Mickey grins and Ian decides that he actually likes seeing Mickey around his brothers. He is gruffer, cruder and cockier but it suits him. They’re like a little wolf pack and Mickey is, by some weird cosmic irony, the Alpha.

Despite the high emotions and disastrous driving, they reach their destination in one piece and all four look with disdain at the run down house that their sister is supposedly living in. It looks eerily like the Milkovich house but with a mailbox and a full set of windows and that is a personal affront to each of Mandy’s brother’s for different reasons, souring the mood in the car instantly.

For Joey it feels like Kenyatta is trying to be better than them with his fancy windows and mail box.

For Iggy it is confusing to see a house so like his own in a different state and he hates it impulsively  

For Mickey it enrages him that this is the best Kenyatta could do for Mandy. Bastard couldn’t even give her a half-way decent house.

Ian just despises all of it. Every brick, window, and blade of grass.

The four men get out of the car and after surveying the street for a minute, Mickey leads them across the road and up the steps.

The front door barely withstands the first kick and gives in without protest after the second.

“KENYATTA!”

Mickey bellows, his brother’s fanning out around him. Ian keeps close to Mickey, guarding his back, his bat held high, ready. He can hear someone moving upstairs and apparently he isn’t the only one because all around him guns are being drawn and they are moving forward, Iggy and Joey take the stairs two at a time but Mickey pauses, Ruger in his right hand, his left pressed flat against Ian’s chest, keeping him back.

“Mick, what …?”

Mickey jerks his head irritably and Ian falls silent. There is a heartbeats space of silence and then all Hell breaks loose above them. They can hear Mandy screaming at Iggy, the crash of bodies hitting the floor, scrambling, cursing and then Kenyatta stumbles down the stairs, blood streaming from his nose, clutching his ribs. Mickey drops his gun and lunges upward as Kenyatta swings clumsily at Ian. They sprawl into the living room, crashing against a shitty recliner chair in a tangle of limbs. Ian throws himself into the fray and fists fly.

Every blow that Ian lands is a catharsis. At some point, he shoves Mickey bodily out of the way and straddles Kenyatta’s hips pinning him and raining punches with wild abandon and he doesn’t stop.

Not when his knuckles split.

Not when his own cheekbone is cut with a stray fist.

Not until Mandy reaches him.

“IAN? IAN STOP IT! FUCKING STOP!”

Mandy’s voice cuts through the haze of adrenaline and Ian blinks, smearing blood over his face as he mops at it with his sleeve. Kenyatta begins to sit up but freezes as metal touches his throat.

“Don’t fuckin’ move, asshole.”

Iggy warns, the tip of his saw pressing against flesh just enough to leave an indentation as Ian stands shakily.

Mandy shakes her head in disbelief and then slaps Ian’s face with the flat of her hand

“You promised me, Ian! You fucking promised!”

“Hey! Don’t hit him!”

Mickey snaps at his sister, yanking her away from Ian. Mandy turns her fury on him in an instant, pitching forward and bashing her fists against Mickey’s chest, glaring at him through bruised and bloodshot eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Look at the state of your face! You let this piece of shit hit you again?”

Mickey glares right back and kicks Kenyatta dismissively

“Stop it!”

Mandy yells, her hair is matted and she looks half-starved and it is that rather than her words that give Mickey pause. He takes in the state of her clothes and the haunted look in her eyes and shakes his head before kicking Kenyatta in the ribs, harder this time.

“Mickey! Don’t …”

“You’re fuckin’ defending him now? Jesus, Mandy! Come home.”

“Home? HOME? To that house? You call that a home?”

“It’s different now.”

Mandy closes her eyes with an almost hysterical laugh, pressing the heels of her hands painfully against them. Kenyatta makes a noise from the floor and all five Southsider’s look down at him with disgust, silencing him instantly.

“Nothing is ever different, Mickey.”

Mandy’s voice is flat and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around her middle and stepping back from them all. Mickey glances at Ian and twitches his lip uncertainly, he’s done the part he is good at and now he is out of his depth.

“You okay to deal with this?”

Ian murmurs, gesturing to Kenyatta, his hand briefly caressing the swell of Mickey’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we got it. Go.”

Ian follows Mandy as she makes her way into the kitchen. He has done this sort of thing many times with her brother but though neither of them would admit it, Mickey is actually easier to deal with than Mandy.

“It was my idea Mandy. Not Mickey’s. I got a voicemail from your fight last night and I had to do something.”

“Crash into my home? Assault my boyfriend?”

Mandy sits down at the table and lights a cigarette with shaking hands, before offering Ian the packet.

“It’s not a home, Mandy. You’re not safe here.”

Ian doesn’t dare touch her, but he sits close and when she doesn’t move away, he lays his hand beside hers on the scarred table top.

“I was never safe there either, Ian. You know that.”

Ian nods and swallows heavily. He does know that, they all let Mandy down. Every single one of them.

“It is different now though. We’re there, me and Mickey, and Svetlana and Yev too. It’s a little fucked up but it works. It’s a safe place Mands. We could look after you.”

Dark eyes flash dangerously as Mandy glares up at her friend

“I don’t need you assholes to look after me.”

“Then let us be there while you get what you need to look after yourself.”

Ian counters and Mandy presses her swollen lips together, trembling slightly but not ready to back down.

“You can’t stay here. Not really. Not with him. He’ll kill you.”

Ian presses on despite the look on her face. Like her brother, she responds better to frankness, almost harshness in a way, a gentle approach means nothing to Mandy, she needs to cold steel of a bat to swing, not the soft comfort of a pillow to clutch. He can see that his words are sinking in and being accepted as slowly the fire in her eyes dims to a shimmer.

“What are you gonna do with him?”

“Whatever you want us to. Please Mandy. Please come home.”

Mandy nods, licks her lips, and gently places her hand over Ian’s long fingers. He picks up her hand and cradles it in his own.

*

Mandy doesn’t have much to pack and whist Ian gathers sparse possessions from the bathroom, Mickey helps her stuff her clothes into a couple of bin liners.

“This all of it?”

“Yeah.”

Mandy nods, clutching the larger of the two bags to her chest.

“Alright, give it here.”

Mickey reaches for it, gesturing impatiently

“You don’t have to...”

“Let me carry the damn bag for you for fucks sake.”

He snatches it roughly out of his sister’s hand, begins walking to the door and then stops, dropping both bags at his feet and whirling to face her, irritation and guilt warring for control of his features.

“You should have fucking called me, Mandy.”

She isn’t prepared for the hug but as her big brother’s arms fold around her, she feels her body begin to slacken in quiet relief.

“You’re here now, Mick.”

“Yeah well … just as well too! You’re skinny as fuck.”

Mickey breathes into her hair, his fingers cupping the back of her head as gently as if she were made of brittle glass.

“You’re getting fat.”

Mandy shoots back and then tightens her grip around his middle, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt for dear life.

“Douche.”

Mickey sniffs wetly and squeezes her gently

“It’s gonna be alright, you hear me? You’re gonna be okay. We got you.”

It is probably the most comforting thing any of her family have ever said to her and if Mandy Milkovich was a crier, she would have wept all the tears her body could shed. But Mandy does not cry. She pulls back, sniffs and kisses Mickey’s cheek.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“And get you some food!”

Mickey nods in agreement and grabs her bags, leading the way downstairs.

*

Kenyatta is propped up against the wall and watches Mandy leave with flat eyes, but she doesn’t look at him. Not once.

Mickey crouches in front of the huge man and slaps his cheek lightly, almost tenderly

“My brothers are gonna stay a while, have a chat, straighten some things out with you, man. You better hope that they are the last Milkovichs you ever fuckin’ see because if not, if you try and come near Mandy again, we’re gonna have to kill you. You know that, right?”

Kenyatta nods and Mickey gives him a bright smile, beautiful and menacing in equal measure.

“Good.”

With that, Mickey dusts off his hands on his thighs, stands and walks away. Ian knows he should follow. Their work here is done, but can barely drag his eyes from the man at Joey’s feet. He knows he’ll be punished for Mandy’s treatment at his hand, Joey is more than capable but a part of Ian wishes he was the one to do it, to wreak a little havoc on the man who catapulted Mandy’s so brutally.

“Ian? Let’s go.”

Mickey calls from the porch steps. Ian tears his eyes away from Mandy’s now-ex boyfriend and begins to leave, pausing to grab his bat. The steel is cool and welcome in his heated palm and he twirls it absentmindedly, looking around the room.

He wanders over to the windows and peers out from between the dirty curtains. How many times did Mandy do this? Peer out at the world, scared either of what was coming or scared of what was already waiting upstairs. On the porch, Mickey catches sight of Ian’s movements and walks across to stand in front of him on the other side.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let’s go.”

Ian nods but doesn’t move. His fingertips press against the smeared panes and he slowly traces Mandy’s name into the grime. On the other side, Mickey cups his hands against the glass and peers past Ian into the house making sure they haven’t forgotten anything of Mandy’s or anything that Mandy might just want, hers or not.

Ian makes a decision and his lip lifts upwards in a small smile

“Take your fuckin’ hands off the glass, Mick.”

“Huh?”

“Move!”

Ian hefts the bat and Mickey reads his intention, leaping back just in time as one after the other, Ian puts the windows out. He smashes the bat through each of them with a malicious relish that he hasn’t felt in years and beams at Mickey through the gaping holes.

“You done now, Al Capone?”

“Yep.”

Ian nods, answering the arched eyebrows and amused smirk on his boyfriends face with a happy smile.

*

They leave Iggy and Joey to their business, Mickey drives and Ian sits in the back with Mandy, not wanting to leave her alone. His fingers untangle some of the knots in the tips of her long hair and she lets him do it, relaxing into the touch little by little.

“How’s Yevgeny?”

“Fat.”

“Mickey!”

Ian chides, laughing despite himself. Mickey half turns to glance back at his sister and shrugs

“It’s true. Little bastard eats, shits, and sleeps as much as Iggy.”

“He looks just like Mickey though. His eyes have gone the exact shade of blue and he’s getting a proper smirk.”

Ian smiles proudly at this and Mandy allows a small smile to lighten her own face.

“Poor kid!”

“Fuck you!”

Mickey gives an exemplary smirk around the filter of his cigarette as he pulls into a McDonalds drive thru. He orders too much food and pays with a few crumpled bills, smiling politely when the cashiers gaze lingers on his bruised and bloody knuckles.

The only free space is a disabled bay, which Mickey parks in without a second thought, heedless of the signs, and hands the brown bags into the back seat. Mandy eats with as much enthusiasm as her brother and Ian can’t help but laugh at them both, though he covers it as choking on a fry. Once she has eaten her fill, Mandy wipes her hands and face on a napkin and slumps back against Ian’s shoulder, sighing in drowsy contentment. Her breathing grows heavy as they leave the parking lot and Ian wraps a protective arm around her shoulder, keeping her close as she sleeps.

“She okay?”

Ian looks up and meets Mickey’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror.

“She will be. You did good, Mickey.”

Mickey’s cheeks turn a dusky pink at the praise and he snorts, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Didn’t do bad yourself, Gallagher.”

“We make a good team.”

Ian smiles and Mickey grins at him happily, blue eyes holding green firmly.

“Yeah we do.”

*

Months later …

*

Ian is making his way back to the Gallagher house, his hand is throbbing beneath the hastily wrapped up bandages and he is grateful for this because it lets him know that he is still alive. He can barely see, barely hear, everything is white noise and great swathes of colourless normality stretching out into the infinity of his gaze.

“Ian?”

He turns slowly and sees Mandy walking towards him, head bowed against the cold evening breeze.

“You okay?”

“Yeah I gotta …”

He trails off, lifting his injured hand in illustration of the point he can’t quite seem to make.

“Shit! That needs changing.”

“I can do it. Or Fiona. I don’t care.”

Ian sighs tiredly and Mandy links her arm through his, making the decision for both of them.

“I’ll do it. Come on.”

Inside the Gallagher house, Ian sits down whilst Mandy finds the first aid kit. Sammi hovers around them until Mandy asks for a cup of coffee, giving the needy blonde a simple task to complete somewhere else.

“Kinda matches my left hand now, huh?”

Ian says quietly, the joke feeble as he shows Mandy the older scar

“Oh yeah? How did you do that one?”

Mandy replies, rolling the clean fabric over Ian’s blistered palm. Ian draws a shuddering breath and then sighs

“Military. I hot-wired a helicopter, other stupid shit too and burnt myself. Then I ran away, went AWOL …”

“Did Ian say something? Does he want a coffee too?”

