#maybe one day ill find a way to work mick in....

[skitskatdacat63]

Misc lore drop day 2/?

I think I’ve talked about this a bit before but, the most important characterization in Boy King AU is that they are all up against an insurmountable status quo, so, how do they react to that?

Seb:

The status quo is literally there to serve him, he is the master of it. 

Though he eventually has to do some soul searching later on about what it really means to be emperor, and how that affects his relationships with other people.

He's just really not aware of it all tbh because it all comes to him naturally. Like of course I am emperor and all these others must pledge their loyalty and fealty to me, this makes sense! How could it be any other way!

But yeah, he's at the top of the metaphorical food chain so it's never going to naturally occur to him that there is a clear hierarchy. He knows he's on top obviously but he doesn't really think about what that means, he just takes it for what it is. Though this of course opens him up to still always wanting more, because isn't that his birthright? That he must be the emperor of the world?

Fernando is the one to shake his worldview. No one else is gonna say to his face, oh yeah you're not in that position cause you actually deserve it. Everyone else is of course going to assure him that he deserves it because of just more than simply blood and inheritance. I don’t know if I’d play into it too much in this AU, but irl of course, the HRE is literally dictated by divine right. So it’s really no surprise Seb and most others are of course never going to question it, there’s literally no reason to and doing so would be going against the divine will.

So I think it’s a really good sign of character growth that he is willing to step outside of that, even though it literally means he is undermining himself, even if it’s only him that knows that. He’ll always come to the conclusion that he deserves it, and there’s nothing that can convince him otherwise, but he does become more aware of what it means to be in that role. 

Also important thing to note. The status quo is of course that everyone is loyal to him and loves him and he’s the most important, etc etc. And that’s the first thing Fernando shakes up. This both cause problems between them but also makes him more enticing to Seb. Because it would be the first time in his life that he actually has to win someone over. It’s interesting though because even before Fernando comes into his life, he does realize this subtly. He prefers to hang out with Jense over others, and he doesn’t really get why, he just feels like he has nothing to prove and no image to live up to when he’s around Jense. He’s not afraid to be himself around others of course, that’s teh trait that separates him and Fernando, but he still feels sometimes like people are around him because they have to be, not because they want to. Fernando makes him have to think more about that.

Fernando:

He wishes he could rail against the status quo, or more accurately, wishes he could bend it to his will, like Seb does. Or more accurately, like he thinks Seb is able to. He doesn’t really realize they’re both stuck in roles, Seb’s just happens to be above his with better circumstances. But again, circumstances that are outside of his control.

He largely benefits from it, but what he has will never be enough for him. He can't accept it, though some deeper part of himself does and is glad for where he’s at.

His younger self was like Seb, he thought the world was at his feet. And then. It wasn't. 

He's honestly so hypocritical because obviously his whole throne depends on birthright but he of course has this idea in his head that he won it, he deserved it. And yet criticizes Seb to his face for displaying the same behavior. He’ll straight up tell him, “well you know you’re only emperor because you were born into it” as if he himself wasn’t on the path to king, with a few more bumps, in the same way. I guess it’s up to the audience to decide if he really does deserve it more than Seb does. 

His problems with the status quo are very complicated. When he was young he was very petulant, like oh yeah of course i'll be king. But in reality, he really didn't know if he would or not. Yes, he was likely(because the King didn’t have an heir so he’s the most likely pick), but he still deep down knew that could change at any moment. But then it became a reality, but only when Seb’s family challenged for the throne. Because that gave his claim and inheritance legitimacy, because people were suddenly willing to fight him for it. So, again, he benefits, but it’s always going to be linked, to him, to Seb trying to take it away from him. He has legitimacy in his own right, but the way it was realized, in at least eyes, makes him feel bitter about it. Basically, he was always going to be king, even though he doesn’t know it, but the circumstances around it made him feel like he had to fight for it. 

The status quo explained to him was that he would have to marry Seb in order to secure his throne safely. In all honesty, they could have fought a war and not have to have those concessions. But the marriage just seemed safer, easier, and inevitable to everyone involved. But let’s just hope no one tells Fernando there were other options. It’s very scary when the biggest empire is fighting your claim, at that point you’re willing to do whatever you can to keep it. 

Mark:

On the surface, he's very much accepting of it because I think he's actually similar to Seb this way. He accepts that this is the way things are, and there’s no real reason to even try and think outside of it because that would be foolish(and also disobedient!)

He struggles a lot with bitterness and jealousy but doesn’t understand it enough, and that’s fine because even if he did, it’s not like he could do anything about it. 

He really struggles to have his own identity because his identity is literally that he serves Seb! That’s what he was raised for, that’s all he knows.

 It does give him an advantage because he might actually have the most influence over Seb because they are almost connected at the hip most of the time. Though even though he has this influence, I don’t think he really knows how to wield it in any meaningful way, as compared to Nico. He’s just not the most shrewd, because his world revolves around Seb, and as I said, it’s hard to think outside of his most sacred duty. 

Jense is his best friend, other than Seb, but Mark struggles to understand him. He can understand everyone else, but not Jense because Jense almost exists completely outside of the hierarchy. Yes he’s in the power structure but he chose to be, and didn’t have to. This is unthinkable to Mark. He likes serving Seb, but that’s because that’s his purpose. He doesn’t understand how Jenson could leave behind his “purpose” and choose something else. 

Jenson:

He is pretty aware of the status quo but he just doesn't pay any mind to it. He's more on the level of Seb. He got what he wanted and he's happy with it, he doesn't long for anything more. 

He’s in an interesting place because he escaped the bounds of the status quo way more than literally anyone else. No matter if they’re happy with it or not, basically all the others are stuck on one path. Jense however was a prince in a completely different kingdom! He chose to serve Seb(well the previous emperor to be more accurate.) That makes him a very confusing figure to everyone else because they’re like, “you can do that???” 

Jenson: What, like it’s hard?

Though this allows him to get along with everyone pretty well, because they don’t really factor him into the hierarchy. He’s an insider to someone like Fernando, but an outsider to others like Nico or Mark. To Seb, he’s just a fun, reliable guy who treats him like a normal person, and neither of them have any real expectations of the other. 

Nico:

He’s so much more aware of the status quo than others like Fernando and Mark.

He recognizes pretty early on that he actually probably has more influence when acting behind the scenes, rather than by being the figurehead.

The monarch has everyone vying for his attention constantly. Someone like Nico is the one vying for the monarch’s attention, and he very easily has Seb’s ear.

It's very annoying to him though when he's mistaken for Seb because it brings up a lot of unwanted, repressed feelings in him. He can tell himself rationally that he doesn't want to be emperor, but of course there's always going to be a hungry part of him that does. 

Kimi:

Bwoah.

[mclwcc]

lando may have decided to become a columnist for them, but i wont pass on an opportunity to help u guys boycott the telegraph & avoid giving them ad money. this is why i have pasted the entire lando column under the cut - enjoy the read

What a crazy week. And what a crazy race in Monaco on Sunday. It is difficult to put into words what it feels like to be out there on a day like that, with millions of people watching around the world. The downpours, the delays, the absolute 100 per cent focus and concentration needed to go out there and race in those conditions. On the limit. That is what we are all in Formula One for as drivers. That feeling. Crossing the line at the end was a mixture of happiness and, if I am honest, also relief. To have survived unscathed. Especially after the week I had with tonsillitis. 

It was annoying to lose fifth place to George Russell but we can be proud of sixth. Proud of the way we battled after a tough week. I really was pretty ill at one point. In fact, had the race been a big flyaway I might even have been a doubt for it. But I’m so glad we toughed it out in the end. 

I know there have been questions asked about the delays on Sunday; whether the race could have got going sooner than it did. But honestly, I think the stewards got it about right. 

I would have been asking the same questions myself as a spectator. We all want the best show possible. But it was not safe. Believe me, as drivers, you are desperate for any opportunity to move up the field. Particularly at a track like Monaco where overtaking is nigh on impossible.

'You couldn't see five metres in front of you'

But it is only when you are actually in a Formula One car, feeling brake temperatures, the tyre temperatures, the grip levels, that you can truly appreciate what is possible and what is not. What is safe and what is not. And it was not safe on Sunday. You literally couldn’t see five metres in front of you during that first attempt to get the race under way. 

Ultimately, it is me that is risking my neck out there. We all saw the consequences of one tiny error on Sunday. Mick Schumacher missed the apex of the right-hander at the Swimming Pool and positioned the car just a fraction offline - maybe no more than 10cm - and that was it. Game over.

[photo of mick w his haas that i cant b bothered to embed - u guys watched the race u know what it looked like]

The truth is we are all millimetres away from having a crash like that every single lap. It can be something as small as hitting a bump slightly wrong, or missing a gear change. That is what makes it so intense.

At turn one alone I reckon there were six, seven, eight times during that race when I braked and thought ‘I’m in the wall here!’ When you’re trying to recover from a lock-up, and position the car to give yourself the best opportunity of making it round. 

Everything happens so fast but you’re almost on autopilot, doing everything instinctively. They are not nice moments to have and seeing a crash like Mick’s does shake you up. It was a relief to see him walk away.

'Monaco is an incredible test of nerve and skill'

But that is Monaco. And that is why I believe it should stay on the calendar. Not only is it an iconic venue, it is an incredible test of nerve and skill. When you are in the zone, as I was in the last 10 laps, it feels amazing. The qualifying experience at Monaco is even better; seeing who is prepared to take those risks, who can find that extra little you need in Q2 and Q3. I enjoy that and thrive off it. I was able to put in some good laps on Saturday. I think I was only around 0.2sec off Charles Leclerc in P2.

Of course I wish there was something they could change to make racing better at Monaco. But it is hard when you have cars which are over two metres wide and weigh what they do now. I heard Toto Wolff suggest they could get rid of the chicane after the tunnel and have a long straight. That might work. Then again, the approaching speed to the next corner would probably be north of 300kph, which is pretty spicy into a corner where there is no runoff!

[photo of lando chatting to carlos and max bc the telegraph wants to remind their readers of why lando would b a relevant f1 columnist as if lando himself isnt an f1 driver]

Hopefully over the next few years we can find a solution but I’m definitely keen for it to remain part of the calendar. 

Mind you, I probably would say that having moved to Monaco over the winter. I am enjoying it there. I am not sure I am yet comfortable calling it a home race. Silverstone is my home race. But the experience of living there and racing there was nice. It is such a different feeling going back to your own bed. A two-minute scooter ride into the track each morning. It really helped after the week I had. 

I was diagnosed with tonsillitis on the Thursday of the previous race in Barcelona and my symptoms got progressively worse through that race weekend; cold sweats, fever, aching muscles. By Sunday my throat was so sore it was like swallowing daggers. I could barely drink because it hurt so much. Anything I did get down I would throw up again five minutes later anyway. 

Breathing was also a real struggle in the car, especially with your heart rate way above normal and that ferocious heat in Spain. The heat, the carbon off the brakes. It was an unpleasant experience. That was the first race in which I have used a drinks bottle and it really saved me. I had to sip after every lap. Had I not, I went downhill fast.

I was lucky that my trainer and team doctor came and stayed with me in Monaco in the early part of last week. And by Thursday, when my parents arrived, I was just about back up and running, although I did cancel all of my media commitments as I could barely speak. In the end, it turned into a magical weekend, and having my parents and my girlfriend staying with me made it all the more special. 

Not that I celebrated. I don’t really drink at the best of times. If I ever win a race they are going to have to find me something other than champagne as I cannot stand the stuff. Instead I went back to my flat and had a quiet night in watching the Indy500. Pato O’Ward did an amazing job taking second place for McLaren’s IndyCar team, which was cool. Those guys have massive cojones. 

I am not sure you will ever see me racing the Indy500, although I do fancy giving sports cars a go one day so Le Mans is a goal. For now, my focus is all on F1. The weekend has given me renewed motivation and I cannot wait for Azerbaijan next week.

[gorogues]

Spoilers for Flash #788!

You can see the preview pages here.

A whole lot happens here, which you can see above. To sum up: Wolfe got out of his conviction upon appeal and then ran for mayor with money from the mob/criminals, and has access to a mysterious source of power (possibly Hypertime) which is letting him do all sorts of questionable things. He's enlisted the Rogues to keep order in the city, and has an agenda to "put right everything that's wrong", probably via this power source. The Rogues are keen to arrest Wally as part of the law and order agenda, but Hartley shows up to help him.

Mr Terrific sees a clear link between Wolfe and Hypertime, so it seems likely that's a big part of what's happening. Wolfe apparently used it to cure Mick of his terminal cancer -- I'm glad that plot hasn't been forgotten -- and it certainly seems a good avenue to change things he believes are wrong, to solve "the cancer of chaos that needs to be excised from the world". Question is, how did Wolfe gain access to Hypertime, and how's he manipulating it? Did the Time Masters help? And what exactly is he planning to do with it? Obviously the latter point will be addressed next issue or in a coming storyline, so we should find out then.

(Once again I ask who was wanting the return of Hypertime, but we'll see if DC does anything interesting with it.)

Another thing I'm curious about is why the Rogues are doing Wolfe's bidding, because they're all smart enough to know what an abusive asshole he is…you might not think so based on this issue, though. Maybe getting out of jail for a few days is worth it to them, but surely they don't think he'll actually set them free. Or is he using Hypertime/the mysterious power source to rewrite their feelings towards him to make them more amenable? He isn't doing anything like that to Blacksmith, and is just using pure force + threats to keep her in line, so I wonder what makes his relations with her different from the way he treats them. I also wonder where Lisa is, as in recent years she's been one of the voices of rationality within the Rogues and might be more difficult to manipulate.

But, as said above, it's good to have Mick's illness and the plot with Waller addressed. I can actually believe he has genuine loyalty to Wolfe based on what's happened, though less so for the other guys even if they'd be glad their friend's healthy. Axel is frustratingly a Jaxel hybrid again, which I'd been hoping DC had left behind…you could be forgiven for thinking that's James, if not for his prosthetic arm. And it's good to see Hartley back and have him interacting with Wally; hopefully DC will remember they used to be best pals! I'm also glad to see the return of my favourite Piper costume.

It's no surprise that Wolfe's a hypocrite who preaches law and order and takes money/services from criminals. I am curious if anyone will call him out on it, and whether he's planning to use Hypertime (or whatever) to eliminate anyone who can snitch on him. And just how far he wants to go with this: is he planning to run the whole city like a prison, as hinted by his comment about setting up checkpoints? It makes total sense that Hartley would get involved in fighting this kind of authoritarian regime, so it was a great choice to include him in this arc.

Anyway, it's a pretty good issue and very nice to see some missing characters again. I wonder if this story would be better suited as a longer arc instead of just one more issue, but maybe it'll be slowly burning in the background and occasionally furthered whenever Wolfe makes a move. That's what we've been seeing already and it seems to be working, but we'll see where this goes next issue.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

heyyy, this is my first ask ever on this page so I'm not exactly sure how to start this, so ill just get right to it from one jonesy/zeppelin stan to another.

Robert apparently wrote Carouselambra about him being frustrated with Jonesy and Jimmy not being there for him after his son karac passed away,,, the song itself is great inho, it's my favorite off of ittod besides in the evening. The situation was tragic enough on it own, but it also put a huge strain on the relationships between the band members, it seems like. I can't pretend I know a whole lot about that part of their history in particular, just wanted to hear your take on it.

Hello my dear!! Welcome to my asks! I hope it is a cozy and pleasant experience. You are always welcome, no matter how inane, as I myself am the queen of inanity (I'm claiming it here and now folks).

^^ look at these boys in their 30s (36, 34, and almost 32 respectively, dear god)

In Through the Out Door is generally pretty fascinating. 'Carouselambra' in and of itself I think is one of those tracks that if it had been deeper into the canon (as if Zep had been able to make more albums), it would have been openly considered a masterpiece. That's actually how I feel about the whole album, but...instead, it causes consternation.

The track itself is one of my favorites as well. It's like Space Jam but everyone's on drugs and having a midlife crisis and WOW it's good. The actual inspiration for the track, as you say, I think was a combination of the highs and lows of Zeppelin and this includes Karac's death and the aftermath. 'Carouselambra' was originally called 'The Epic' -- I like to imagine the epic poetry it was being likened too and if epic poetry was still written and consumed the way we consume Homer and Virgil, that Zeppelin would be a perfect candidate. 'Tales of Brave Ulysses' could never.

The general consensus is that 'The Epic' was renamed 'Carouselambra' because that's what being in Zeppelin was like. Around and around on this gaudy mechanical and in the process these tragic things were happening and you only got fast glances at them or missed out on important things. And in the case of Karac, I'm sure Robert was grappling with the fact he just wasn't around (and I believe he's said as much).

This culminating with Jonesy and Jimmle not being at the funeral, which at the time, Robert had apparently said to Richard Cole, “Maybe they don’t have as much respect for me as I do for them. Maybe they’re not the friends I thought they were.”

Which is understandable! I mean, anyone that close to you dying, let alone a child. You would want your friends there (...if Robert considered Jonesy a "friend" to me is debatable considering his supposed tongue-in-cheek offer to Lita Ford to be the bassist for Zep in '77, but I'm just a bitter Jonesy stan (and I have plenty of theories and ideas about the Jones/Plant dynamic)). From what I've read, Jonesy was on family holiday, I imagine continuing with Maureen and the girls in the RV they rented for the second leg of the '77 tour -- he stole away after the Oakland debacle and drove it up to Seattle (this is from a glancing in Mick Wall's When Giants Walked the Earth, which I'm currently reading). Can that man get any more precious? And Jimmy was...Jimmy, heroin and all, although he's been quoted saying "We were all mates. We had to give the man some space.”

Potentially illustrating this, Robert commented on this in 2005: “The other guys were [from] the South [of England] and didn’t have the same type of social etiquette that we have up here in the North that could actually bridge that uncomfortable chasm with all the sensitivities required … to console.”

By ITTOD, though, we have our "relatively clean" camp friends Jones and Robert leading the charge and, I hope, having some good heart to hearts and enjoying each others' company. I really do wish we had more from that time, of that dynamic because I think it's a really interesting blip on the timeline given their distance mostly (I believe Robert said in 1971 that he had just started becoming friends with Jonesy, which I don't find hard to believe considering their opposite natures).

And then you get 'Carouselambra', all the nonsense and the mayhem boiled down into "why the fuck are we doing this"-edness. The kids are getting older, the tour is now a slog, and now you've got back pain. Kind of a sad carousel at the end of the day. “The whole story of Led Zeppelin in its latter years is in that song, and I can’t hear the words," Plant said, regarding how his voice is mixed lower than the keyboard in the first half. And there they were, in their 30s, and punk was on the rise and let's be honest, rock n' roll has never been a "middle years" kind of game.

But TO ME, that adds to the theatricality, to the idea that everything WAS getting lost and muddled. It's a brilliant, most likely unanticipated homage in my mind and Led Zeppelin WAS theatrical for as much as it was about the music, it was about the mythos and fable as well.

As a side note, I really hate how ITTOD is talked about for the most part as this like "lame keyboard album" when in fact, if Zeppelin had continued, it would serve as an LZ III/HotH vibe to me in that they could do whatever they want so they did and wow it was great. That's just my opinion, though, and I can definitely chalk it up to bias and also my love for Jonesy's post-Zeppelin work that really showcased just how fucking marvelous he is.

oh my god this got so long how did this get so long

This is just my take...I'm sure many people would be ready to contest what I have to say and that's just fine. 'Southbound Saurez' is one of my favorite Zep tracks and I stand by it.

I hope this was worth the time, lovely. Thank you for appearing in the asks and I hope you return someday. It was really lovely to take a journey into the more "academic" side of Zep...turns out I know quite a bit and I'm pretty good at rustling through the interwebs to find all the quotes I wanted to locate!