Sammi’s head pokes around the kitchen door and Mandy throws a weary look over her shoulder at the older woman.

“No Sammi, thanks.”

“Okay but I like to be included in conversation in my own house you know!”

Sammi sing-songs as she retreats back into the kitchen, bitchy but blessedly oblivious. Mandy shakes her head and presses a finger gently to Ian’s lips when he draws a breath to continue his confession.

“Not now, okay? Gotta be careful who you tell about this stuff.”

Mandy tucks the end of the bandage in and covers Ian’s hand gently with both of her own, cradling it.

“Thanks.”

Ian says looking Mandy in the eye for the first time.

“You’re welcome.”

She kisses his head lightly and stands up

“Let’s get out of here. No offence but your sister is weird and Mickey will be home soon.” Ian smiles slightly and nods, leaving Sammi behind and following Mandy home.

[fahrenheit-shop]

Yeah The Girls T Shirt

I like this I’m not I myself running shoes many times I was why girls so much as he’s a Yeah The Girls T Shirt huge eight you want be like because they attention you hate them so I totally get all that exists ashamed that the proceeds to get to take it as as bad as I as I was dreading that he would be it seemed like he was pretty quick to be able to be really great is very like his character is the one is not my favorite any that helps a lot really shines will see in yeah he was and you hate the first season so last two episodes is where he cameand helped or at Joyce my device house you have an in this season is his signature with yes me myself that how he will probably feel happier now you know they’ve been dusted seat have been spending a lot of time together this season Dustin is the only one who’s away from the main group of kids they overplay it if you I didn’t think they were okay a really people really like that season to those two caches was spending time together so we only got three am glad throughand Robin as they age a chance to know something is I was afraid it was going to get over use her sexiness it was small doses yes seasonal Ross just steadily been my each of his existence almost betterand better I first half of the season was a bit slow so when everything started everybody pull into the main plot okay okay the role the whole everything ready your date I watching you there is actually a strong will know in a game really is no you yeah well it’s they like said multiple times that they don’t look at stranger things they located SC1 to three with multiple episodes they look at stranger things oneand two streets of three big movies cut up into pieces so it’s an movies generally like they need to get there now will the characters get to the point of no return to find. And gave it to just talked to us Jessup read the letter S he said yes I see gave Vanessa back so she asked the city of course is Jessup replied in surprise is entirely your own business just let me know how I can contact you in case this means you can sunny very nice said Jessup I’m sure it will be good for you is stood up excited. Gracias por todo el apoyo a mi familia mi equipo y a todos vosotros los aficionados

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Erwin thoma and I know you ll love what we have to offer. And this cross. Sitting on the iron throne tearyand reminds them there are roughly 1 million people in King’s Landing if the hiking manage a Yeah The Girls T Shirt o add that many to his Army life as we know it will cease to exist with a very concerned look on his face John says we need to talk to your sister again she must understand we will need the golden company to help usand we may need protection behind those walls the right key finally John looks at both Jamieand Thierry Lena Stern says your sister is our only option in the following scene beyond great joy in a small group of men prepared ahead for the Blackwater Bay now that it’s beginning to get dark outside they had a good feeling the yarn fleet will be there since it wasn’t at the iron Islands nor did they come across it outand see all they need to do is slipand grab your aand get the hell out of there before any of your own’s men are alerted as fee onand his men walk across the beach Dragon stone they notice a shadowy figure sitting in one of their boats Fiona shocked when he recognizes who it is it’s the spider somehow various is there waiting for them Fiona somewhat confused because he knows vera should be in the north with the nurse they also take notice that there are no other boats in sight in various appears to be completely dry they have no idea how he has arrived on Dragon stone when fianc is what you doing here all vera says is I’m coming with you back in King’s Landing Khyberand meets with Circeand you’re on it tell them about some recent reports he’s been receiving through his little birds Khyberand tells them that the nurse or Gary ends fleet as a white harbor she has abandoned Dragon stone while they fight in the north her fleet is our only means of transporting her large force quickly they also remember that John said the Army of the dead do not swim Circe doesn’t want to allow John Danny to have a way to flee to the sea so Circe tells your own to take some of the wildfire to white harborand barn Danny’s entire fleet your own does agree to do this but not until after he spends another night with the Queen in the red keep back in the north we see several small boats heading down the white knife River we will focus on brand right as he opens his eyes after another series of visions Sam is sitting right next to him he is the first one task brain is everything okay brand had been out of it for quite some time in his hands are starting to Calais from the way he keeps gripping his chair brain says I’m fine but he doesn’t quite understand why he saw what he saw this time Sam says well what did you see maybe I can help you was of the making is he getting close to us again brain says no but then he looks at Gillyand he says I saw your son everyone on the boat looks a little Sam then brain says your son was cryingand he was surrounded by fire everyone on the boat is now concerned by the tone of brains voice Gilly wraps her arms tightly around her son divers tells Gilly not to worry they will be a white harbor soon enough once they arrived they will immediately load Gillyand the baby onto one of Danny’s shipsand get them out to see Brandon interrupts by whispering we won’t be getting on any ships John is on his way to get us now that he looks back at Gillyand says does your son like dragons Gilly does anyone look at brand he starting to scare her but before she could answer a dragon appears through the clouds we noticed that as a big hole in its right wing reg all seems to be following them down the river back a white harbor to nurse Johnand Jamie get ready to leave at dawn so they can find the rest of the survivors John tells Barrickand the hound to find some food to make sure everyone get something to eat they may not have many chances after they leave aria is seen helping Breanne clean up the injury on her leg then get wrapped up one of the whites had buried a sword deep into her thigh as of right now she can barely stand let alone fight the hell notices are you helping Breanne he walks over to themand jokingly says I hope you’re not asking her for mercy because she won’t give you any then he says most men would die from an injury like that but I’m sure you will have your sword of someone’s Arsenault time by now the sun is starting to rise John Dannyand Jamie Walker would apply Mondragon’s back John looks back at ariaand says if were not backed by sundown you need to have everyone aboard a shipand had to Dragon stone the making will never be able to get his entire army to the island it will be much safer there when he defines Anza brandand the rest of the others as soon as possible we cannot stay here for very long Johnand aria embrace each other one last time before he leaves the scene will end as we see drug on disappear into the clouds in the following scene Circe in your honor laying in bed together Circe is still asleep but your on is starting to wake up he rolls overand looks at Circe he starts to run his finger across her lips that he moves his hand furtherand further down until it’s under the blankets you’re on puts his hand between Circe’s thighs he can feel wetness on his fingertips when he pulls his hand out from under the blanket he can see that his fingers are covered in blood he immediately rips the blankets off Circe he can now see that most of the bed is covered in blood as well Circe wakes up when she feels the cold air hit her naked body she can see your aunt standing over her with a strange look on his face Circe then sits up in his suddenly horrified by what she sees this is when she will begin to screamand cry the mountain runs into the room with the sword drawn expecting to see Circe in a struggle you’re on immediately raises hand but the mountain walks right past them he grabs one of the sheets covers over Circe then carries her out of the room you’re on then gets dressed leaving the room with a wicked smile on his face as he’s walking across the board room one of the lamest regards walks up to himand tells them there something that he needs to see we’ve all of them outside in the garden begins to lead him to the water when you’re on gets close enough to the bay he stops in his tracks he appears to be shocked by what he sees almost all of his iron fleet are gone the silence is still there but that’s about it your own quickly boards the silence there are several men laying on the deck with her throat slit when you’re on enters the main cabin he notices yours gone there is a dagger sticking into the wall with a note left under it written in blood all the note says is was dead may never die sign you’re a great joy Your Honor moves the daggerand the note from the wall he turns aroundand calmly says to the latest regard how does someone sneak into the Blackwater Bayand make off with an entire fleet without someone noticing before the latest regard can even mutter a single word you’re on James the dagger into the man’s neck you’re on lease the silence heading back into the city then we will see your on meet with a few men from the city watch the head to the chambers of the commander of the go to company when they enter the room though they notice it’s empty as well he tells the captain of the city watch to gather up all of his men they need to find Harry Strickland immediately they should check every brothel every in or anywhere they think they might be we will then begin to see some quick scenes of the city watch entering every homeand establishment within the city not only is Harry Strickland gone but it appears as if the Golden company has also left your on great joy is furious he orders the captain to bring him every single man that was on watch last night either of these men are extremely incompetent or they were paid off now doesn’t matter what happened they will all have to die for this back on Dragon stone fee on has nearly 100 men gathering up as much Dragon glass as they can find that is still left over in the caves they will be leaving very shortly to head north fee on now has an entire fleet with over 20 000 men from the Golden company varus is seen with a smile on his face it’s obvious he has been up to something but we don’t know what just yet when fee on exits the cave he will walk over to a sister your after looking at her for several moments his eyes begin to fill up with water he can see yours covered in blood with bruises all over her body feeland also knows that you’re on had her tongue removed finally feeland says you’re a I’m sorry I’m so sorry I left you I’m sorry for what he has done to you but I promise you this we will get our vengeance your steps in closerand wraps her arms around her brother she’s upset but ultimately thankful to still be alive Ferrisand the commander of the Golden company are now standing side by side Harry Strickland will reach out to shake Ferris’s hand he says it’s good to see you again my old friend Hilario told me you would eventually come for us one day but I wasn’t entirely sure if you were still alive before they can finish the conversation they both noticed several ships approaching the beach all of the men on the beach begin to scramble for their weapons they had been expecting retaliation from your on great joy but they did not think it would happen this soon it takes varus a few moments to recognize the banners waiting on the ships when they finally stop flapping in the wind varus has a fearful look on his face the banner is displaying the flaming heart for various this site is even worse than your own great joy looking for revenge he now knows Miller Sondraand Ken Vara have arrived he remembers what Miller Sondra said Amory before she laughs as we see Miller Sondraand Ken Vara laid on the beach they began the walk over to various the red rubies they are both wearing on their throats are glowing brighter than ever varus can hardly looked directly into them without getting blinded Miller Sondra greets them first by saying hello dear spider can Vara places a hand on Ferrisand she says do we still serve the same queen varus nods his head can Vara says good you’re coming with us then all of you must come with us John Snowand a nurse for Garyand are no longer in the far north winter fellas gone they will be back at White Harbor soon but that’s not what were heading various tell the others it’s time to leave varices visibly shaken up by all of this he doesn’t know what to think but he does feel the urge to do as they say in the very next scene did harass Johnand Jamie spot Ray go in the sky above the white knife River they also notice there are a few small boats directly below him they found sans the brandand the rest of the survivors both of the dragons begin to cry out to each other database will be seen giving a signal to the other boats they are dead to the shore to meet with Johnand Danny right away after drug on lands John will embrace his family when they exit the boats everyone else begins to climb on the back of the dragons they will now head back to White Harbor to regroup with everyone else however before they leave brain tells John the need to speak as soon as they get back there is a much time left we will see the making again tonight’s this scene will end when the dragons take to the sky back at White Harbor ariaand Gundry begin telling everyone to prepare to leave by now it’s starting to get darkand John said if they want back by sundown they were to board a shipand go to Dragon stone the making might be heading this way as we speak we cannot stay here for very long baritone Darian stands upand says they’re here both dragons from behind them in land aria rushes over to see who made it out of winter fell alive she is relieved when she sees her brotherand sister they all begin helping everyone off the dragons when aria sees Jamie she says thank you for helping my family then she reaches out to shake his hand we will see John help brand down from drug on then John says okay let’s talk brain says are you sure you don’t want to speak privately John says know if there is something that I must know just go aheadand say it now everyone starts to look at Johnand Brandon Sam already knows what’s coming next finally brain says John you are exactly who you think you are there is great power in you that you never knew existed but I’m sure you’ve always felt it John look somewhat confused then brain says what you think you found goats what you think father never told you who your mother was what you think you were brought back from the dead you have the blood of the Dragon you have the blood of iceand fire you are the song of iceand fire John that’s why you were chosen none of this is a coincidence things were set in motion long before either you or I were here all of it was leading to what will happen by the end of tonight’s the three Raven showed me your birth for a reason it wasn’t only show me who your parents were it’s because you are the one who will have to bring the dawn every time I try to look for answers about how to defeat the making all ICR images that point directly at you Ned Stark was what your father you are the son of regulatory Darianand Leona Stark you’re the one who is destined to defeat the night King everyone now has her eyes set on John everyone is silent almost as if they’re waiting for something to happen John seems to be struggling with trying to process everything brain just told him finally after a few moments Sam walks closer to John he says it’s true he removes a rolled up parchment from a sleeve the hands of the Johnand he says it’s a record of regulars annulment with Elia Martel afterwords there was a secret marriageand door brand has seen it for himself brain says John you’ve never been a pastor you are the legitimate heir to the iron for a your real name is egg on tour Garyand this new revelation stuns the NARA start See Other related products: Yeah The Girls T Shirt

[grandenchanterfiona]

How would the events of Origin change in Ascension canon? I haven't read the comics so I don't know what exactly happened to Maric, but would he still be alive/around at the beginning of the Blight? If so, Loghain wouldn't betray him, right? What about Alistair, would he have been corrupted by snooping around in a forest, like the warden in the dalish elf origin, cause otherwise I can't think of a reason why he would join the wardens so young and I cant see Fiona or Maric allowing him to do so.