Feel free to correct me or engage in discourse kindly. I don't have time for negativity, I just turned 26 after all.

let it be known this is literally 950 words

[apolloloki97]

“Still Family” Mickey Milkovich x Ian Gallagher

IMAGE CREDIT: Cliff Lipson/SHOWTIME

Summary:  After Mickey is released from prison, Ian is still with Trevor. However, when Ian has a full meltdown and refuses to take his meds, Lip makes a call and gets Mickey to help sort out his younger brother. How will Trevor react to meeting the man that Ian once devoted his life to? ---- Or when Ian won't take his meds and Mickey shows up to get his ass in line.

Word Count: 2558

Warning: Bipolar, Swearing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “I Don’t Like You” by Grace Vanderwaal

Note: I had this idea and couldn't get it out of my mind. I am a massive sucker for outside POV Gallavich so I hope you enjoy it! I have a lot of Gallavich ideas and I'm just going to keep posting them whenever I have time! 

-------

Ian had been going through a lot since his diagnosis.

Well, a lot was an understanding when it came to the Gallagher house. His older and younger siblings tried to do everything they could to help Ian with his bipolar episodes, but it wasn’t always so simple.

Fiona wanted to get Ian back into the hospital, but Lip was against it, afraid it would only make things worse. Debbie was blaming herself for not keeping a better eye on her big brother while Carl and Liam were a bit clueless when it came to their brother’s illness.

Then, there was Ian’s boyfriend, Trevor. Trevor was used to dealing with a lot of chaotic things with his job as a social worker, but Ian Gallagher was as chaotic as it came and not just because of his illness. Ian’s life was an entire circus in itself. However, he had come to really care about the ringmaster and the many acts that floated in and out of 2119 South Wallace. Still, there were still things that Trevor was finding out about his boyfriend and especially his boyfriend’s past.

Mickey Milkovich was the largest part of Ian that Trevor had yet to understand.

He knew a few things about the Southsider, but nobody seemed to want to talk about the man, especially around Ian. Trevor knew that Mickey had been someone incredibly important to Ian, especially during the beginning phase of his illness. Trevor had been surprised to hear that it was Mickey who had convinced Ian to seek treatment after the latter had run off with the former’s baby.

Around the Gallagher house, Milkovich seemed to be some sort of Saint in ways. When Ian wasn’t around, Trevor heard Fiona and Debbie talking about the ex-boyfriend as if he was still a constant fixture in their lives. Carl would make comments about how much he missed the gun-toting asshole and even Liam would mention Mickey and Mickey’s sister, Mandy, and how much he missed them when the bullies were getting more relentless at school.

Lip was one of the only ones that tried to not speak about Ian’s former flame around Trevor, but even the eldest Gallagher brother slipped up at times. It was actually from Lip that Trevor learned the most about the tatted thug. One evening, Lip had let it slip how Milkovich had come out after his son’s christening. Trevor was shocked to hear how public he had made it but was not surprised to hear how his homophobic father had reacted. Even if you weren’t from the Southside, everyone knew Terry Milkovich and how much of an asshole he was.

Still, it remained a surprise every time Trevor learned something new about Mickey. The latest was that he was recently released from prison and was out on parole. Trevor and Ian had found out a few days before when Mickey’s parole officer had shown up at the house to speak to Ian about Mickey’s former work ethic at the Kash and Grab. Trevor had never seen Ian’s eyes light up the way they did when he spoke about Milkovich. Even when he was just describing how Mickey would help stop the neighborhood kids from stealing Snickers bars, it looked as if Ian was talking about a work of art rather than a street thug.

Trevor was worried that Ian would break down again after the return of Mickey, but he seemed to be taking it rather well. Well, that is until a panic attack had taken over earlier in the evening and Ian had collapsed onto the floor, shaking and gasping for breath.

As soon as it happened, Trevor had yelled for Fiona. Ian was laying in the middle of the hallway, his eyes wide and his hands clawing at the scuffed-up floor. When Trevor had tried to help him up, Ian had shoved away from him, not wanting to be touched.

"Did he take his meds?” Fiona asked. Trevor just shook his head because he didn’t know. Ian had been doing well with his EMT job and he thought that he had been taking the necessary stabilizers for his illness, but Trevor couldn’t be sure.

“He hasn’t taken them for three days,” Debbie announced as she came out of the bathroom holding the orange bottles. “I counted them.”

“Dammit, Ian,” Fiona sighed as she tried to reach for her brother. Ian, however, wanted nothing to do with his siblings.

“No! No!” Ian said, backing up from them, pressing himself into the wall behind him.

“Ian, come on,” Fiona said softly.

“Don’t touch me!” Ian yelled back, raising his hands in front of his face in a warning.

“Fi,” Lip said from the other end of the hall. The eldest Gallagher sister looked at him and Lip gestured for everyone to go downstairs. Exiting into the living room, Carl remained at the top of the stairs just so he could see Ian and make sure the ginger didn’t throw himself off the second-story railing. “This is just like that time at the lake,” Lip said.

“What time?” Trevor asked as he glanced up at the second floor.

“It was last year,” Lip said. “Something set him off and Ian went into full shutdown mode. He wasn’t taking his meds and then he just...snapped. He wouldn’t let any of us touch him.”

“What did you do?” Trevor asked and then everyone in the room went silent as the sibling looked at each other. “Guys?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Liam said. “Mickey did.”

“Mickey Milkovich?” Trevor asked and Liam nodded.

“He was the only one who would calm him down,” Debbie explained. “Dammit, I should have noticed that he was starting to spiral.”

“It’s not your fault, Debs,” Lip said, offering his sister a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Well, what did Mickey do that was different?” Trevor asked. “Can’t we just do that?”

“It wasn’t what he did,” Fiona said. “It was because…” she trailed off.

“It was because he’s fucking Mickey,” Carl piped up from above them.

“Maybe we should call him,” Liam offered. “Maybe he could talk to Ian?”

“I already texted him,” Lip said with a sigh.

“You what?” Trevor asked, struck.

“I texted him SOS as soon as I heard Ian yell the first time. He’s on his way,” Lip said. Trevor sighed, collapsing into the armchair in the corner.

“Just like that?” Trevor asked as his hand played with the charm around his neck. Liam just shrugged.

“It’s Ian,” Liam said as if it was obvious.

The yelling upstairs continued and Carl cringed every time he saw his brother throw himself to the ground or grapple for some invisible thread to hold onto. Fiona was pacing as she waited for Mickey to show up. Debbie was holding the pill bottles, staring at them as if they had personally offended her. Trevor hadn’t seen the Gallaghers this rattled before. He also had never seen them so determined to let one of Ian’s ex-boyfriends become the savior of the day.

It was only another ten minutes or so before the front door opened and Fiona stopped pacing. Trevor looked up just as a dark-haired, tattooed, and clearly annoyed man walked in. “Alright, I’m here. What he do now? Steal another fucking baby? Rob a bank?” Mickey asked as he faced the Gallaghers. His eyes landed on Trevor for a second before looking at Fiona.

“He didn’t take his meds,” Debbie said, approaching Mickey with the bottles. Mickey frowned at her as he scratched at his temple with his thumbnail.

“He’s in full-blown shutdown, Mick,” Fiona said. “We can’t touch him and he’s not responding.”

“Ah, so like that fucking time at the lake,” Mickey remembered. Lip nodded and Mickey sighed before glancing up at the second floor as he heard Ian cry out for the first time. Trevor didn’t miss the way Mickey flinched as he heard Ian struggling. There was almost a desperate look at him as he stared upstairs. However, it was gone after a second as Mickey turned back to the Gallaghers. “Did you hold him down and shove the pulls down his throat like you do with a fuckin’ dog?” Mickey asked, slipping back into his usual demeanor.

“No,” Debbie said. “He won’t let us touch him, remember?” Mickey groaned as he snatched the bottles out of Debbie’s hands.

“Fucking Gallaghers,” Mickey said as he trudged up the stairs, passing Carl with a quick ruffle of his hair. Carl didn’t seem to mind as Milkovich moved past him and into the hallway. “Ian Gallagher!” Mickey sang as he disappeared up the stairs.

Trevor and the Gallaghers didn’t move as they listened to what was going on upstairs. Carl had snuck back down the steps to give the men upstairs some privacy, but it didn’t do much considering how loud they were being. Suddenly, there was a loud crash as if someone had been slammed into the wall. The sound of pill bottles crashing to the ground littered the air. “Fuck! Ian, come here!” Mickey yelled.

“What the fuck, Mick!” Ian answered and Trevor was glad to hear him speak rather than just yelling or crying. There were more sounds of fighting before Mickey grunted in pain.

“You son of a bitch!” Mickey shouted. “You’re just fucking lucky I didn’t bring Svet as back up, you fucking carrot top. Stay still!”

“Who’s Svet?” Trevor asked as another banged reverberated from upstairs.

“Mickey’s Russian hooker, ex-wife. Baby momma to his kid,” Lip explained. Trevor didn’t have the opportunity to respond to that when suddenly Mickey shouted again.

“You bite me and I will not hesitate to do it back!” Mickey yelled. “Don’t fucking test me, Gallagher. I know where Carl keeps his handcuffs, fucker!” Another loud crash and Ian grunted in pain.

“Where did you learn to do that!” Ian shouted.

“Cell Block D, bitch! Stay still!” Mickey yelled and then Trevor could hear the sound of pills being scattered on the floor. Debbie was sitting across from him on the floor, rubbing at her temples. “Ian!”

“This is not going well,” Liam said.

“Just give him a second,” Lip said, wringing his hands. Fiona was in the same position as she stared up the stairs, trying to see what was happening. Trevor jumped then as Ian shouted something that clearly wasn't English.

“Where the fuck did you learn Ukrainian?” Mickey said which only made Fiona look at Lip in complete confusion.

“Don’t look at me,” Lip said. “That motherfucker reads too much.”

After a few more minutes of banging and crashing, it was silent. Ian was still grunting, but it sounded more muffled as if someone was covering his mouth. “Ow! Shit!” Mickey suddenly exclaimed. “I fucking warned you, dick!” Ian then cried out in pain after that and then the house shook as if someone had been thrown to the ground again. “Open up now before I break your fucking jaw,” Mickey was said. “Then your EMT ass is gonna have to go all 911 on your own fucking face.”

“Fuck you!” Ian shouted and Fiona slid to the floor, trying not to let the yelling get to her, but it was too late.

“Fuck, Ian, I don’t care if you fucking snort them, just take the goddamn pills so I can go meet my fucking dick of a PO,” Mickey said. “Do you want Debbie to feel like shit for the rest of the day, huh? What about Liam? He’s fucking worried about you, you psycho. Lip had to call me, me, because you wouldn’t let anyone put their goddamn hands on you!”

“Don’t touch me!” Ian said, but it sounded a little less hostile than before and Trevor could tell Ian was getting tired.

“I think we are well past that, asshole,” Mickey said. “You may be mister Army, but I can still fucking take you especially when you’re acting like this. Now, do I gotta go get Iggy and Colin to hold you down so I can shove these down your throat, or are you going to cooperate?”

Trevor looked at Debbie for answers. “Mickey’s brothers,” she explained and Trevor nodded. It was quiet for a moment then, no scuffling, no swearing, just silence. Nobody moved and nobody spoke as they waited for the fighting to start up again.

Eventually, Mickey spoke again. “See, was that so fucking hard?” Mickey said and then it was quiet and everyone strained their ears to listen, but all they could hear was a faint whisper coming from Ian. Mickey then laughed and groaned as he got to his feet, his work boots knocking into the baseboards. “Nah, fuck you, bitch,” Mickey said with a lighthearted chuckle. It was another moment before Mickey jogged back down the stairs, fresh blood blooming from his hand and his face. “Mission accomplished, motherfuckers,” he announced, shaking off some pain in his arm.

“What happened?” Carl asked, gesturing to the blood on Mickey’s hand.

“Oh, bastard bit me,” Mickey said, showing Carl the half-moon wound on his hand. Mickey shrugged, not surprised by the act as Trevor clearly was.

“Did you bite him back?” Debbie asked.

“I fuckin’ warned him,” Mickey said with a nod. Mickey then looked at Trevor. “Who’s this? Another new half-sibling I’ll have to lock in a fuckin’ shipping crate?”

“This is Trevor,” Liam said. “Ian’s boyfriend.” Trevor gave him a quick wave. Mickey just chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second before nodding.

“Right, well good luck,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He took his meds, but I hit him pretty hard. Gonna need something for the headache,” he said to Fiona as he passed her. Fiona reached out and stopped him before he could leave.

“Thank you, Mickey,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, but his tone was soft.

“I mean it,” she said as she looked at him and he could see the worry in her eyes. Fiona always put too much pressure on herself and Mickey had always seen it because he understood. He, too, had spent his childhood looking after his siblings. Always having to make sure Colin and Iggy didn’t get arrested and of course, protecting Mandy from Terry. With a sigh, he pulled her in for a hug. Fiona didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him and tuck her chin against his shoulder.

Mickey wasn’t a hugger except when it came to the damn Gallaghers, and he sometimes needed it more than they did. Mickey then pressed a kiss to her cheek before stepping out of her embrace. “Hey,” he said, getting her attention, “you’re still family to me. No matter what.”

Fiona smiled then. “Family,” she agreed.

“Alright, enough of this soft shit,” Mickey said. “Later Gallaghers!” Mickey moved past Fiona and rubbed Liam’s head before grabbing Lip’s hand as the latter thanked Milkovich. Mickey played it off, but he knew Lip was being sincere.

As soon as the door slammed behind him, Fiona ran upstairs to go help Ian. Trevor, who had been watching the entire thing with a whole lot of questions could only think of one thing to say. “So, that was Mickey,” he said. All the Gallaghers nodded.

“That was Mickey,” they chorused as the circus finally closed its curtains.

[gallavictorious]

Fic: This Time (We’ll Be Fine)

Ian's bipolar was always bound to make itself known again sooner or later, so Lip's not exactly shocked when Mickey swings by to break the news. Well, he's a little surprised at first, when he opens the door to find his brother-in-law and not, say, any of his siblings or Kev waiting outside. While Mickey's joined Ian in helping out with the renovations a few times, him dropping by out of the blue and all by his lonesome is still a bit of an occasion.

”Hey,” Lip says, pulling off his work glows. He's spent the last hour removing the old counter tops from the kitchen, hoping to get it done before Tami returns with Freddie from a visit to her parents.

”Hey.” There's an awkward pause, but before Lip can ask what's up, Mickey plows on: ”So, Ian's been a little off for a few days, and we're pretty sure it's early signs of a manic episode.”

Something about the way he says it has Lip momentarily flashing back to the day many years ago, when Mickey and his brothers had confronted him about Ian allegedly messing with Mandy. He almost braces himself, because while he's been over that whole thing for years and years, his body still remembers the pain.

Then the actual words sink in and ah, fuck. It not being a surprise doesn't mean it doesn't hit like a punch to the gut.

With the worry comes a pinch of guilt: the house he rented is actually liveable now and he and Tami moved into it a month or so ago, but there's still a lot of work to be done and Lip's been spending every waking hour not devoted to his job or Freddie trying to get it fixed. It hasn't left him a lot of time for checking in with the rest of his familly.

”Is he okay?” he asks.

”Yeah. Well, no, he's a fucking mess, but he will be, you know. Fine. Upped his downers and booked an appointment down at the clinic on Monday, so they'll sort this shit out, get his pills adjusted or whatever. He's in bed now, sleeping it off.” Mickey lets out a sigh, distractedly reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Lip doesn't protest when he lights up, even though he knows that Tami will say something snide about the smell when she comes home.

Let her; man looks like he can use a smoke. Lip wouldn't mind one himself, but bites back the urge to ask.

”Anyway,” Mickey continues, ”I just wanted to let you guys know, and, uh, I was thinking that maybe you'd come by someday next week. For dinner or whatever?”

Lip blinks. Sure, they ate together all the time when they were all staying at the Gallagher house, and they've shared a few meals since Lip moved his little family across the alley, so having dinner in and of itself isn't really weird – but getting an official invitation to one, and from Mickey of all people? Yeah, that's new.

His surprise must show, because Mickey makes a face. ”Yeah, I know,” he mutters. ”It's just... He hates it, you know? He's got it under control and he'll be fine but it's...  he hates it. He'll be fucking dejected and shit for weeks, even after the new meds kick in. And you guys always cheer him up, so I figured... ” He shrugs, not finishing the sentence.

It occurs to Lip that maybe it isn't easy for Mickey to come here and ask for this – to ask Lip for anything. There was a time when Lip thought Ian an absolute idiot for falling for Mickey Milkovich, and he's pretty sure Mickey knows as much, because Lip sure as hell didn't try to keep it a secret. But that was a long time ago, and as far as Lip's concerned, they've been good for years now. He's not sure if Mickey knows that, though, or feels the same way; they've never really talked about it.

So yeah, maybe it's not easy for Mickey to come here. He does it anyway; for Ian, he always will.

Lip loves him a little for that.

”Yeah, yeah, sure, man,” he says quickly, realizing that he's been silent for too long, lost in thought, and that Mickey is looking at him with something quite close to barely concealed anxiety. ”Of course we'll come.”

Mickey's shoulders drop just a fraction of an inch at that. He givs a curt nod. ”Okay. It'll probably take a few days before his, I don't know, levels are adjusted or whatever. But maybe you can keep your evenings open and I'll call you? And don't let him know I talked to you, right?” he adds, giving Lip a decidedly threatening look. ”He fucking hates it when people make a fuss.”

”Yeah, no, I know. I won't say anything. Thanks for letting me know.”

Mickey nods again, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground. Lip makes a mental note to pick it up before Tami gets back.

As Mickey makes to take off, Lip calls out, on an impulse: ”Hey, Mick.”

Mickey stops. ”What?”

”You ever hesitate?” Off Mickey's blank stare, he adds: ”Getting back together. Dealing with this for the rest of your life. You know how crazy it can get.” Knows it only all too well; Mickey had been there when Ian first fell ill and in spite of doing as well, and way better, than could possibly have been expected of him, it had not ended very well for Mickey.

That shit's gotta hurt. Looking at Mickey now, Lip thinks he can see the strain lurking under his mostly calm demeanor. See the fear, maybe.

And still Mickey glares at Lip like he's an idiot. ”Fuck no, I didn't hesitate,” he says, sounding affronted. ”It's just a fucking disease, man. We'll deal. Think I'm gonna ditch him because he has a few off days every now and then? Who the fuck doesn't have off days?”

It's more than a few off days every now and then, and they both know that – but Lip knows, too, that to Mickey, to some degree, it really is that simple. It's a disease. It's serious and it sucks, but it's not the sum total of Ian; it doesn't define him. And sure, Lip knows this on an intellectual level, as does the rest of his siblings, but he thinks that maybe Mickey is the only one who truly, fully gets it on an emotional one.

With that in mind, Lip meets Mickey's glare, unflinching. ”Still. It can get pretty rough. I guess what I'm saying is... if you, like, ever needed to talk or just, you know, take a break and hang out, I'm here.” He might not always have been great about Mickey, or great about being there for people in general, but he's been doing a lot better with the latter lately and maybe he can use whatever supportive skills he picked up at AA to do better at the former, too.

He's half convinced that Mickey will roll his eyes and walk off with an insult thrown over his shoulder, and he's fully convinced that Mickey's actually considering just that before opting to just nod again. ”Yeah,” he mutters. ”Thanks.”

”You're welcome.” Lip pauses, hesitating. But fuck it: ”I'm glad, you know. That he has you?”

And apparently that pushes the conversation too far into sentimentality because now Mickey does roll his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. ”Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll call you.”

He walks off. Lips pick up the cigarette butt and heads inside.

---

The call comes on Thursday morning, and a little past five in the afternoon Lip carries Freddie through the kitchen door with Tami in tow.

Liam's doing homework by the table and Mickey is stood by the stove, staring down an enormous pot of boiling water.