Under a cut because spoilers:

In TST, Maric made a promise to Flemeth that he’d do something for her. We don’t, in the books, find out what that is, but in the comics it’s revealed to be like, awakening dragons or some shit with his magic blood.

Flemeth, sometime around like, two years before the fifth blight, is going to show up at the palace, remind Maric of his promise, because he was supposed to go do the thing a few years before, like he did in canon, but he didn’t want to cuz he didn’t want to leave his sons and his wife. 

Fiona begs him to stay, because, since she still gets Warden nightmares, she’s sure the blight is going to come soon, and doesn’t want Cailan or Ali to have to be the ones to make decisions about it, and she knows Flemeth foretold that Maric would die before the blight. 

Maric goes anyway and keeps his promise. Everything goes pretty much fine, except he has to stop in Kirkwall to resupply and ends up staying in the home of a Fereldan family in Kirkwall’s Hightown. We found out from DA2 that at least some of the houses in Hightown get their water from sources contaminated by wastewater, as Gamlen says his parents twice had cholera. 

Someone on Maric’s ship’s crew will get sick with cholera in Kirkwall, and slowly everyone will get sick, including, eventually, right before the ship reaches shore, Maric. He’s strong enough to survive it for a few days, especially with Fiona’s healing once he reaches Denerim, but he, eventually dies. 

The Grand Cleric of Ferelden will annul Fiona and Maric’s marriage before Maric’s body is even cold, and force her back in the circle, but this time, one in Orlais. There’s going to be a bunch of powerful stuff here, but like, this is the bare bones of what you need to know.

Basically everyone and their mom in Thedas, even those who don’t like Fiona, are going to fight to get Fiona returned to Cailan and Ali because Celene is doing it because Briala pushed Celene to.write to the Divine asking to free Fiona.

Shortly after Fiona returns, Cailan is going to express fears to her about being King. He’s going to point out to her that one of his mother’s cousins died seemingly of the same disease as his mother, and that he could easily also have it, {though he doesn’t and knows he probably doesn’t as he’s the same age she was when she started showing symptoms and has shown none}. He also tells her he’s gay and that he and Anora agreed that they wouldn’t sleep together and points out it’d probably be better for him to abdicate and join the Wardens, and Ali to marry Anora, if Anora wants to marry him, and become King. 

Fiona points out that if that happens everyone will assume she used her magic to make Cailan abdicate and put Alistair, her biological son, on the throne, and that they’d likely kill her. Cailan, out of love for her, stays king. 

The fifth blight comes. Cailan and Loghain ride for Ostagar. Anora, Alistair, and Fiona stay put. 

The Couslands offer Howe and his men a home for the night, and like in canon, all but Fergus, who already left for Ostagar, and the Cousland’s second child, River Dane, are killed. River rides with Duncan to Ostagar to join the Wardens. 

Howe rides to Denerim. No one from Highever has yet told Fiona or Ali or Anora about the attack on the Couslands. They too, offer him and his men safeharbor on their way to Ostagar. In the night, they too are attacked. Fiona, Alistair, Anora, and as many servants as Fiona can help, escape the castle through the secret exit by the Royal bedrooms. Anora, at Fiona’s advice, races to the home of Alfstanna Eremon. Fiona and Alistair race to the alienage.

They reach Adaia’s house. Adaia calls for Slim Couldry. She takes Fiona’s cloak and dress, and Fiona takes her’s. The same for Slim and Ali. She tells Da’assan to help Fiona and Alistair escape the city and reach Ostagar. Before she leaves, her and Fiona kiss, and tell each other to be safe, and that they’ll see each other again.

At Ostagar, the smallness of the Wardens’ numbers becomes obvious, and, without telling Loghain, Cailan undergoes the Joining, figuring that, with Fiona in Denerim, she cannot be blamed, and that his country needs him.

River is sent to light the signal fire by Duncan. Cailan is sent with her. 

Duncan survives the battle and retreats when Loghain does. None of his men make it, except Cailan and River, who escape the tower, saved by Flemeth as Ali and the Warden are. The three, plus Morrigan, sent by Flemeth with Cailan and River, meet up in Lothering. The news of the attack on the palace has not yet reached this far south.

Howe and Eamon’s son Thomas meet in Redcliffe Thomas tells Eamon of his father’s plan, and how he’s working with Gaspard. How Gaspard wants Ferelden, and will let Howe rule it as the king, if it claims to be part of Orlais. Eamon pretends to be overjoyed by this news, and seems to embrace Howe as king. He, in fact, hugs Thomas at this news. While they hug, he reaches for the knife at his belt, and stabs the boy hard in the spine, then, lowering him onto the floor, cuts his throat, and rides to Denerim to warn them of attack. Somewhere along the way, some of Howe’s men end up in the same tavern as him and poison him, though do not kill him. 

Cailan, River, Dog, Duncan, Morrigan, Sten, and Leliana, head for the Circle. There, they finally meet up with Fiona, Daya, and Alistair. Ali and Cailan are overjoyed to see each other, as are River and Daya who had multiple /things/ with each other over the years. Fiona is also overjoyed to see Cailan and Duncan, until she finds out Duncan made Cailan a Warden, and storms off angrily from the camp for the night. 

Things go basically the same as in game for Cailan and Ali’s crew in terms of what they’re doing, but they’re severely worse for Loghain, who thinks the entire royal family, including his daughter, is dead. 

Howe convinces Loghain that one, the Couslands and Eamon were part of the plot to kill everyone, and two, he killed them in revenge. He puppets Loghain into moving troops places that make them vulnerable to attack by Gaspard’s troops, and everything is just Terrible. 

There’s no selling elves into slavery though, as Adaia is still alive and also the elves are now allowed to be armed? That was part of Maric and Fiona’s ketubah?

Eventually Loghain finds out the truth and kills Howe. A landsmeet is held, with some people backing Cailan still being King despite him being a Warden, some people backing Anora as Queen, because she was married to him and isn’t a Warden, and Fiona, Ali, Cailan, Anora, and Loghain backing Ali. Fiona offers to let Anora divorce Cailan and marry Ali, but Anora’s like ‘no, I’ve had enough of being in a loveless marriage with a Theirin man, thanks, I’d rather like, be Dowager queen and marry Nathaniel Howe, since he never sided with his dad and we kinda had a thing’.

Ali is eventually named King, with the chantry requiring Fiona, who they consider to have been an apostate the moment Cailan joined the Wardens, to return to Orlais and be imprisoned for the rest of her life, never speaking to him again.

Fiona agrees, and says she’ll turn herself in after the blight is over.

They fight the Archdemon. Fiona offers to strike the killing blow to keep from having to be imprisoned for the rest of her life. Duncan almost agrees, but they both worry that, since she’s partly cured, it won’t work. He ends up doing it instead.

After his funeral, Fiona keeps her word and returns to the Chantry to turn herself in. This is where the second book ends. There’s a third one that takes place roughly from the time of DA2′s second act, to DAI. 

[sinceileftyoublog]

Laura Marling Album Review: Semper Femina

BY JORDAN MAINZER

That Laura Marling might choose to make an album about women--specifically women in her life--is not out of the ordinary. Her best songs have always had a personal sheen to them, details that only the people in question would know (my personal favorite is “Your grandfather sounds like me.”). Semper Femina, the album title borrowed from the ancient poet Virgil, roughly translates to “woman is ever a fickle and changeable thing." Indeed, on the album, Marling explores many different sides of her subject matters--their relationships with religion, sex, and themselves. She, too, adopts many different personas, sometimes singing as an omniscient narrator, sometimes as a man, other times as the female subject in question. Even her dialect contains multitudes--she has for so long hidden her accent, but on Semper Femina, it, and her remarkable voice, no longer hides behind sing-talk. It pops up and shines.

What's jarring, though, is a specific sonic change. For Semper Femina, Marling decided to work with producer Blake Mills. The result is predictably less minimal and raw than Marling’s earlier work. Yet, Mills generally adds his touch while still making the record sound very much Marling’s. His sonic palette is well-known. He often produces percussion-heavy, jazzy arrangements, the perfect accompaniment to great singers like Marling and Jesca Hoop. You immediately hear his influence on opening track “Soothing”, a song directed towards Marling’s ex-boyfriend (who happens to be Marcus Mumford). She sings a light, sultry R&B melody over string arrangements and blip instrumentation. “I need soothing / My lips aren’t moving / My God is brooding,” she declares convincingly. “Wild Fire”, meanwhile, sports echoing brushwork and harmonic electric guitars. While it’s the most familiarly delivered, effortless yet complex, Marling lets loose with her voice when she sings the simplest, yet most powerful question: “Do you cry sometimes?” “Don’t Pass Me By” (not a Beatles cover but oddly reminiscent of a different White Album track) features off-kilter drum beats, tremolo-laden guitar, and string plucks. This isn’t the same singer-with-a-guitar shtick that Marling does so well.

Independent of Mills, the songs, in general, have a lot going on. “The Valley”, about watching another woman suffer while all you can do is feel helpless, sees Marling layer her vocals over a subtle repeated guitar riff and strings, as if she wishes she could put together an army of helpers but knows she can’t. “Next Time”’s chord structure and time signature are misleading and remarkably complex, the distorted guitars blending in seamlessly with the strings. “Nouel”, the song that essentially gives the album its title, as it refers to a “fickle and changeable” woman, feels like the longest track on the album even though it’s not. It’s because Marling has the uncanny ability to pack a lifetime of stories into a mere five minutes. She can also slay you out of nowhere. On “Wild Once”, she beautifully encapsulates the pressure society puts on women from a young age. “They put my hands in water / Told me I’m a god / I might be someone’s daughter / Might be somewhat odd,” she sings. You can practically hear the passive aggressive voice of the person at the other end, subliminally hammering these expectations into the narrator’s head. It’s the type of thing that leads Marling to confront an all-too-familiar anxiety on “Always This Way”: “25 years, nothing to show for it / Nothing of any weight / 25 more, will I never learn from it / Never learn from my mistakes.”

Sure, occasionally Mills gets in the way of Marling. Ever since I saw him wank on guitar during a Fiona Apple concert, I’ve remained healthily skeptical of his ability to stay the fuck out when he needs to. On “Always This Way”, an otherwise light song with gorgeous guitar, bass, and vocals, Mills chooses to leave Marling’s breathing and laughing in there, low in the mix, as if to insert a feeling of spontaneity and realness into the music, something her words do a way better job of doing. And then there’s closer “Nothing Not Nearly”. On this song, Marling’s delivery is literally breathtaking--she doesn’t stop to take a breath. Lawnmower guitars turn on the off-beat; the song features the same echoing brushwork as on “Wild Fire”. Mills’ bluesy guitar solo distracts a bit from the otherwise playful instrumental outro of interweaving acoustic guitars, high-pitched pedal steel, and, yes, a field recording of birds. As is par for the course with Mills, you’d be rolling your eyes at how obvious it was if it didn’t sound so damn good. Semper Femina is likely and hopefully the last record of its kind that Marling makes. Listening to it, you appreciate it, and maybe you love it, but you miss when Marling was the star of her own short movie.

7.0/10

<a href="http://lauramarlingmusic.bandcamp.com/album/semper-femina">Semper Femina by Laura Marling</a>

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Part Two, Chapter Six: Claire.

Julia (aka Faith) has been separated from Claire in their journey thru the stones and arrived in 2007. A nurse at the hospital she is rushed to quickly takes responsibility for her, accepting her as her own child. A year passes, and it is now time for surgeons to repair the congenital defects of her heart.

You can read previous chapters here.

June, 2008; Edinburgh, Scotland. Nurse Katie Campbell.

I stood at the observation window and watched Julia’s surgery unfold. I could hear Grannie Fiona’s knitting needles click at a steady, rapid pace from her spot behind me. There was a perfectly good chair beside her, with the same view, but my nerves wouldn’t let me sit still.