”Hey,” he says, sounding for all the world like he's surprised to see them, but he gives them a quick, grateful look, before jerking his head in the direction of the living room, where Ian's chilling with Debbie, Franny, and Carl in front of the TV.

Ian looks tired, and maybe even paler than normally, but he smiles readily enough when he catches sight of them. His smile widens further when Lip hands Freddie over for him to hold. ”Hey, buddy,” he coos.

”You guys staying for dinner?” Mickey calls from the kitchen. ”Made a shit ton of pasta, so there's plenty to go around.”

Lip makes a show of looking at Tami for confirmation.

”Yeah sure, why not?” she says, playing along. ”Saves me having to cook in a kitchen that's only half-existent.” She raises her voice: ”Thanks, Mickey, we'd love to.”

They chat for a while, and then Debbie and Tami starts comparing notes on child development, which for some reason is slightly unsettling – maybe because there's part of him that still thinks of Debbie as his little baby sister and hearing her talk to his baby mama like an equal is fucking strange – and eventually he, Ian and Carl move into the kitchen, leaving Freddie with Tami.

Liam puts away his homework; Ian grabs them drinks from the fridge; it's familiar and comfortable and, yeah, Lip's missed this.

He looks up and catches Ian watching him. ”So, you guys just decided to stop by, huh?” Ian asks casually.

Lips shrugs, deliberatedly not glancing toward Mickey chopping lettuce by the sink. ”Yeah, you know. Been a while since we all got together, figured it'd be nice to just drop by.”

”Uh-huh.” Ian does glance over his shoulder at Mickey, who is doing a very good job of pretending to be entirely engrossed in his salad-making and not at all listening in on any conversations. Lip keeps his face carefully blank as Ian turns back to him with a knowing look on his face. There's a hint of annoyance there; maybe a hint of resignation too, and something else that Lip can't quite decipher –

For a moment, he thinks that Ian is going to say something, but then his brother rises abruptly instead. A few long strides and he's right behind Mickey, grabbing hold of his wrist and spinning him around, which is hell of a bold move, considering that Mickey is Mickey and holding a fucking knife.

”What the – ” Mickey begins, but is quickly silenced as Ian claims his lips for a kiss.

Claims really is the right word, Lip thinks, feeling as if he should avert his eyes, but not quite managing to. It's a thorough kiss; rough; demanding. Ian's got his arms wrapped around Mickey's neck, his body pinning Mickey against the kitchen counter, and there's something possessive about it, something that – yes – speaks of claim and want and need.

Mickey's still holding the knife in one hand, half a lettuce in the other, and he can't really do much but stand there and let Ian kiss him. Not that he seems to mind in the slightest, Lip notes, and fuck it, but he never thought he'd see the day when Mickey Milkovich would just melt into Ian's arms, his kiss, so easily and so happily; so entirely without reservation, in spite of being surrounded by inlaws.

Eventually Ian lets go and steps away, walking back to the table with studied nonchalance, as if he's not, in fact, leaving his husband flushed and with swollen lips and a dazed grin. The look on Ian's face gives lie to his casual attitude, however: there's something fierce there and a hint of a satisfied smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth.

Then he sits down and blinks and is just plain old Ian again, Lip's little brother grinning easily. ”How's it going with the counter tops?” he asks. ”You convince Tami to go with the concrete ones?”

”Hell no,” Lip says, taking a sip from his coke to hide his smile. ”Apparently anything but marble or at least granite is out. She's saying we should invite Aunt Opie over, have her get so shocked over our living conditions that she offers to pay for the whole thing, but... ”

Over by the stove, Mickey returns to his salad. He's still smiling. So is Ian, as he listen to Lip detail the horrors of home renovation, and Lip thinks that maybe this time they're all going to be just fine.

[firesoulstuff]

Captain Canary + “you’re not safe here.”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/71160003

Sara can feel her stomach churning, and tears burning beneath her eyelids.

She has hated Lewis Snart for a long time now. The only comfort she has ever been able to take with the thought of him is that he is dead, and it was a very painful death.

Or at least, that was his fate before an aberration appeared.

She and Leonard were in the training room this morning, each doing their separate exercises. She’d been going through some of her forms whilst Len had been behind her across the room and hitting the punching bag. Eventually she noticed she hadn’t heard him in awhile, but she hadn’t heard him leave either. When she turned around he was gone, and before she could start looking for him Gideon called her to bridge.

She found out what happened, and immediately she had wanted to throw up.

It was the same thing that happened with Ray on the mission that brought them to the 80’s. There’s an aberration, and a past version of Leonard died.

That aberration? An extra crewmember for Lewis being free on the weekend of a heist because turns out the Time Masters pulling strings had been what kept him away. The heist still failed, but instead of getting busted this extra crewmember was able to get a very ill tempered Lewis out and home free. Where he took out his anger on his pregnant wife, and then his nine-year-old son who ran in to protect his mom and baby sister.

Little Leonard didn’t stand a chance.

Leonard – their Leonard – is back for now, because they’ve traveled back to before Lewis returns home and so the timeline isn’t yet set.

“You ok?”

No, she is not ok.

She’s with Mick, heading to the Snart household to get Little Leonard and his mom out. Their Len is with Ray and Amaya, staking out the heist and making sure the police come early, which they will so long as they act on the tip Zari is sending them.

She glares over at Mick, her expression saying for her how she is very much not ok, and then she sets her eyes forward again.

“His mom is pregnant.” She says as they come up on the house, and Mick hums.

“Yeah.” He agrees, “Time keeps on track, Lisa will be here and pissing everyone off in ‘bout a month.”

“That’s not the point.”

She doesn’t look, but she can feel Mick eyeing her. He gives it a minute, until they’re at the front gate made of rotting white-picket-fence, and he sighs as he nudges it open.

“Believe me Blondie, nothing would make me happier than putting that asshole eight feet in the ground, especially before he hurts Lisa. But if we do that her and Snart become different people.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She mumbles before she can stop herself.

Mick rumbles at the back of his throat and eyes her, but he doesn’t say anything about her choice of words; he knows what she means.

They get up to the front door and he reaches for the knob, but his hand hovers above it, his eyes locked firmly on the door.

“Snart will get his chance.” He says, almost more to himself than to her, before he finally looks at her. “If Lewis shows up here, he made the choice.”

She… She knows he’s right. She still feels sick, and like she isn’t going to be sleeping for a long time after tonight, but he’s right. This is Leonard’s life and his decision. Unless he comes over the comms and tells her otherwise, if Lewis shows up here she won’t kill him; no matter how much she wants to.

Mick opens the door and it creaks open, and right away there’s the sound of movement coming from the kitchen. Its dishes rummaging around, glass, and given the time it’s a safe bet it isn’t a third grade Leonard Snart looking around for a late-night snack.

“I’ll get her.” Mick says, and then nods to the stairs next to them. “You get him.”

She nods; content to let him make the plan this one time, and hurries up the stairs. She doesn’t take enough precaution to keep her footsteps quiet, she wants him to wake up. She does, however, keep them light and quick; because what she doesn’t want is to take the risk he might mistake her for his father.

The upstairs hallway is small, barely five feet long and with two doors on each wall. The first is propped open, a dark bathroom on the inside. The second is closed, but the plush L hanging on it being a soft white color with tiny pink flowers clues her in that it might not be the dwelling of a nine-year-old boy. The next door, however, it has a nameplate with Leonard spelled out on it in crooked stickers and it’s frame is decorated with the images of astronauts and aliens.

She allows herself a tiny smile; letting herself forget for just half a second the reason she is here and instead bask in the peek into Leonard’s childhood.

Then her half-second is over, and with a gentle hand on the knob she turns it and lets herself into the room.

It’s dark, not even the dimmest of nightlights to offer comfort. She wonders, idly, about that. She knows Leonard now prefers to sleep without a hint of light, but she doubts he became that way this young of his own accord.

She decides not to dwell on it, not now anyway. Instead she pads across the room and kneels down next to his bed. His adult self would have heard her by now. He would have opened his eyes; he might even have jumped. But this Leonard is still snoring softly and it breaks her heart that she has to wake him.

“Leo.” She whispers, her hand coming to ghost over his back.

He stiffens, his entire body giving a jolt as is eyes snap open.

“Shh… It’s ok.” She hurries to say. “It’s ok, I know you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your mom’s. She called me, you guys are going to come with me and my friend for a sleepover.”

God, she hopes little Snart hasn’t been well taught in the art of not getting kidnapped.

He sits up; looking at her in very much the same way her Leonard does when he’s trying to determine where her plan is going to land them.

“Why?”

Her breath hitches as she tries to think of a lie. Except what’s worse is she realizes he’s nine. Leonard has told her Lewis first came after him at the age of eight, and while he didn’t earn himself a permanent scar until eleven, at nine he already knew it was best to avoid daddy when he was angry.

“You’re dad called from work.” She says, watching his eyes for some kind of sign of fear, and she sees it. A flicker, a faint tightening of his body, and it makes her gut twist even more. “Something went wrong tonight, and he’s very angry about it.”

There’s another tightening of his body. His shoulders close in and his eyes flit away from her, and automatically she spreads her fingers out on his back.

“It’s ok.” She promises him, and licks her lips to force herself to continue. “But you’re not safe here.”

He shifts by only the tiniest amount, but it’s towards her, and she needs him to hurry but she doesn’t want to rush him.

“Boss!” Mick’s voice suddenly shouts from downstairs, and Leo jumps where he is. “We gotta move, you coming?”

She looks back to Leo, and she almost wants to call back and see if his mother will yell up that it’s ok, but it’s Mick in charge if getting her. She’s probably unconscious by now.

She dares to put a little more pressure forward with the hand on his back, and he follows it. He lets himself fall into her and wrap his arms around her neck. He’s a little awkward to stand up with and carry, tall enough that he should be walking himself. But she isn’t going to put him down unless she absolutely has to.

.

.

“You didn’t kill him.”

Leonard – her Leonard – looks up at her, and after holding her eyes for a long moment he sighs and puts his partially assembled cold gun on his nightstand.

“Raymond wouldn’t let me.”

She raises her eyebrow, not that he’s looking anymore. His eyes are downcast, his mouth a firm line, and she gives him time but she’s starting to think he isn’t going to elaborate. That’s fine, she can’t expect him to want to share anything. She’s about to bid him goodnight and then go spend the next six to ten hours sharpening her knives and imagine them carving into the flesh of Lewis-

“I couldn’t.”

His words are quiet, so much so that a part of her thinks she might have imagined them. But then he sighs and leans over to the nightstand again, this time picking up his famous deck of cards and beginning to shuffle them mindlessly.

He glances up at her, and she takes the hint and steps into his room and closes the door behind her.

Even so, it’s some time before he speaks.

“I wanted to.” He finally says, “And you know I could’ve gotten through Raymond.”

He finally looks at her with that, waiting for her to acknowledge his attempt at humor, and she gives him a smirk.

Then it’s back to shuffling the cards.

“But… If I had… then I wouldn’t be here would I?”

He brings his eyes back to her, and she looks away.

“No.” She agrees, “You would’ve had a different life.”

A better life, but she doesn’t need to say that.

“No telling what that might have brought.” He acknowledges, “You wipe the memory of little me?”

She nods, “And your mom.”

He nods this time, and gives the cards another shuffle.

“My and Lisa’s childhoods were… awful.” He says, “Not a day goes by I don’t wish things had been different. Getting the chance…”

He trails off, gathering his thoughts, and she’ll give him that. She’ll give him all the time that he needs.

“Lisa’s happy now.” He finally says, “She has Ramon, and all those other idiots. And I…” He swallows, “I have some idiots of my own. Couldn’t risk that.”

She smiles, and she wants to tease him. She wants to taunt that Captain Cold does have a heart and she’ll never tell. Maybe tomorrow she will, but not right now. Right now he has unshed tears in his eyes, and his face is pale. He’s even less likely to sleep tonight than she is.

So she crosses the room and without a word crawls in to sit next to him on his mattress. He scoots enough to give her space, but she still presses right into his side and lays a hand down over his wrist with hardly any weight to it.

“Good.” She finds herself saying, and she runs her fingers up is hand until she dips them between his knuckles. “Because these idiots would be lost without you.”

[stusbunker]

AGA: Cornered

A Supernatural AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny LaFitte​

Other Characters: Sam, Bobby, Mick, Ash, Castiel

Written for: @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: No kink square this chapter, just backstory and bowling. Mention of drug use. General flirty banter. xoxo

    The crack and rumble of balls striking pins rang throughout the bowling alley; the consistent soundtrack of Dean’s Wednesday nights. He had gotten there early, just after six, to claim their alley and get himself dinner before the rest of the team arrived. Dean shrugged into the simple black and red collared Singer’s Slingers bowling shirt with his name on his left pec. As he sipped his beer and waited for his burger basket, he wondered how late Sam would be this week.

    Ash and Bobby showed up just as Dean had a greasy mouthful. He managed to murmur his greetings as they bypassed the bar for the row of vinyl chairs, changing out of their street shoes. They were followed shortly by Mick, who always seemed to swagger in, no matter how ill fitted his bowling shirt. Dean continued to devour his burger and fries as the team ordered their drinks one after the other. It was 6:25 and the other team were toweling off their balls, eyeing them while glancing at their watches. 

    “C’mon Sam,” Dean urged under his breath.

    “Sam, I expect, but where the hell is Cas?” Bobby wondered, squinting towards the entrance.

    “Told you, you should have asked someone else to take the old man’s spot,” Dean smiled smugly, before popping another fry in his mouth.

    “Yeah, well, most my friends are too old or too tired for this shit. Can you imagine Rufus out here each week?” Bobby sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of his whiskey.

    “Bobby, can I ask you something?” Dean started. “Are you still bowling because you enjoy it or because it’s a night out of the house?”

    “You work with your wife for twenty years and tell me if you wouldn’t be out here every chance you got.” Bobby eyed Dean like he was slow. A burning grin pulled across Dean’s face, he almost choked on his last bite he was laughing so hard. Dean took a swig of his beer and Bobby rolled his eyes.

     “Singer! Let’s go!” Roy Wilkinson called from down on the lane.

     “What a jackass,” Bobby whispered to Dean, before turning to the opposing team’s captain. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”

     It was 6:31.

      Dean had learned by now to place Sam last in the line up, but Cas usually went second. With a quick scramble, Dean adjusted their bowling order and sent Cas and Sam their own personalized texts of annoyance. It shouldn’t be that much of a deal, but he was embarrassed. Plus, Dean didn’t want to see Bobby continue to take shit for their tardiness.

    At 6:44, a sheepish Castiel and an annoyed Sam walked into the alley together. Sam still had his suit on, his bowling bag slung over his shoulder. 

    “Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked once his brother sat down to swap shoes.

    “The hoopty bit it, Cas called me because he figured I was closest,” Sam explained, knowing that would have been Dean’s next question.

    “Did he hit anybody or did it just die?” Dean asked, eyes raking over Cas’s body for signs of injury.

    “It killed while he was driving. Not sure if it’s electrical or if he just ran out of fucking gas,” Sam whispered, frustration evident.

    “Well, you guys missed the first frame, but you got yourself a hot minute to catch your breath and grab a beer,” Ash butt in. Mick came back from picking up a spare and the story got told all over again.

    “I’m really sorry, Bobby,” Cas explained.

    “You bowl for a mechanic’s team, boy. You shouldn’t have let it get that bad in the first place,” Bobby dismissed the clueless man as he made his way to the ball return.

    “Dean?” Cas asked, leaning over Dean’s shoulder at the now useless scorer keeper’s spot.

    “Yeah?” Dean replied.

    “Do you think, could you give me a ride to the bar? And home after I do my nightly paperwork?” Cas explained, his blue eyes beseeching and all too familiar.

    Dean groaned and closed his eyes. “How late? I’ve got a day job I need to be at, too, man.”

    “Wednesday’s are Ladies’ Night, so it could be awhile,” Cas pondered aloud. “But you don’t have to stay, I can ask at the bar, maybe Ana wouldn’t mind.”

    Dean’s stomach instantly knotted with guilt, knowing how the waitress would feel to be trapped with Cas duty after a long shift. He shouldn’t have been so short with him, his car problems probably weren’t his fault. 

    “Nah, man, I got you. Let’s just bowl, get out of here as soon as possible,” Dean suggested, chin jutting out toward the lanes. Cas was up.

    “You’re a lifesaver,” Cas grinned in relief. Dean swallowed and nodded, biting back the smile that crept up whenever Cas looked at him like that. A sour taste settled in the back of his throat as he watched Cas barely clip the 6 and 10 pins. Ignoring the rest of the frame, Dean went back for another drink before it was his turn.

    Losing the first game was inevitable, but the Winchester brothers had a reputation to uphold and they rallied the team for the final two games. Together, they gave the opposing team some much deserved karma. Dean racked seven strikes in a row, but missed the 7 pin on his last ball. Sam, looking utterly ridiculous in his dress shirt and bowling shoes, followed up his tenth frame with a shaky spare. Then he pulled a strike out of thin air with the third ball.

    The lane erupted.

     Mick and Ash hooted and bumped chests. Dean jumped at his brother, nearly tackling him, before lifting him off the floor by his waist in celebration. Bobby, proud as ever, gave everyone a high five before he shook hands with the now salty Roy. Then Bobby ensured his team followed suit, as a sign of good sportsmanship, even if their faces didn’t hide the smugness of victory.

    The champion’s high was short lived for Dean, because reality reared its ugly head when Cas awkwardly started to shadow him as they cleaned up their equipment. Dean towelled off his ball and slipped it into his bag, trying not to let the disappointment of missing out on a drink with the team to cart Cas’s ass across town show. Or the phantom nervousness of being alone with him that Dean had to tell himself to shake.

    Cas was just his friend. He had only ever been his friend. No matter how many times Dean craved to be alone with him, it had never meant anything more than friendship to Cas.

    Dean had nothing to feel guilty about. But when Cas dropped onto the bench seat beside him in the impala, Dean’s heart started to race. He felt like he was walking a dangerous line between ambiguity and cheating.

    “Thanks again, Dean,” Cas’s deep voice croaked.

    Plastering on a company smile, Dean brushed him off. “It was only a matter of time for that jalopy anyway, now if you just trust me and sell the damned thing, maybe you could get a reliable set of wheels.”

    “Ash says he can have it at the shop by tomorrow afternoon,” Cas threw out there tentatively. 

    Dean gave Cas the side eye. “You’re calling Ellen first thing and BEGGING her to work you in, cuz I am no good at weaseling somebody onto the schedule.”

    “I know, Bobby warned me. And Ash.”Cas squinted in thought. “And Mick, now that I think about it.” 

     Dean told himself to keep his eyes on the road. And to ignore the suddenly crushing weight of his phone against his thigh. He felt like he should be letting Benny know what he was doing, somehow. Like if he didn’t tell Benny where he was and with who, then he was asking to get dumped. 

    Dean, no stranger to self-sabotage, overthought until his head hurt. He couldn’t cheat if they weren’t dating. Driving a friend home wasn’t cheating. It didn’t matter that he had had feelings for Cas for as long as he could remember. Benny wasn’t his boyfriend. Officially. Right?

    Cas turned to look at Dean. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

    Again with the inopportune observations.

    “Just got a lot on my mind,” Dean dismissed Cas’s concern and leaned over to turn on the radio, close enough that Dean got a whiff of Cas’s familiar cologne. The scent flooded Dean’s senses with bittersweet memories and he had to clear his throat to clear the haze of desire that was always associated with it, with Cas himself. Dean drummed his thumb against the steering wheel and held onto the music for as long as he could.

    They arrived at The Pearly Gates just before ten, cars and suvs filled the small parking lot and spilled over onto the narrow side street. Dean cursed and backed into the narrow alley, unwilling to risk his paint job among the other vehicles.    

    “Alright, I’ll wait here, go do your busy work.” Dean cranked the car into park.

    Cas gave Dean a cautious look before he crawled out of the passenger seat, mindful of the space between the building and his door. Dean didn’t want to think about whatever Cas thought was going on with him. And Dean really didn’t need him prying all of the sudden.