Calling in no small amount of favors, the head matron and I had gotten Julia onto the best pediatric pulmonary specialist in Scotland’s waiting list. He had moved her up to the top of his list once he heard her story and I had driven Julia here to Edinburgh to meet with him dozens of times in the fourteen months.

Today, he would repair her ventricular septal defect and replace her pulmonary valve. The surgery itself seemed to be going well. It had been years since I had assisted in an operation, but nothing the surgeon’s standard medical conversation raised any red flags.

I was thankful for Grannie Fiona’s presence, not wanting to be entirely alone but not wanting to be with someone who didn’t understand the situation. I had been granted temporary custody of Julia and we both lived with my grandmother. We had discussed the intricacies and puzzlements of Julia’s case over many a cup of tea and knew it just as well as I did. There was, for once, a guy in my life, but I hadn’t told him about Julia. She wasn’t my legal daughter, after all.

Yet.

A year had gone by and the authorities still had nothing in the form of leads. No missing children had been reported resembling her and, without a name or date of birth, they didn’t really even a firm identity to work with. She had a blood type and fingerprints, but, as toddlers weren’t the usual suspects for domestic crime, she wouldn’t be in any of the databases.

Without a documented date of birth, we had to come up with one ourselves. We finally settled on seventeen to nineteen months as her approximate age, making her birthday somewhere between the middle of July and September. July 31st had been my mother’s birthday and, as it fell within in the range, we entered that as her official birthday.

She weighed barely seven kilograms soaking wet and was a little over seventy-six centimeters tall when she arrived at Raigmore. Even though she had been roughly the size of a one year old, her teeth suggested she was a good three to six months older than that. Her mental milestones hit about the eighteen month old mark, but it was her speech that had been, and still was, a bit of a wonderment to us all.

She possessed a large vocabulary, but the kicker was that she had troubles sticking to one language. We determined she could understand three: English, Gaelic, and French. She would really only speak French if spoken to in the language, but she freely babbled in a hilarious mixture of English and Gaelic.

Who on earth were her parents? Or, in my opinion, who had they been?  

Nothing had disproved my theory that her parents were dead and it was quickly becoming accepted as fact.

Her lack of medical history had proven to be a problem in her first days at Raigmore. We hadn’t known if she had any allergies and discovered the hard way that she didn’t respond well to anesthesia. We almost lost her when we she went under for her shunt placement. This surgery posed no small amount of risk, but she wouldn’t reach adulthood without it.

A movement in the corner of the operating theater caught my eye.

“She’s back,” I commented to Grannie Fiona without turning.

The older woman cackled as she got out of her chair to come look. “I kenned she would be.”

I had told Grannie of Julia’s mother’s ghost. The apparition had appeared no less than six times in the year Julia had been in my life. Grannie wholeheartedly believed me and would often tell me her opinion on what each sighting meant. The phantom woman hadn’t spoken in her subsequent visits, only coming to comfort her child.

Grannie suddenly grabbed hold of my arm as she came up beside me, her grip vice-like.

I looked down at her, startled, “What?”

“I…” she broke off, then took a deep breath and started again. “I can see her.”

She placed a hand over her heart, as if to stop its riotous beating. Mine was behaving in much the same way. Up until this point, it seemed that I was the only one who could see her, save a few of my colleagues who professed to have felt her presence.

The figure moved closer to the operating table, coming to stand beside the anesthetist at Julia’s head. Her hand cupped it’s curve as she gently kissed the child’s brow.  She straightened then, and looked to where we stood in the observation room.

Grannie Fiona let out an audible gasp and just about fell over.

“Katie, I ken who she is!” she exclaimed.

“Who? Julia?” I asked as I steadied her. “Of course you know who she is.”

“Nae,” she exclaimed. “her mother!”

I tried to usher Grannie back to her chair, thinking her faint at the sight of the surgery, but she adamantly refused.

“I’ve met tha’ woman before,” she insisted.

“You’ve what?”

She finally tore her eyes away from the room below and stared at me, “Her name is Claire.”

[erandir]

Fic: Parlor Tricks

A little something for Dorianmance Week. It’s not particularly fluffy or romantic, but then very little with Idhren and Dorian ever is. 

Special thanks to @timothytheplant for beta reading and letting me throw ideas at them when I got stuck.

Title: Parlor Tricks Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Pairing: Dorian/Lavellan Summary: Skyhold has become home to a handful of abandoned mage children. The Inquisitor may secretly want to adopt all of them.

Essentially a deleted scene from Semper ad Meliora

More and more people arrived to Skyhold by the day. All manner of people. Farmers, craftsmen, soldiers, servants, merchants, templars, nobility, mages. A lot of mages. And children.

Mage children. Human and elf alike, some only waist high, made homeless by the dissolution of the Circles and with no choice but to fall in with the rebels. There had been children in Haven, too, though not many. That fact alone had tempted Idhren to turn them all away at the gates. This was a fortress in the midst of war, where they were liable to be attacked by an archdemon at any moment. But where else could they go? With no Circles or schools to harbor them, Skyhold was the safest place for a stray mage child.

So Idhren set aside a section of Skyhold for the mages to call their own, a tower and the adjacent wing of rooms, and made its reconstruction a priority. By the time construction was finished Skyhold was home to roughly two dozen teens and younger children from Circles in Ferelden and Orlais, and a couple from the Free Marches. He asked Vivienne and Fiona to help oversee their schooling, along with some of the other mages in residence. Idhren himself had neither the experience nor the time to do so himself, but he did find himself visiting the mage’s tower whenever he had a spare moment. To see that everything was running smoothly.

And if he interrupted lessons on rare occasions it was only because he wanted to make sure they were getting a quality education and not a Chantry brainwashing. And if those occasional interruptions usually ended with him sitting on the roof of that tower with a gaggle of students demonstrating parlor tricks it was only because they could never seem to focus on real work with the Inquisitor standing in the background. And parlor tricks were a perfectly good way to practice control. Idhren would know.

They clamored for his attention, frequently talking over each other in their eagerness to show off how their skills had improved since his last visit.

“Your worship, look look,” the youngest of the children was a human girl only nine years old, the same age Idhren had been when his own magic manifested. She thrust her hands out toward Idhren. “I made a snowball!”

What the girl held in her outstretched palms was a roughly spherical lump of slush, ice and snow all lumped together. “You did,” Idhren replied, and then because snowfall the night before had dusted the wall tops with snow he added, “With your magic?”

The girl answered with a vigorous nod, “I practiced to show you.”

Idhren smiled. “Well it’s very good,” he praised. “I can see you’ve been working hard.” The girl beamed under the praise. “And if you keep practicing, then eventually you can make something like this…” Idhren cupped his hands together and channeled his mana into his hands, drawing on the water vapor in the air and freezing it. With a small flourish he revealed a perfect sphere of ice the size of a large marble cupped in the palm of his hand. The sphere glittered in the dull winter sunlight as he handed it over to the young girl, who could do nothing but gape in amazement.

“But look what I can do!” another interrupted – a boy of twelve or thirteen years, if Idhren had to guess. He thrust his hand out toward Idhren and called up a small wisp of fire between his fingers, no larger than a candle flame. His face screwed up in concentration, brows furrowed and lips pursed. The flame flickered and grew, wavered and attempted to pull itself into a shape, then abruptly exploded, emitting a cloud of smoke directly into the boy’s face, and the faces of those nearest him.

Cries of alarm and complaint went up immediately. There was a smattering of coughing, some genuine and some overly dramatic. Idhren waved the smoke out of his face and laughed lightly, “Alright, alright, calm down. Nobody’s hurt, right?” As the air cleared he saw the boy who had cast the spell, a little ashy around the edges but unharmed. Wounded pride, maybe. Idhren knew that feeling, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d accidentally exploded something in his youth. “Now you see why we need to be very careful when working on primal magic,” he said, hypocritical though it was. “Even a simple spell can be dangerous if you lose control of it.”

“I was concentrating, though,” the boy complained.

“Maybe you just need a bit more practice, then,” Idhren suggested. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Before Idhren could offer any more tips, or watch any more tricks, the trapdoor leading back down into the tower creaked open and slammed back onto the wooden roof. The sound drew everyone’s attention and Idhren looked over the heads of the children seated around him. He expected to see one of the children’s instructors come out to call them back in to their lessons, so when Dorian appeared instead he was quite surprised.

The man quickly took in the scene before his gaze landed on Idhren. “Why am I not at all surprised to find you causing all this ruckus?” he commented.

The backfiring spell had been rather loud, but that was hardly Idhren’s fault. “Lord Pavus has seen fit to grace us with his presence,” he said blithely, drawing a few shy giggles from the children. “What managed to draw you out of the library?”

“I came to borrow some research materials,” Dorian answered, climbing out onto the roof. “Only to find you’ve sent everyone downstairs into a tizzy with your antics. What are we doing up here, then? Teaching everyone dangerous, forbidden Tevinter magics?”

“Hardly,” Idhren said, rolling his eyes, “We’re comparing parlor tricks. But, I suppose we’ve been long enough for one day. You lot should head back inside.” There was a lot of muted grumbling and complaints, but the kids did pick themselves up and begin filing back down the ladder into the tower. “Keep working on that trick,” Idhren said to the boy before he could leave, “Maybe you can show me next time.”

That made him perk up immediately. “I’ll get it,” the boy promised, full of determination and youthful enthusiasm, “And it’ll be amazing.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Idhren agreed. He watched the last of the students filed back into the tower and rose to his feet, carefully dusting off his pants.

“Teaching parlor tricks to children? Really?” Dorian asked when the last of them had disappeared, though they had left the trapdoor wide open.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Idhren asked, perhaps a bit defensively. “It’s a good way for them to practice finite control while making it entertaining enough that they actually practice. It worked for me, after all.”

“I suppose it did,” Dorian admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “Perhaps I’m merely surprised that you would bother to take an interest in their education at all. Beyond ensuring they have one, that is.”

Idhren frowned. “Why does that surprise you?” he asked. Why shouldn’t he take an interest? The children needed someone to encourage their talents, and someone to look up to while so much of the world still vilified their existence.

“I don’t know,” Dorian mused thoughtfully, “Perhaps because you seem to have so little interest in anyone else around here.”

“That’s not true,” Idhren protested. “I spend a lot of time with people when we’re here. We’re just not here very often. And I have an Inquisition to run.” Which left little time for socializing, but Idhren did try to check in on his people when his schedule allowed it.

“I’m sorry, I must have phrased that wrong,” Dorian replied. “I meant you have little interest in going out of your way to be nice to anyone.”

“Most people don’t deserve it,” Idhren quipped.

“Indeed,” Dorian agreed. “And yet you let those children live here – a questionable decision at best, but I understand your reasons – gave them this very nice tower, saw that they have proper teachers. You could have left it at that.”

“I could have,” Idhren allowed. “But those children are here because their families cast them out and there were no Circles left to take them in. They deserve better than to be shoved into a corner and forgotten about.”

Dorian’s lips quirked into a tiny amused smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve secretly been a bleeding heart all this time.”

Idhren let out a disgusted scoff and crossed his arms over his chest. “I realize you get off on pretending to be a vain, heartless asshole all the time,” he groused, “But there’s nothing wrong with feeling sympathy. They need someone to look up to.”

“And you so humbly stepped into the roll,” Dorian quipped.

Idhren scowled at him. “Are you being purposely obtuse?” he asked. And when Dorian only looked mildly confused by the accusation, he rolled his eyes and explained. “When I was their age I was a slave. The only person I had to look up to was another slave, my greatest aspiration to do a magister’s taxes.” He watched as the smile slipped off Dorian’s face, but didn’t stop there. “Do you think those kids haven’t grown up hearing about the dangers of magic and mages? Especially after Kirkwall and the rebellion? The same way I grew up hearing how worthless elves were?”

“I… never thought of it that way,” Dorian was forced to admit, more than a little sheepish.

“No, you never do,” Idhren complained. “It would require coming down from your ivory tower long enough to hold an actual conversation with a commoner.”

Dorian glanced across the fortress to the tower that housed the library - his usual haunt. “That tower is hardly ivory,” he commented. “And if that’s one of the renovations you have planned I’m going to have to protest. It would be terribly gauche, and clash with the rest of the architecture.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Idhren sighed.

“I do,” Dorian sobered, albeit reluctantly. “You so delight in pointing out all of my shortcomings.”

“Someone has to,” Idhren told him, quirking a small smile of his own now. “Your ego is bad enough as it is.”

“It’s a wonder I put up with you at all,” Dorian complained.