    Dean thought about how oblivious Cas used to be and how much he had changed since they’d been friends. He was still Cas, but he wasn’t the same.

    They’d met at a party on campus, which Dean always seemed to find despite not attending. A very drunk Cas had been locked out of his house by his asshole roommates, which were mostly his brother Gabe’s friends. Dean sat on a half-broken picnic table in the backyard toking, as Cas yelled to be let in. It was barely above freezing, but Dean didn’t want to share with the asshole college crowd he’d seen so far.

     Cas was in black jeans and a tee shirt, shivering.

    “Hey buddy?” Dean called out. “Look, give me a sec and I’ll pick the lock for ya, alright? Cool it.”

    “What?” Cas looked at him like he had three heads.

    Dean chuckled. “Stop yelling. I’ll get you in. Just let me finish my joint.”

    Cas walked over, rubbing his arms with his hands before he started blowing on his hands. Dean had stared, the buzz slowed his thoughts. He just took in the details of Cas’s hands and the way his meaty lips probably looked as the hot air left them. 

    “You want a hit before I pinch it off?” Dean offered, hand extended in selfish offering.

    “I’m good.” Cas waved him off, smiling without teeth. A good kid, Dean thought, or a dweeb.

    Dean sucked in the last puff of smoke and carried it in his chest as he crossed the lawn to the backdoor. As he squatted, he exhaled, letting himself completely relax before he dug for his small set of tools. 

    “I’m sorry, but my roommates are---,” Cas started.

    “Dicks?” Dean guessed.

    Cas sighed in agreement, and that moment Dean probably will never forget as long as he lives. Dean looked up to see Cas in the yellow glow from the porch light, his blue eyes distinguishable for the first time.

    “Uh?” Cas squinted in confusion.

    “Right.” Dean sighed and shook his head, fitting the pick into the lock.

    “You’re sure you can do this?” Cas continued, disbelief clung to every syllable.

    But Dean didn’t have to answer, because just then Dean cackled in triumph, “Yahtzee!” and the door swung open. 

    Cas marched past him and into the warmth of the overpacked house. He turned just before he got swallowed by the crowd and nodded his thanks, eyes deep enough for Dean to get lost in.

    Dean couldn’t remember much else from that specific party, but meeting Cas. They weren’t friends until a few more chance encounters and a flat tire, but it was their beginning. 

     Dean hadn’t told Benny about Cas, other than he was a friend that he helped out. He didn’t have labels for what Cas meant to him, he’d never let it solidify from thought and feeling into word or definition. There had been something there and if he wasn’t careful, Dean could get lost in the familiarity, the lingering hope of perpetual possibility.

     Dean probably should say something, eventually.

     The car had gotten cold while he waited for Cas to finish the deposit. Dean had turned off the engine to save the gas, but was starting to regret it when his phone rang. 

     “Heya, gorgeous, how’d ya bowl?” Benny drawled before Dean could finish his greeting.

    “Alright, just around my average, but I tanked the last game. You off work already?” Dean asked, knowing Benny usually worked well past mall hours if he was in the middle of something. 

    “Yeah, leaving it for another day. You at home?” Benny continued.

    “No, at the bar, killing time,” Dean inaccurately summarized. “Why? You miss me?”

    “Well not if you’re gonna be like that, I don’t,” Benny teased.

    “What days are you off again?” Dean sidestepped.

    “Tomorrow and Sunday. You wanna come over?” Benny asked.

    “I do, but I can’t, I’m wiped. Six am is early enough on a good night,” Dean apologized. “I can roll in after my shift at the bar on Saturday though, if you don’t mind me showing up close to three.”

    “That could work. I’ve gotta be somewhere at eleven, but you’re welcome to join me,” Benny offered.

    “That depends, is it a church service? I need to prepare myself for the smiting showing up after a night with you,” Dean countered.

    Benny laughed, “Not a’tall. Me and some buddies do brunch every week.”

    Dean sobered up, but he couldn’t stop the snark. “You do brunch?”

    “Yeah?” Benny replied, not giving Dean anything more. Dean licked his lips and gaped at the offer. Benny wanted to introduce him to his friends. “You alright, cher?”

    “Yeah, just got distracted, sorry,” Dean lied horribly. “I don’t want to crash your plans. We’ll see, alright?”

    Benny inhaled audibly. “Yeah, I understand. You’ll still stay over though?”

    “Yeah, I’ll be there.” Dean agreed.

    “Hey, maybe, if you don’t mind I could slip in for a drink after my shift Friday?” Benny suggested.

    Dean smiled. “That’d be great. Gives me something to look forward to on a double shift.”

    “You alright?” Benny almost whispered.

    “Yeah, just tired, sorry, not my usual charismatic self,” Dean huffed.

    “Nothing to be sorry for, sugar. Just checkin’ in on ya,” Benny soothed. Dean closed his eyes and relished in the sound of Benny’s calming voice.

    “Tell me something,” Dean asked, not wanting to end the conversation.

    “What do you want to know?” Benny chuckled, deep and genuine.

    “I don’t know, just keep talking. What were you working on tonight?” Dean said.

    “A pair of saddle bags for a custom bike,” Benny started. “Real nice ones too. Sturdy, but soft. Got some staining to do then the branding. But I got everything cut and measured for now. You ride?”

     Dean hummed, then remembered he was asked a question. “Sorry, on occasion, I don’t have a bike of my own anymore. Do you?”

     “Well, they don’t call me a leather daddy just for my outfits, cher,” Benny teased. “Before it snows, I’ll see if we can get the bike out for a spin.”

     “Now I’ve got that visual burning through my thoughts,” Dean murmured suggestively. 

     “Happy to oblige,” Benny goads. 

     “I’m sure you would,” Dean huffs. “Thanks, it was just nice to hear your voice.”

     “Anytime, Dean, all you have to do is call. You know that right?” Benny pressed.

     “Yeah, I know, I know.” Dean agreed, when an extra blast of cold air hit his side. Cas was back. “I better go. I’ll see you soon.”

      “Dean?” Cas interrupted.

      “Okay, well, enjoy the bar,” Benny sounded like he’d heard Cas. “Bye, darlin’.”

     “Night,” Dean ended the call.

     “Who was that?” Cas asked, tugging at his trenchcoat to get the seatbelt on.

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Part 6: Loose Lips Sink Ships

[longitudinalwaveme]

Playing With Fire

The Flash stars in: Playing with Fire  

Dramatis Personae

Wally West, the energetic and cheerful third Flash

Iris Allen, a charismatic reporter, the wife of Barry Allen, and the aunt of Wally

Heat Wave, alias Mick Rory, a dim witted and surprisingly friendly pyromaniac

The Pied Piper, alias Hartley Rathaway, a Robin Hood-esque thief

Mirror Master I, alias Sam Scudder, a melodramatic thief and talented inventor

Script

Act I

(Iris is onstage, writing. Enter Wally)

Wally: Hi, Aunt Iris!

Iris: (Looks up from her paper) Hi, Wally! What’s up?

Wally: I was just dropping by to see my favorite aunt.

Iris: Well, it’s nice to see you. How’s my favorite nephew?

Wally: Aunt Iris, I’m your only nephew.

Iris: So? Can’t you be both? (Wally nods)

Wally: I’m doing great! How are you?

Iris: Wonderful! You see, I’m writing this terrific exposé on corruption in the mayor’s office, and my editor really thinks it could win me an award-maybe even a Pulitzer!

Wally: Wow, Aunt Iris, that’s awesome! The award, I mean, not that there’s corruption in the mayor’s office. I always knew you’d be world-famous someday!

Iris: In speaking of world famous, is there anything new on the superhero front?

Wally: Surprisingly, no. I haven’t heard anything from any of the Rogues for more than a month. It’s kind of nice to have a break, honestly.

Iris: I’m sure Linda and the kids appreciate it, too.

Wally: Yeah, it’s been great! It’s always nice to have more time to spend with them, especially since, with my speed, we’ve been able to tour half of Europe’s museums.

Iris: I never thought of you as a culture buff.

Wally: You don’t know everything about me! I mean, part of my charm comes from my air of exotic mystery! (Iris laughs)

Iris: The tour was Linda’s idea.

Wally: (Sighs) Yeah, it was her idea. How did you know?

Iris: Because you’re a terrible liar. Seriously, “my air of exotic mystery”? The only thing remotely mysterious about you is how you thought that that would be a convincing story.

Wally: All right, you’ve got me there. (Pause) But museums are so boring! Nothing ever changes, and everyone moves so slowly! In the time it takes Linda to look at one statue, the kids and I could  speed through the museum a hundred times, but we aren’t allowed to! It’s like watching sports, only a thousand times worse! It’s just too slow!

Iris: Everything is too slow for you, Wally.

Wally: I can’t help it! I’m a speedster!

Iris: So are Barry and Jay, and I’ve never heard them complain about museums. I don’t think this is a speedster problem. I think this is a Wally problem.

Wally: Because I’m impatient?

Iris: Well, yes, but also because you got your speed much younger than Jay and Barry did. Your uncle thinks that because of that, your powers had a greater effect on your body and your mind than it did on theirs-and that your kids will probably be even more affected than you are because their powers are natural.

Wally: Oh, joy. I’ll never be able to deal with two mes on steroids for fifteen years!

Iris: Look, if I was able to deal with a ten-year-old you with no powers, you should definitely be able to deal with your kids. You’ll be fine.

Wally: If you say so, Aunt Iris.

Iris: I do. If you can save the world, you can do this.

Wally: I think saving the world is easier.

Iris: So, what are Linda and the kids up to now?

Wally: They’re at the library. Linda’s been taking Jai and Irey to Storytime for about a year now, and they seem to like it. The only complaint I’ve heard is that they enter and leave the library way too quickly, but given their powers, that might be unavoidable, at least for awhile.

Iris: I’m glad your kids like the library. Bart avoids it like everyone in it has the plague.

Wally: Even with all the great comic books there?