“I could say the same,” Idhren replied. “But you’re avoiding the subject.”

“Am I?” Dorian asked. Idhren couldn’t tell whether the ignorance was feigned or not, though he suspected it was. “What was the point, exactly? I thought I was merely teasing you for being a bleeding heart.”

“I am not a bleeding heart,” Idhren protested a little too strongly for it to be believed. “I just like children.”

Something about the words, or maybe the way he’d said them, made Dorian pause. A brief flicker of surprise, then terror, crossed his face before he managed to school his expression once more. “I had no idea,” he commented. “Is that… something you want? Children, I mean. Of your own.”

Idhren sighed, agitation bleeding away, and turned to look out at the surrounding mountains. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I never had much of a childhood myself. Or a family. Anyone to look out for me. I just want them to have a better go of it than I had. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Dorian replied. And for once he sounded sincere. Maybe Idhren’s words had gotten through that thick skull after all. “Not at all.”

“Now’s hardly the best time to be thinking about starting a family anyway,” Idhren continued. He gestured out toward the green scar in the distant sky, a constant reminder of what they had been through and what they were still fighting against. “The world is ending.”

“True,” Dorian agreed. He stepped up to to the edge of the roof beside where Idhren was standing, hip propped against the battlement and staring out into the distance.

“Tainan wanted kids,” Idhren commented, quiet and only half-conscious of saying it aloud. “Even offered to steal one from a city for us.”

Dorian barked a short laugh, “And you Dalish wonder where all those horrid rumors come from.”

“Do you?” Idhren asked before he could think better of it, turning his face up toward Dorian. “Want children?”

The silence that followed was long and decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s not something I’ve ever given any thought,” Dorian said eventually. “At least, not without the context of a horrid loveless marriage to a woman I can barely stand, which makes everything look terrible by proxy.” Idhren could only imagine, and nodded his understanding. “Get back to me when the world is no longer ending. If we live that long.”

Unable to help himself, Idhren smiled. “I can do that,” he promised. Rising up onto his toes he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, barely catching the corner of his mouth. “Maybe spending some time with the students would help make your decision,” he suggested with a smirk. “I’m sure they’d love to learn something from a rebel magister.”

“Oh, for--,” Dorian cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “Tell me you are not perpetuating that infuriating misconception. You know better!”

“Correct it yourself,” Idhren laughed. A cold wind gusted across the wall tops and he instinctively shifted closer to Dorian for warmth.

Dorian visibly shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “You are completely insufferable,” he complained, “As is this blighted weather.”

After five years in the south Idhren still hated and dreaded winter, but he had at least learned how to dress for the cold. Dorian, on the other hand, still considered silk a valid fashion choice when there was snow on the ground. “Let’s go back inside then,” he sidled up closer to Dorian and slipped his arms around the taller man’s waist, “I’ll show you just how insufferable I can be.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but huffed in amusement. “Is that so?”

To answer, Idhren rose up onto his toes, one hand moving up to Dorian’s shoulder to pull the man down until their lips met. The kiss was slow and sweet, belying the heated promise in Idhren’s words, but when they parted Idhren was smiling. He slipped out of Dorian’s arms and moved toward the trapdoor. “Unless you have something better to do.”

“You know, I can’t think of a single thing,” Dorian replied, and followed after the grinning elf.

[bcntnotbrokcn]

THREAD 5

Estimated ages: Mickey, 39. Ian, 37. Brief synopsis: Twenty years after Ian’s diagnosis, Mickey receives a worried call from his twelve-year old daughter while at work, and rushes home to find Ian in a low-low. Triggers: Suicidal ideations, depression. Additional notes: I have Maggie’s last reply still saved in my drafts, so there is a high chance this thread will be continued.

IAN GALLAGHER

Ian closed his eyes tightly against the light coming through his bedroom window. It was easier before noon, when the sun was on the other side of the house -- but now it was far too bright, far too cheerful. Ian grabbed the blanket that was covering him, pulling it up over his head. The sounds from the TV in the living room were filtering into the bedroom, keeping his mind alert and refusing to allow him to get any real rest. Not that he had much at all that day. He just wanted to sleep. Wanted to lay there and waste away into nothing.

Of course, he couldn’t do that. He had a twelve year old daughter who was up and around, enjoying her day off from school -- it was a teacher’s day or something, a day for them to plan their curriculum or something of the sort. All Ian knew was that it meant Lucy had a three day weekend, and it was only the first day. Which meant, on the day that Ian so desperately wanted to be alone by himself, he couldn’t be.

It caused him physical hardship to move. It was taxing on an already exhausted, defeated body. But he had done it. Mickey had left for work early that morning, Ian had the day off -- that meant he was responsible for Lucy. She was twelve, could take care of herself for the most part. But Ian was a doting father. Even through his depressive episode, he had managed to force himself out of bed, make her pancakes -- he was sure he made them wrong, because her initial face was one of disgust, but she ate them without complaint -- made sure she had everything she needed for the day. And about a half hour earlier, he had even gotten up to make her lunch -- thankfully, she had made herself a sandwich, not wanting to bother him.

Ian had told her to call for him if she needed something -- most of the reason why the bedroom door was open. She kept checking in on him throughout the day, asking if he was sick, asking if he was okay -- he always forced the happiest voice he could muster, telling her he was okay, and not to worry. He was just tired. Something told him his daughter didn’t believe that.

No, Ian wasn’t okay. He was far from okay. The other day, he had lost someone at work. And yeah, sure -- paramedics lost people all the time. Sue, even though she wasn’t his partner anymore, was still there to give him advice and talk to him when he needed it. So when he tried his hardest to help that kid, she tried to make him feel better. Told him to talk about it with people to get his feelings out. He did. He talked to Mickey, to Lip, to Fiona. It helped a little bit. Sue also told him not to blame himself, and stuff like that happened. And Ian knew that; he had lost people before. It was just part of the job, he knew that. But the kid had been barely ten, and his alcoholic, asshole father had beaten him. Literally to death, as the kid died in the ambulance. It hit too close to home for Ian. In reference to his own past, and his husband’s. So when he couldn’t save him... it broke him. Not for the first couple days. The first couple days were okay... but when he woke up that day, that morning, it was like all the colors had been sucked out of the world. Everything was just... empty.

Pulling the covers down slightly, Ian glanced at the clock on his table: just after one in the afternoon. He groaned, closing his eyes tightly and pulling the covers back up over his head. His daughter’s voice reached his ears from the hallway, just outside his door. “Papa, I think there’s something wrong with Daddy. You know how you said he gets sad sometimes? Because of his disorder? Well -- I think he’s sad. He hasn’t really gotten out of bed all day. He made me breakfast and came out once to check on me -- but besides that he just keeps laying there. He says he’s okay, and told me not to worry -- but I’m worried. Can you come home? I’m not sure what to do.” Ian let out a small sigh; he knew they shouldn’t have given her a cell phone. Fucking hell. The call apparently ended soon after, and Lucy walked into the room, climbing up on the bed and laying in front of Ian, wrapping an arm around his blanket-covered self. She cuddled up to him, her voice sad. “I love you, Daddy.” Tears prickled at Ian’s eyes; he felt like the worst father ever. But it hurt to move, hurt to think, hurt to breathe. “I love you too, Luce,” came his barely-there, cracked reply. “So much.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

     should  have  known  something  was  wrong  when  he  left  home  and  ian  hadn’t  gotten  up  yet ,  knowing  his  husband  to  be  an  early  riser ,  especially  on  lucy’s  days  off  school .  still ,  the  call  during  his  lunch  break  is  surprising .  should  have  seen  it  coming  too ,  knowing  ian  and  the  things  that  have  been  happening ,   but  it’s  been  so  long  since  the  last  time ,   it  made  them  too  comfortable.  all  it  takes  is  pulling  in  some  favors  to  get  someone  to  cover  his  shift ,   not  really  explaining  why  he  needs  to  leave  other  than  saying  it’s  a  personal  emergency .

     ROUGHLY  AN  HOUR  OR  LESS  after  getting  off  the  phone  with  lucy ,  sweaty  fingers  unlock  the  front  door ,  slipping  into  the  far  too  silent  house  with  a  heavy  heart .  shouldn’t  have  left  in  the  morning ,   blames  himself  for  not  noticing ,  not  waiting.  doesn’t  want  lucy  to  be  worried ,  or  ian  to  feel  bad  for  letting  her  see  him  like  that .  should  have  been  the  middle  man  from  the  start .

    TOES  HIS  SHOES  OFF  BY  THE  DOOR,   making  his  way  to  the  bedroom  without  a  sound ,  but  knuckles  rasp  against  the  open  door  to  announce  his  arrival ,  careful  to  not  startle  anyone .  sees  a  mess  of  red  hair  and  white  sheets ,  ian  unmoving  and  lucy  peeking  over  her  shoulder  at  the  sound .  half  smile  crosses  red  lips,  worried  eyes  lingering  on  his  husband  as  he  steps  towards  the  bed ,  then  brightens  slightly  when  glancing  at  the  ginger  girl .        ❛   hey ,  baby  girl .  ‘sup ,  you  good ?  bet  you  enjoyin’  not  goin’  to  class ,  huh ?   ❜        teases  as  he  would  in  a  normal  day ,  running  his  fingers  through  her  hair  before  leaning  to  press  a  kiss  among  unruly  locks .   they  can  pretend  this  isn’t  a  big  deal ,  they’ll  get  through  it.  eyes  turn  more  careful  when  they  meet  ian’s  covered  form  again ,  however .

       ❛   HEY,  YOU...   ❜         greets  softly ,  pressing  a  kiss  to  his  head ,  hand  squeezing  shoulder  through  fabric ,  unsure  who  it’s  supposed  to  reassure ,  if  ian  or  himself.   it  feels  a  little  like  going  back  in  time ,  feeling  unsure  of  the  right  approach  even  after  being  through  this  dance  many  times  before .  sits  at  the  edge  of  the  bed ,  aware  his  clothes  aren’t  the  cleanest  but  with  more  pressing  worries  in  mind .         ❛   you  awake ?   ❜ 

IAN GALLAGHER

Part of Ian didn’t want Mickey there, didn’t want to worry him or make him deal with his episode again, like he had done so many times in the past. But being married over twelve years -- it couldn’t be helped, Ian supposed. Things were bound to happen. Both depressive and manic episodes were going to pop up -- there was no stopping it. But that didn’t keep Ian from feeling like a complete burden when they did. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way, knew that Mickey didn’t mind taking care of him -- had said as much over the years; thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit -- but Ian felt like he shouldn’t have to.

But another part of Ian just wanted Mickey to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until he maybe felt a little bit better. His episodes weren’t as hard to deal with as they used to be -- even though it was hard, he was able to force himself to be at least a little responsive. And unless it was a particularly bad episode, he didn’t push people away anymore. He let them try to help. It usually didn’t do much, but at least he wasn’t yelling at them to go away or fuck off.

At Mickey’s question, Ian let out a small hum of affirmation. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before lowering the covers just a bit, his eyes defeated as he looked at Mickey. “’M sorry, Mick. I tried,” he said softly, even talking taking an extreme amount of energy that he didn’t have. “He did!” Lucy piped up, sitting up on the bed, a smile on her face -- Ian was sure it was faked for his benefit. “He made me pancakes this morning. They were...” A small pause. “Well, he put water in my cup, so I’m pretty sure he put orange juice in the pancake batter. But they were still good!” Ian furrowed his brow, turning his head to look at his daughter. “What? No they weren’t. Liar.” It wasn’t malicious, could almost be teasing if he was feeling better. “Orange juice pancakes? Luce, why didn’t you say something? I would’ve made others.” Lucy smiled, shrugging. “You did your best. I know you’re not feeling well.” She leaned down and kissed Ian’s cheek, before hopping down from the bed, leaving the room. She was a smart kid, probably knew her dads needed some time alone.

Ian shook his head in disbelief at their daughter; both at the fact that she ate orange juice pancakes, and at how amazing she had turned out. Ian felt his heart constrict, his throat suddenly tightening, tears prickling at his eyes. He had such an amazing daughter and here he was, worrying her and being an awful parent. He moved forward, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s middle and burying his face against his stomach, trying to force the bad thoughts down, the emotions away. “I tried, Mick.”

Ian remembered when he was first diagnosed -- at seventeen and in a depressive episode, he refused to get out of bed for anything. Refused to talk to anyone. Just laid there endlessly, without human contact. Even when he let Mickey sleep next to him back then, Ian was emotionally distant. Now, in his thirties, he had gotten out of bed twice for his daughter, and he was allowing both his daughter and husband to be near. It was -- progress, maybe, however slow. 

MICKEY MILKOVICH

   watches  the  exchange  in  silence,   gaze  heavy  with  worry  though  he  tries  to  diffuse  it  as  much  as  he  can .  lips  threaten  to  twist  at  the  mention  of  orange  juice  pancakes  but  bites  it  back  just  in  time ,  glancing  towards  their  child  with  a  mix  of  feelings .  half  wants  to  laugh,  half  wants  to  apologize,   he  should  have  stayed  and  made  her  breakfast ,  should  have  made  sure  everything  was  alright  before  he  left ,  but  mornings  are  hard ,  never  thinking  straight  before  10am .  when  you  have  a  routine ,  it’s  easy  to  get  lost  in  muscle  memory ;   never  had  one  growing  up,  but  now  it  seems  to  be  all  he  has .   IT’S SAFE ,  feels  good  most  of  the  time ,  except  when  it  makes  it  so  easy  to  neglect  those  he  cares  the  most .

       ❛   I’LL GO SEE YA  in  a  sec,  okay ?   and  don’t  watch  too  much  tv ,  it’s  gonna  make  you  stupid ,     ❜         warns  as  lucy  leaves ,  raising  voice  slightly  as  she  doesn’t  wait  to  hear  the  end  of  his  sentence ,  but  swears  that  can  almost  hear  her  eyes  rolling  as  she  moves  to  the  living  room  which  gives  him  a  somewhat  proud  grin  before  he  looks  at  ian  again .  

    IT WANES QUICKLY,   catching  the  hurt  in  ian’s  eyes  before  arms  are  tightly  wrapped  around  his  waist  and  he  can  no  longer  see  his  husband’s  face .  runs  his  fingers  through  ginger  hair ,  comforting .        ❛   i  know  you  did ,  i’m  really  fuckin’  proud  of  you,  yeah ?   —lucy  knows  that  too ,  y’know ,   ❜         reminds  him  though  she  just  said  it.  being  together  for  such  a  long  time ,  it’s  unavoidable  to  learn  things  about  one  another ,  both  about  their  past  and  about  what  they  want  for  the  future .  knows  ian’s  hopes,  his  dreams,  his  fears.  KNOWS ABOUT MONICA   /   KNOWS ABOUT FRANK .  knows  ian  wants  to  be  better ,   (    and  he  is ,  mickey  has  said  it  so  many  times  that  he’s  lost  count ;   thinks  it  even  more  often    )   and  knows  that  he’s  stubborn ,  and  that  he  can’t  help  it ,  so  finds  no  quelms  in  reminding  him  of  things  that  he  should  know .

       ❛   YOU’RE  DOIN’  GREAT,  IAN,   ❜         promises ,  and  can’t  stress  it  enough .  when  the  baby  talk  had  first  been  brought  up ,  mickey  feared  for  their  future  child ;   didn’t  want  ian  to  become  monica,  didn’t  want  himself  to  become  terry.  it  pushed  him  to  find  a  real  job ,   forced  him  to  drop  carrying  a  gun  everywhere  he  went ,  and  doing  drugs  as  often  as  he  did .  he’s  doing  better ,   BUT SO IS IAN ,  and  sometimes  fears  the  other  doesn’t  see  it .  so  much  has  changed,  they’re  doing  better  now .  ian  just  can’t  change  his  genetics ,   and  that’s  okay .        ❛   everyone’s  allowed  a  bad  day ,  even  you .   ❜        

IAN GALLAGHER

How did Ian get so lucky? He had an amazing daughter -- a girl so bright and full of life, always putting everyone before herself. Always taking care of her family, even if that meant that she had to step up sometimes and act far older than she was. Even though Ian stressed that she needed to be a kid as long as she could, even though he tried to protect her from everything bad in the world -- she was still a Gallagher, still a Milkovich, still living in the South Side. And days like that day happened, where Ian couldn’t pull himself together enough to be the parent. But he was so proud of her, so proud that he was one of her parents, so proud of the job him and Mickey had done together so far. She was able to keep some innocence to her, innocence that was lost for both Ian and Mickey when they were her age. And Ian felt so incredibly grateful to have her, to love her, to see her smiling face every day.

And in addition to an amazing daughter, Ian had somehow gotten lucky enough to have an amazing husband, too. Mickey Milkovich-Gallagher. Ian couldn’t fathom how that had happened. If someone had told his fifteen year old self that this is where him and Mickey would be in their thirties, married with a daughter, living in mundane, wedded bliss, he would have thought they were crazier than Monica. But he had it. Mickey, who loved him more than anyone in the world -- save for Lucy -- who took care of him, who made Ian smile each and every day (even when he didn’t want to). Somehow Ian had managed a life that few in his family had ever -- stability, pure love, happiness. Monica didn’t have that, Frank didn’t have that, those before them didn’t have that. But Ian did. He still didn’t know how, but he did, and he was so happy with the bliss he had been rewarded.

But sometimes, Ian didn’t feel like he deserved any of it. Days where he was laying in bed, a depressive episode overtaking him, making his mind shoot out negative words and horrible phrases at himself. Telling him how worthless he was, how much of a burden, how much better off everyone would be if he weren’t around. But he wasn’t Monica; he absolutely refused to be Monica. He refused to be so bad off that his family would find him on the kitchen floor, bleeding out, unable to take the pain any longer. Couldn’t do that to Mickey and Lucy; wouldn’t do that. Would rather suffer for the rest of his life than to put them through that kind of pain.

But Mickey was Ian’s light. He had always been Ian’s light. Ever since they had gotten back together so many years before, Mickey had been the only one able to pick Ian up and put the pieces back together again. Ian knew Mickey felt he never knew the right thing to say, but somehow he always said it anyway -- always said things that, eventually, penetrated Ian’s mind and helped him see things a little bit clearer. And even when he wasn’t speaking, he was there, being Ian’s silent rock, his guiding light in the dark shadows of his mind.

Ian took in a shaky breath, willing himself not to cry, not to let himself fall that far down. But when he was with Mickey, he felt safe. Felt like he could break down without fear of judgement, knowing that Mickey would do everything in his power to take the hurt away. Mickey was the one person in the world that Ian felt like he could truly crumble around, could really just let everything out around. And so when his throat tightened with emotion, and he felt the tears start to slowly trickle onto Mickey’s shirt, Ian let them. 

“‘M sorry you had to come home from work,” Ian mumbled into Mickey’s shirt softly, his voice breaking. Ian’s hold around Mickey tightened slightly, as if to say: I’m broken and not worthy of your love, but please don’t leave me. He sniffled, slowly pulling his face away from Mickey’s stomach, looking up at his eyes through his wet eyes, tears still silently cascading down his face, one droplet slowly after the other. “But thank you.” He attempted a smile, though he was sure it was obvious that it was forced by the way the light didn’t reach his eyes. “Do I get a ‘you tried’ sticker now? Or a ‘you got out of bed twice today’ sticker? My seventeen year old self would be shocked.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

      domestic  bliss  surprisingly  suits  them.  maybe  if  he’d  known  that  this  is  where  they  would  end  up  back  then ,   sixteen  year  old  him  wouldn’t  have  given  in ,   wouldn’t  have  given  ian  the  gun ,   valuing  too  much  the  lifestyle  to  threaten  it .   maybe  it’s  better  that  he  didn’t  know ,   because   back  then  the  mere  idea  sounded  off ,  unreasonable .   A MILKOVICH ,  doomed  from  start ,  raised  amongst  the  scum  of  the  earth  and  fed  with  blood  and  violence .  it  is  unreasonable,  yet  here  he  is.  if  he’s  not  a  lucky  motherfucker ,  doesn’t  know  who  is .  age  made  him  milder ,  and  he  doesn’t  mind  it  one  bit .  

      CAN’T HELP BUT THINK THAT IAN AND LUCY HAVE SAVED HIM,   sure  he  wouldn’t  have  made  past  twenty  eight  if  it  wasn’t  for  them .  but  he��s  here,   almost  forty     (    he  still  has  a  month  or  so  to  go ,   not  in  a  rush  though  acts  as  if  it  doesn’t  bother    ) ,  living  as  healthy  as  he  can  possibly  get .   might  not  say ,  but  can’t  see  a  day  that  he  won’t  feel  grateful  for  his  beautiful,   very  ginger  family.  maybe  he’ll  have  to  revisit  that  thought  once  lucy  hits  puberty  full  on  but  he  has  some  time  ‘til  that .

      WRAPS  AN  ARM  AROUND  IAN  WHEN  HIS  GRIP  TIGHTENS,  palm  a  steady  pressure  on  his  back ,  moving  soothingly  up  and  down .  IT KILLS HIM A LITTLE ,  seeing  ian  like  this ,  but  it  won’t  show  in  his  face ,  instead  forcing  a  smile  right  back  at  him  when  their  eyes  meet ,  rough  edges  blatantly  softened.  leans  to  press  a  lingering  kiss  to  his  forehead ,  free  hand  moving  to  cup  pale  face ,  thumb  carefully  wiping  leaking  green  eyes .

       ❛   YOU KIDDIN’ ME?   ‘glad  to  be  home ,  i  fuckin’  love  havin’  an  excuse  t’  leave  early ,   ❜         there’s  amusement  in  his  eyes  though  he’d  much  rather  work  for  a  week  uninterruptedly  than  have  ian  struggling  with  depression ;   he’d  do  whatever  to  keep  him  from  hurting,  he’d  give  his  life  if  it  meant  ian  would  never  again  cry .  but  that  can’t  be  done ,  so  he  pretends .  because  if  he  can  make  his  husband  not  feel  so  guilty  for  things  that  he  can’t  control   (    like  his  disease ,  or  the  fact  that  mickey  won’t  hesitate  to  drop  whatever  if  ian  needs  him    )  ,   then  he  might  as  well  try.        ❛   what ,  think  lucy  has  some ,  or  she  too  old  and  cool  for  stickers  already ?  ‘cause  i  can  go  an’  grab  ‘em .   ❜         pokes  fun ,  smile  still  set  in  place  and  not  nearly  as  forced  the  more  he  talks .

      DOESN’T  THINK  THAT  HE’LL  EVER  BE  GOOD  AT  THIS.   the  pep  talk ,  the  fake  cheerfulness ,  the  comforting  gestures .   tries  his  best,  and  will  every  time ,  but  feels  wrong .  expects  ian  to  shut  him  out ,  tell  him  to  stop ,  call  him  out  on  his  bullshit ,  and  leave .  it  gets  better  the  more  time  passes ,  but  always  expects  ian  to  leave,  is  sure  that  sooner  or  later  he  will .  trying  so  hard  leaves  a  bitter  taste  on  his  tongue ,  and  doesn’t  think  that  it  will  ever  change .   HAVE YOU EATEN TODAY?  TAKEN YOUR PILLS?   wants  to  ask ,  but  won’t .  gets  stuck  on  his  throat ,   so  goes  for  second  best .        ❛   ——  you  wanna  talk ?   ‘bout ,  y’know,  this ;   what’s  on  your  mind  or… ?   ❜

IAN GALLAGHER

Ian didn’t know how Mickey did it, honestly. In the beginning, after Ian was first diagnosed, it was an impossible feat. He barely smiled when he was recovering from a depressive episode, much less let out any kind of laugh. But over the years, Mickey had always seemed to lift his spirits from the dark depths that they resided in while in the midst of an episode, when the whole world seemed void of happiness and cheer. Ian hadn’t a clue how it was possible, but when Mickey poked fun about the stickers, Ian let out a small chuckle, his faked smile fading, leaving room for his lips to quirk upwards in genuine amusement. And, for a moment, things didn’t feel so dark, his heart didn’t feel so heavy.

“I’m sure she still has stickers stashed away somewhere, but I highly doubt that they have anything to do with mental illness or bipolar disorder,” Ian said softly, soft smile still upon his lips at the thought. “Though I’m sure if you asked, she’d gladly ruin some old ones and scribble some nonsense on them.” Lucy had always been somewhat of Ian’s cheerleader, in a sense. Mickey was almost always around during an episode, but that never stopped Lucy from trying to cheer her daddy up. Whether it be drawing him something, or attempting to make him something to eat, or singing to him -- she always made a point to do something. Ian didn’t doubt for a second that she’d write something about getting out of bed on a sticker just for him.

When Mickey asked if Ian wanted to talk about it, the small smile slowly dropped, and he swallowed hard. “Dunno,” he said softly, brow furrowing slightly as his eyes glanced away from Mickey, suddenly feeling vulnerable and naked. “Doc says it’s good, right? Prolly should. Healthy or therapeutic or some shit.” He glanced over to the door, not wanting his daughter to overhear him once he started. Didn’t want her to worry more. She was too young, too innocent. “Can you close the door? Lucy shouldn’t --” The words caught in his throat, and he felt his chest tighten. His voice dropped to a lower volume, hurting to admit to it, his voice breaking softly. “They’re not good things, Mick. Don’t want her to -- overhear. Not healthy for a twelve year old.”

Once the door was closed and Mickey was settled back onto the bed, Ian slowly sat himself up, the action taking more energy than he thought he even had. He swore that having a daughter, someone to look after, had given him more strength during episodes -- he was able to do things that he hadn’t before, like get out of bed and make breakfast. Lucy and Mickey -- they made the impossible possible.

Ian settled against the headboard, still refusing to look at his husband. “I feel kind of -- worthless. Like a piece of shit. It’s kind of funny, because the last couple days were -- okay, you know? I was sad about what happened, but -- I wasn’t this bad off. But I guess it took a couple days to really trigger this all because today I woke up feeling like a complete failure.” Tears were in his eyes once more, and he took in a shaky breath, looking down at his hands. “Like one of the things I’m actually supposed to be good at -- helping people, saving them -- I couldn’t do it. When it really fucking mattered, I failed at my job.”

Swallowing hard, Ian sniffled. “That kid was -- no older than ten. And when I looked at him, I saw us, you know?” He finally looked at his husband, shrugging lightly, eyes defeated. “Alcoholic father. Thought of all the times Frank gave me a bloody nose, or took a swing at me -- and then just thought of you, and Terry, and -- and how no one deserves that. And I wanted to help him, save him, so maybe he could live and know a better life. Because we did, you know? You did. But he’ll never see that now. The light in the world. All he ever knew was fear and pain and --” Ian suddenly broke off, closed his eyes tightly, tears finally falling. “I know I can’t save everyone. I accepted that a long time ago. But he was you. I should have -- I couldn’t -- He was a fucking kid and he’ll never know that life can be good and bright and happy. I got that. You got that. But he -- he won’t. And I can’t help but feel like that’s my fault because I was the one in the back with him and I was the one helping him and I’m the one who saw the light leave his eyes and heard the machine flatline and couldn’t -- couldn’t bring him back.”

Ian sniffled again, finally opening his eyes again, but once again not looking at Mickey. “And that all just -- hit me when I woke up today. And the demons in my head are having no problems telling me how much of a fuck up I am. How worthless. How much of a burden. Because Sue has dealt with this shit so much longer and she doesn’t just -- lay down and give up. And I am. But I can’t -- I can’t fucking help it, you know? But I should be able to. But I can’t because I’m fucking broken and you and Lucy don’t deserve to have to deal with this shit. Deserve so much better than me and my issues.” Ian’s eyes finally found his husband’s, shaking his head, his voice soft. “I just kind of hate myself today, Mick. And rationally I know that you guys love me and I’m thinking stupid but -- I don’t know how to shut the demons up. Don’t know how to not listen.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

 wishes  that  could  take  ian’s  pain  away,  that  hands  could  stroke  and  soothe  dark  edges  that  cling  so  tightly  to  lover’s  mind.  but  can’t,  knows  that  for  he  has  tried  before.  resignation  sunk  deeper  with  each  episode  that  he  sat  through,  but  it  doesn’t  turn  easy  to  watch  as  light  drains  away  from  the  usually  bright  man.  a  boy  in  man’s  body,  as  they  both  are,  forced  to  grow  too  fast  and  taught  too  little,  learning  life’s  lessons  by  facing  days  with  unwavering  resolve  and  wary  eyes.  it’s  a  wonder  that  they  got  this  far  considering  the  cards  dealt  to  them.  it’s  a  wonder  that  they  are  happy,  even  if  there  are  hiccups  among  the  way.

 touch  is  gentle,  light  when  fingers  follow  sly  tears  that  gleam  over  freckles,  wiping  them  away  with  tenderness  that  doesn’t  belong  on  inked  hands.  but  still,  it  comes  with  such  familiarity  that  some  would  doubt  the  hurt  they  have  brought  in  the  past.  not  anymore,  reformed  delinquent ;   still  south  side  for  the  lack  of  choice.  you  can’t  forget  who  you  are,   no  matter  how  hard  you  try.  and  he  tries.

 ❛   don’t  know  what  to  tell  you,   ❜         admits  in  no  more  than  a  whisper,  eyes  hooded  with  shame.  he  should  be  better  at  this.  body  moves  of  own  accord,  sliding  over  sheets  to  sit  closer  to  his  husband.  grips  warm  hand,  an  attempt  to  prove  that  despite  inarticulate  nature,  he  is  still  there.

 ❛   ——   he  wasn’t  us,  y’know?   ❜         feels  like  an  important  reminder.  pulls  bottom  lip  between  teeth,  considering  next  words.        ❛   maybe  he  had  a  mom,  or  an  aunt,  or  a  brother,  sister,  someone.  you  don’t  know  that,  right?  ‘don’t  know  what  his  life  was  like.  he  wasn’t  us.   ❜         and  it  feels  hopeful  to  say  that,  a  trait  mickey  doesn’t  tend  to  show.   it  tastes  bitter.        ❛   his  dad  may  be  frank,   or  fuckin’  terry,   but  maybe  the  kid  knew  love.  you  don’t  know  he  didn’t  know  happiness  for  sure,  you’re  just  filling  th’  blanks.   ❜ 

 the  taste  turns  unbearable,  own  lack  of  compassion  ringing  in  his  ears.  it’s  not  he  doesn’t  feel  it,  but  chooses  to  push  it  and  shove  it  back  where  it  came  from.  it’s  no  good  with  the  way  misplaced  responsability  already  weights  at  his  husband’s  shoulders.            ❛   c’mere…   ❜         sighs,  raising  himself  off  the  bed  only  so  he  can  sit  beside  his  lover.  wraps  an  arm  around  unmoving  figure,  pulling  him  closer.        ❛   i  love  you.   and  lucy  loves  you  too,   ❜         reminds  him.        ❛   ———it’s  okay  t'  feel  sad,  y’know?  he  was  just  a  kid.   ❜ 

 ❛   but  it’s  not  your  fault,  ian.  you  save  so  many  people.  you  save  people  every  fuckin’  day,  that’s  so  much  more  than  most  people  do,  and  you  did  all  you  could  for  him,    ❜         lips  find  red  hair,  a  kiss  dropped  on  orange  strands.  doesn’t  pull  away,  and  maybe  this  way  ian  can’t  see  the  pain  reflecting  in  blue,  or  the  way  mouth  twists  sadly.  a  smile.  hates  himself  for  what  comes  next,  but  it’s  not  wrong.  needs  ian  to  focus  on  the  good  things,  to  open  those  eyes  to  how  special  he  really  is.          ❛   y’  saved  me.  nobody  else  ever  fuckin’  tried  but  you  did.  and  i’ll  never  not  be  thankful  for  it,  y’know?   ❜         sniffs,  eyes  slipping  shut  as  the  truth  of  his  words  sink  in.  can’t  remember  if  he  ever  told  ian  that.  seems  like  a  good  time.        ❛   ‘don’t  think  i’d  be  here  if  it  wasn’t  for  you.   ❜ 

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Another Way (pt 6)

Ian wakes at five am and sits up. He listens intently but can’t hear anyone else moving around. He moves into the kitchen and finds a tub of coffee, adding a generous scoop to the peculator and flicking the switch on. It makes a groaning noise and Ian winces. He doesn’t want to wake anyone up, especially not Mickey.

Once the cheap, dark coffee is brewed, Ian pours a cup and leans back against the counter. He can’t stay here and he can’t go home. He has no money, no job, no purpose. He’s never been worth much, a Gallagher from South Side is worth about as much as anyone else from South Side, but the army was supposed to be his way out, his way to make himself and his life count for something.

Now it’s fucked.

Ian wonders what it is that he actually has to offer and the answer is very little. He knows Mickey cares for him, but what use is that to either of them? Mickey is married with a kid on the way and what he does for money … Ian realises he has no idea what Mickey does for money. He didn’t even think to ask about Mickey at all. Once he knew he was still married, Ian had pretty much shut his mind off from wanting to ask anything else and of course Mickey wouldn��t volunteer the information! The guy never thinks to talk about himself, barely seems to register that he is an actual person with thoughts and feelings ... fuck! Ian hangs his head and breathes deeply. No, he definitely can’t stay here.

He’s heard about under-age guys getting work in Boys Town and if nothing else the army has given him a decent body… He drains his coffee cup and makes a decision. Maybe it’s the caffeine but now that Ian is more awake, he feels consumed with energy.

His mind is racing with possibility and he imagines owning his own club, he could call it ‘Firecrotch’ Mickey would like that! Maybe he could visit! Ian’s thoughts swing around the maypole of that idea for a couple of minutes as he tugs his boots on and he realises he is grinning a full, heady smile that makes him feel amazing.

He considers waking Mickey up to tell him the good news, that Ian has managed to find a new path in life less than twenty-four hours of losing his old one, and if that isn’t luck, Ian doesn’t know what is.

He pours a cup of coffee and eases Mickey’s bedroom door open. Svetlana is breathing deeply, buried under quilts, her back to her husband who is facing the door, lips sweetly parted in sleep, his hand curled up by his chin like a little kid.

Ian’s heart squeezes tight and he can’t bring himself to wake him. Instead he puts the coffee down beside the bed and kisses one delicately structured cheekbone.

“Thank you for saving me.”

He whispers and creeps back out of the room. It is a brand new day and Ian feels incredible … invincible. He leaves the Milkovich house and heads down town, it’s a long way but Ian doesn’t care. He can run it and he does, laughing at the sheer perfection of the morning and all within it. He waves to crack heads in alleys and calls out to shopkeepers setting up for the day. He gets to Boys Town just before six am and approaches three men smoking outside one of the brightly painted doors.

They look him up and down as he explains that he is looking for work and then one of them, a blond guy with a natty little beard, tells him to come to the White Swallow at 7pm and ask for Roger. Ian shakes all their hands and promises to be there.

He doesn’t have anything else to do for the morning so he just wanders around Chicago, smiling.

*

Mickey does not wander round Chicago smiling. In fact Mickey does quite the fucking opposite. He rages. Internally and externally. He woke up that morning to a half-remembered sensation of being kissed on the cheek and had a smile on his face for all of three seconds before he swung his legs out of bed and kicked over a mug of luke-warm coffee.

About a minute after that, he realised that Ian was gone and his day went rapidly downhill from there.

By lunch time he had worked himself up into such a fury that he is glad Gallagher is gone because if Mickey had found him, he’d have likely killed him. Even Svetlana stays out of his way when she senses his mood and wisely keeps her happiness at Ian’s disappearance to herself.

“He say anything to you? Anything at all?”

He demands of Mandy for the third time and it is only the frantically hopeless look on her brother’s face that stops her going into her own temper tantrum at the constant badgering.

“No. Okay? He didn’t say anything to me at all. Quit asking me.”

“Well somebody has gotta know where the fuck he went! Why the fuck does no one know?”

Mickey yells, turning away from Mandy to kick a kitchen chair across the room.

“Oh, great! Nice one, Mickey!”

Mandy snaps at him as two of the legs fly in separate directions and the battered thing topples over. She stomps past him to see if it can be fixed and mutters

“Try looking outside of the house maybe.”

“Do you have something to fuckin’ say to me?”

Mickey whirls to face her, chest puffed out and arms held wide. Mandy knows he isn’t going to hit her but the posturing finally makes her lose her own temper

“Yeah. Get out of this shitty house and look for your fuckin’ boyfriend...”

“Hey! I don’t know what the fuck you’re ...”

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole. Ian left the first time because of you and I don’t know why he left this time but you’re not gonna know either unless you get out there and look!”

“I went and got him once already! This is not my problem...”

“Ugh. Nothing is ever your problem. Make Ian your problem or stop throwing a fuckin’ hissy fit over it.”

Mandy points a finger in her brother’s face

“And stop trashing the house. You’re not the only person who lives here.”

Mickey purses his lips and glares after her retreating back. He considers smashing another chair but as that is unlikely to move his day along he decides against it.

It’s not that he minds Ian going his own way, it is the lack of any sort of good bye and a niggling sensation that Mickey had all day yesterday that Gallagher wasn’t right. Obviously he was stressed as shit by the pricks at basic training but it was more than that it was … fuck. Mickey can’t say exactly what it was but it was enough that it is really concerning him now.

He paces back and forth like a caged bear in a zoo for a couple of minutes and then grabs his smokes and his keys and heads over to the Gallaghers.

*

Fiona opens the door and internally cringes.

“Hi Mickey.”

“Is Ian here?”

Fiona ignores the rude lack of preamble and folds her arms. She isn’t Mickey Milkovich’s biggest fan but he looks tired and upset and he’s wearing a smart black button down that actually looks pretty clean. She hasn’t seen him for a while but the kid looks like he’s trying to get his shit together.

“No, he hasn’t been home for weeks.”

“I brought him back from the army yesterday. I thought he’d be here.”

“You …? The army?”

Fiona grabs Mickey’s arm and tugs him roughly inside.

“Explain.”

“What?”

Mickey looks pointedly at her hand but Fiona doesn’t let go.

“How did you find him?”

Mickey shakes her off and gives her a disapproving frown, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt before deigning to answer and Fiona has to suppress a small smile. Mickey might be the same age as Lip, but he carries himself differently and she can sort of see why Ian, who seems to prefer older men, likes Mickey’s way of being.

“He called me. Said he was in trouble so I went and got him. From Fort Knox.”

“As in Kentucky?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey looks almost embarrassed to admit this but Fiona gives him a surprised nod of respect.

“Okay. Thank you for doing that. What was the trouble?”

“That’s for Ian to tell you if he wants to but listen he don’t seem right. I know we all got things that make us a bit … but he just seems like … I dunno.”

Fiona sighs a little impatiently but gives Mickey a small smile. He’s clearly trying and for someone like him, Fiona is willing to believe that this sort of thing does not come easy. She moves through into the kitchen and holds up the coffee jug in offer. Mickey shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Can you describe it? Was it like he was high?”

“Yeah, no, it was more like he was zigzagging all over the place. One minute being a dick and the next being … well, more like Ian.”

Mickey rolls his shoulders and scuffs one capped boot across the threadbare carpet. He hates this. It feels like ratting Ian out but it also feels really damn important that someone in Ian’s family know what’s going on. In all honesty it kind of surprised Mickey that Ian hasn’t been home and seemingly hasn’t called. The Gallagher’s always seemed like the damn South Side Ghetto Waltons. ‘Good night John-boy’, ‘Good night alcoholic waster dad’ … all that shit.

“Did he look okay? Eating? Sleeping?”

“Yeah, I mean he got in a fight before I picked him up but we cleaned it up, I fed him and he slept a bit on the drive.”

Mickey rolls his bottom lip between his front teeth and looks up at Fiona with eyes that are dark with worry and for the first time she feels an inkling of liking for the rough kid from down the block. The one she would never let Lip hang out with. The one who used to smell as bad as he looked in his worn out clothes and shit-slinging sneer. A little thug at ten years old and no better at seventeen. Eighteen though? Maybe.

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking.”

“Thanks. If I give you my cell number you think you could text me? Just let me know he’s home?”

“Sure. Write it down.”

Fiona shoves an old envelope and a slightly chewed pen across the counter and Mickey only gives the chewed end a cursory, revolted glance before picking it up and scribbling his digits down.

“Do you know where he might have gone?”

“Sorry Mickey. I really don’t.”

Fiona pushes her hair back from her face in a sweeping gesture that is at once protective and dismissive and Mickey nods briefly.

“Alright. Well. See ya then.”

He pauses on the sidewalk to light a cigarette and puff a few clouds of fragrant grey smoke into the air around him. He needs to check in on the girls at the Alibi, he can’t just leave that crap up to Kev. The guy is a seven foot of simple minded pussy and Mickey doesn’t trust him not to end up getting ripped off if left alone for too long.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Another Way pt 6

Ian wakes at five am and sits up. He listens intently but can’t hear anyone else moving around. He moves into the kitchen and finds a tub of coffee, adding a generous scoop to the peculator and flicking the switch on. It makes a groaning noise and Ian winces. He doesn’t want to wake anyone up, especially not Mickey.

Once the cheap, dark coffee is brewed, Ian pours a cup and leans back against the counter. He can’t stay here and he can’t go home. He has no money, no job, no purpose. He’s never been worth much, a Gallagher from South Side is worth about as much as anyone else from South Side, but the army was supposed to be his way out, his way to make himself and his life count for something.

Now it’s fucked.

Ian wonders what it is that he actually has to offer and the answer is very little. He knows Mickey cares for him, but what use is that to either of them? Mickey is married with a kid on the way and what he does for money … Ian realises he has no idea what Mickey does for money. He didn’t even think to ask about Mickey at all. Once he knew he was still married, Ian had pretty much shut his mind off from wanting to ask anything else and of course Mickey wouldn’t volunteer the information! The guy never thinks to talk about himself, barely seems to register that he is an actual person with thoughts and feelings ... fuck! Ian hangs his head and breathes deeply. No, he definitely can’t stay here.

He’s heard about under-age guys getting work in Boys Town and if nothing else the army has given him a decent body… He drains his coffee cup and makes a decision. Maybe it’s the caffeine but now that Ian is more awake, he feels consumed with energy.

His mind is racing with possibility and he imagines owning his own club, he could call it ‘Firecrotch’ Mickey would like that! Maybe he could visit! Ian’s thoughts swing around the maypole of that idea for a couple of minutes as he tugs his boots on and he realises he is grinning a full, heady smile that makes him feel amazing.

He considers waking Mickey up to tell him the good news, that Ian has managed to find a new path in life less than twenty-four hours of losing his old one, and if that isn’t luck, Ian doesn’t know what is.

He pours a cup of coffee and eases Mickey’s bedroom door open. Svetlana is breathing deeply, buried under quilts, her back to her husband who is facing the door, lips sweetly parted in sleep, his hand curled up by his chin like a little kid.

Ian’s heart squeezes tight and he can’t bring himself to wake him. Instead he puts the coffee down beside the bed and kisses one delicately structured cheekbone.

“Thank you for saving me.”

He whispers and creeps back out of the room. It is a brand new day and Ian feels incredible … invincible. He leaves the Milkovich house and heads down town, it’s a long way but Ian doesn’t care. He can run it and he does, laughing at the sheer perfection of the morning and all within it. He waves to crack heads in alleys and calls out to shopkeepers setting up for the day. He gets to Boys Town just before six am and approaches three men smoking outside one of the brightly painted doors.

They look him up and down as he explains that he is looking for work and then one of them, a blond guy with a natty little beard, tells him to come to the White Swallow at 7pm and ask for Roger. Ian shakes all their hands and promises to be there.

He doesn’t have anything else to do for the morning so he just wanders around Chicago, smiling.

*

Mickey does not wander round Chicago smiling. In fact Mickey does quite the fucking opposite. He rages. Internally and externally. He woke up that morning to a half-remembered sensation of being kissed on the cheek and had a smile on his face for all of three seconds before he swung his legs out of bed and kicked over a mug of luke-warm coffee.

About a minute after that, he realised that Ian was gone and his day went rapidly downhill from there.

By lunch time he had worked himself up into such a fury that he is glad Gallagher is gone because if Mickey had found him, he’d have likely killed him. Even Svetlana stays out of his way when she senses his mood and wisely keeps her happiness at Ian’s disappearance to herself.

“He say anything to you? Anything at all?”

He demands of Mandy for the third time and it is only the frantically hopeless look on her brother’s face that stops her going into her own temper tantrum at the constant badgering.

“No. Okay? He didn’t say anything to me at all. Quit asking me.”

“Well somebody has gotta know where the fuck he went! Why the fuck does no one know?”

Mickey yells, turning away from Mandy to kick a kitchen chair across the room.

“Oh, great! Nice one, Mickey!”

Mandy snaps at him as two of the legs fly in separate directions and the battered thing topples over. She stomps past him to see if it can be fixed and mutters

“Try looking outside of the house maybe.”

“Do you have something to fuckin’ say to me?”

Mickey whirls to face her, chest puffed out and arms held wide. Mandy knows he isn’t going to hit her but the posturing finally makes her lose her own temper

“Yeah. Get out of this shitty house and look for your fuckin’ boyfriend...”

“Hey! I don’t know what the fuck you’re ...”

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole. Ian left the first time because of you and I don’t know why he left this time but you’re not gonna know either unless you get out there and look!”

“I went and got him once already! This is not my problem...”

“Ugh. Nothing is ever your problem. Make Ian your problem or stop throwing a fuckin’ hissy fit over it.”

Mandy points a finger in her brother’s face

“And stop trashing the house. You’re not the only person who lives here.”

Mickey purses his lips and glares after her retreating back. He considers smashing another chair but as that is unlikely to move his day along he decides against it.

It’s not that he minds Ian going his own way, it is the lack of any sort of good bye and a niggling sensation that Mickey had all day yesterday that Gallagher wasn’t right. Obviously he was stressed as shit by the pricks at basic training but it was more than that it was … fuck. Mickey can’t say exactly what it was but it was enough that it is really concerning him now.

He paces back and forth like a caged bear in a zoo for a couple of minutes and then grabs his smokes and his keys and heads over to the Gallaghers.

*

Fiona opens the door and internally cringes.

“Hi Mickey.”

“Is Ian here?”

Fiona ignores the rude lack of preamble and folds her arms. She isn’t Mickey Milkovich’s biggest fan but he looks tired and upset and he’s wearing a smart black button down that actually looks pretty clean. She hasn’t seen him for a while but the kid looks like he’s trying to get his shit together.

“No, he hasn’t been home for weeks.”

“I brought him back from the army yesterday. I thought he’d be here.”

“You …? The army?”

Fiona grabs Mickey’s arm and tugs him roughly inside.

“Explain.”

“What?”

Mickey looks pointedly at her hand but Fiona doesn’t let go.

“How did you find him?”

Mickey shakes her off and gives her a disapproving frown, smoothing the sleeve of his shirt before deigning to answer and Fiona has to suppress a small smile. Mickey might be the same age as Lip, but he carries himself differently and she can sort of see why Ian, who seems to prefer older men, likes Mickey’s way of being.

“He called me. Said he was in trouble so I went and got him. From Fort Knox.”

“As in Kentucky?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey looks almost embarrassed to admit this but Fiona gives him a surprised nod of respect.

“Okay. Thank you for doing that. What was the trouble?”

“That’s for Ian to tell you if he wants to but listen he don’t seem right. I know we all got things that make us a bit … but he just seems like … I dunno.”

Fiona sighs a little impatiently but gives Mickey a small smile. He’s clearly trying and for someone like him, Fiona is willing to believe that this sort of thing does not come easy. She moves through into the kitchen and holds up the coffee jug in offer. Mickey shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Can you describe it? Was it like he was high?”

“Yeah, no, it was more like he was zigzagging all over the place. One minute being a dick and the next being … well, more like Ian.”

Mickey rolls his shoulders and scuffs one capped boot across the threadbare carpet. He hates this. It feels like ratting Ian out but it also feels really damn important that someone in Ian’s family know what’s going on. In all honesty it kind of surprised Mickey that Ian hasn’t been home and seemingly hasn’t called. The Gallagher’s always seemed like the damn South Side Ghetto Waltons. ‘Good night John-boy’, ‘Good night alcoholic waster dad’ … all that shit.

“Did he look okay? Eating? Sleeping?”

“Yeah, I mean he got in a fight before I picked him up but we cleaned it up, I fed him and he slept a bit on the drive.”

Mickey rolls his bottom lip between his front teeth and looks up at Fiona with eyes that are dark with worry and for the first time she feels an inkling of liking for the rough kid from down the block. The one she would never let Lip hang out with. The one who used to smell as bad as he looked in his worn out clothes and shit-slinging sneer. A little thug at ten years old and no better at seventeen. Eighteen though? Maybe.

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking.”

“Thanks. If I give you my cell number you think you could text me? Just let me know he’s home?”

“Sure. Write it down.”

Fiona shoves an old envelope and a slightly chewed pen across the counter and Mickey only gives the chewed end a cursory, revolted glance before picking it up and scribbling his digits down.

“Do you know where he might have gone?”

“Sorry Mickey. I really don’t.”

Fiona pushes her hair back from her face in a sweeping gesture that is at once protective and dismissive and Mickey nods briefly.

“Alright. Well. See ya then.”

He pauses on the sidewalk to light a cigarette and puff a few clouds of fragrant grey smoke into the air around him. He needs to check in on the girls at the Alibi, he can’t just leave that crap up to Kev. The guy is a seven foot of simple minded pussy and Mickey doesn’t trust him not to end up getting ripped off if left alone for too long.