Iris: Yes. He just seems to hate books on principle. He says that he has trouble processing words because his eyes move too fast for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing. Did you ever experience that?

Wally: All the time! It was lucky that I liked to read books before I got my powers, because otherwise I’d probably never have opened a book again. Speedster brains work so much faster than average that if we don’t focus, it’s basically impossible to read anything, and since he was in the Speed Force for such a long time, Bart probably never learned how to focus. If you want him to read more, you’ll have to teach him how to focus first.

Iris: Could I employ your help on that?

Wally: Of course! Who do you think taught my kids how to focus?

Iris: Thanks, Wally. Barry’s been trying to help him, but Barry loves to read, and, like I said, he got his powers in his twenties. His brain chemistry isn’t as altered by his powers as Bart’s brain chemistry is by his.

Wally: Hey, no problem. What else are favorite nephews for?

Iris: In your case? Comedic relief.

Wally: Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week!

Iris: (Laughs) Never change, Wally. Never change.

Wally: I’m not planning to, Aunt Iris. (Pause) Hey, are you hungry?

Iris: No, but I’d imagine that you are. Do you want to get a mid morning snack?

Wally: Aunt Iris, you read my mind. Let’s go eat!

(Exit Both)

Act II

(Pied Piper is onstage, playing an instrument. Enter Mirror Master and Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: (To Mirror Master) See, Scudder? I told you he’d be here!

Mirror Master: (To Heat Wave) How did you manage to find him? Even the Flash can’t find him when he doesn’t want to be found!

Heat Wave:  It ain’t really that hard, Sam. Our little buddy over there’s a bleeding heart, so when he ain’t with us and ain’t  in jail, he’s almost always on or near Baker Street.

Mirror Master: What does the Piper want with Skid Row?

Heat Wave: Where’s Skid Row? I just told you that this is Baker Street!

Mirror Master: (Sighs) It’s a figure of speech, Mick. “Skid Row” is just a term for a rundown, dirt-poor neighborhood like this one. Why would the Piper come here?

Heat Wave: Because it’s rundown and poor. Don’t you know that Piper gives everything he steals to poor people?

Mirror Master: Well, yeah, I know, but I didn’t think he lived with them.

Heat Wave: He lives with us , don’t he?

Mirror Master: We aren’t poor!

Heat Wave: Scudder, both of us are high school dropouts. Neither of us has ever had a legal job. We almost never get to spend the money we steal ‘cause the Flash busts us before we can. I grew up in a one-story, two-bedroom farmhouse, and you grew up….hey, you grew up here! In what world are we not poor?

Mirror Master: I had a Ferrari….

Heat Wave: That you stole. And that the Flash returned to its original owner after three days.

Mirror Master: Not the point! I’m the most skilled inventor on the planet! I invented solid holograms and teleportation and a weapons system more sophisticated than any army’s! I discovered another dimension, for Pete’s sake! I’m not poor! (Piper stops playing)

Heat Wave: You’ve never made money off of none of that, Sam. I know you’re real smart-I’m just saying that neither of us is real rich.  

Mirror Master: Okay, maybe not, but I’m not living in the slums.  

Heat Wave: Yeah, because prison is so much better.

Pied Piper: The two of you are aware that I can hear you, correct?

Mirror Master: HOW?

Pied Piper: My parents spent 20 million dollars on ‘curing’ my deafness with hearing aids, and they received their money’s worth. My hearing range goes up to 45,000 hertz, about the same as a dog’s, and is generally extremely acute. I hear everything, and even if I did not, you two were not exactly being quiet. (Pause) Why are you looking for me?

Mirror Master: Wait….your parents spent twenty million for one operation?

Pied Piper: My parents have a net worth of 55 billion dollars. They could have spent five times that amount and not even felt it. (Pause) But I digress. What brings you two here?

Mirror Master: You.

Pied Piper: My skills or my companionship?

Heat Wave: Both!

Pied Piper: I trust that one of you has a target in mind, then?

Mirror Master: Of course I do. You see, a certain Ms. Portia Storme, a famous actress and debutante, is coming to Central City to donate some of her jewelry to Central City’s History Museum at 2:30 PM but I think that those jewels would be a lot more useful to us than to any museum. I can get us into the museum, and then you can hypnotize Ms. Storme and the patrons long enough for us to steal the jewels and split. What do you think?

Pied Piper: And if one of the Flashes shows up?

Mirror Master: That’s what Heat Wave’s for. He’ll wait outside the museum and, if the Flash shows up, he’ll distract him long enough for us to make our escape. Once we’ve gotten back to my pad safely, I’ll pick him up via Mirror Realm.

Pied Piper: That sounds like a solid plan. I’m in!

Heat Wave: Great! The more the merrier!  

Mirror Master: Okay, now that that’s established, we can shoot the breeze for a bit. How have you been, Piper?

Pied Piper: Physically, I’m as fit as a fiddle. Otherwise….I’m homeless.

Mirror Master: Again? How’d it happen this time?

Pied Piper: Well, I actually bought a little apartment a couple of weeks ago, but then I ran into this couple who were raising their granddaughter because their daughter is addicted to heroin, and their apartment was falling apart, so I gave them mine, and I was going to get another one with money that I swiped from a movie star, but then I met this poor man who was suffering from some sort of mental illness, so I had to pay for him to go to a mental hospital, and then I gave the rest of the money to help pay for the cancer treatment of a young father with four little children.

Heat Wave: I’ve got some money saved up, buddy. Do you want me to give you some?

Pied Piper: No, but thank you. I’m young and quite robust. I’ll be fine.

Mirror Master: Yeah, until you freeze to death.

Pied Piper: It gets that cold here?

Mirror Master: We’re covered in snow for half the winter! Yeah, it gets that cold here! Have you never ended up homeless in the winter?

Pied Piper: Well, no. I was only evicted from the apartment I was renting with the money I took from my parents six months ago. My sporadic homelessness is a recent thing.

Mirror Master: Word of advice, then: don’t give any of the money from this heist away.

Pied Piper: What? Why?

Mirror Master: Because it’s already November, and if you don’t get a place to stay soon, you’re going to be out on the streets in the dead of winter.

Pied Piper: Better me than a child!

Mirror Master: Dude, your hypothetical child is ten times more street savvy than you are.

Pied Piper: And has none of the luxuries I was spoiled with as a child.

Mirror Master: So? They don’t know what they’re missing. I should know. I was one.

Pied Piper: And yet you now deny being poor so vehemently.

Mirror Master: (Pause, searching for response, but not finding one) Fine. Do whatever you want. But don’t blame me when you’re sleeping on the streets in that threadbare jacket in single degree weather!

Heat Wave: (Trying to change the subject) Hey, who wants lunch? After all, it’s never good to rob a  museum on an empty stomach.

Pied Piper: Well, now that you’ve mentioned it, I am a little hungry. Where were you thinking that we would go?

Heat Wave: Uh, whatever makes you guys happy, I guess.

Mirror Master: Hmm…. I’ll have to reflect on that.

Pied Piper: I didn’t really have anything in mind, either.

Heat Wave: Okay then. Um….how about that barbeque place that opened a couple weeks ago?

Mirror Master: Sure, why not?

Pied Piper: That works as well as the next place, I suppose.

Heat Wave: All right, then I guess it’s settled. We’re going to eat some barbeque!

(Exit all)

Act III

(Wally and Iris are onstage)

Wally: So, do you have anything else planned for today, Aunt Iris?

Iris: Yes, I do. Portia Storme, the famous actress, is donating some of her family heirlooms to Central City’s History Museum at 3 PM, and I found out this morning that Picture News is sending me to cover the story.

Wally: Portia Storme? As in the Portia Storme who starred in The Superhero who Loved Me ?

Iris: Yes, that Portia Storme.

Wally: Are you allowed to bring a guest? I'm her biggest fan!

Iris: No such luck. I’m attending for business, not pleasure.

Wally: Darn it! I’ve wanted to get her autograph since I was fifteen!

Iris: I wonder what Linda would think of that.

Wally: Aunt Iris! It’s not like that! I just think that she’s a talented actress!

Iris: And the fact that she’s widely considered to be extremely attractive has nothing to do with it, right?

Wally: Aunt Iris !

Iris: Don’t worry, Wally, I know you love Linda. I was just teasing you.

Wally: Oh. Okay. Then tell Portia hi for me.

Iris: I will. In  fact, I’ll even get her autograph if I can.

Wally: Thanks, Aunt Iris! You’re the best!

Iris: You’re welcome, Wally. (Pause) Oh, and would you mind telling your uncle where I am when he gets off work? I didn’t learn that I was covering the museum story until after he left for work.

Wally: Of course I’ll tell him!

Iris: Good. I don’t want a repeat of the “Flash Marathon” debacle.

Wally: The Flash Marathon debacle? What’s that?

Iris: You don’t remember that time that I was assigned to cover the Flash Marathon of 2010 at the last possible second and Barry didn’t know so he ran halfway around the world looking for me?

Wally: Oh, yeah, I remember that now! He took me out of Calculus to help find you!

Iris: Poor, dear, Barry. He was so embarrassed when he found out that I was fine.

Wally: He was embarrassed? I had to explain to my Calculus teacher that I had cut class to rescue someone who wasn’t in any danger and then I got detention!

Iris: That may have had something to do with the fact that you’d cut class the previous week to get Chinese food from China, Wally.

Wally: What can I say? I was-

Iris: Hungry. I know. (Wally vanishes and returns with food) Wally: Want some authentic fajitas? Or some escargots?

Iris: No, thank you.

Wally: Okay. More for me. (Eats food)

Iris: How does Linda keep up with your appetite?

Wally: Oh my gosh! Linda! I told her I’d pick her and the kids up from story time, and I completely forgot about it! I’ve gotta go get them! See you, Aunt Iris! Bye! (Exit Wally)

Iris: That’s my nephew. (Pulls out paper) Let’s see. Now, where was I? Oh, right! (Begins writing) “A careful examination of the city’s funds reveals that 20% of the city’s funds have been diverted to an undisclosed project which does not correspond to any known public works project that has been discussed by the city council. Detective Jared Morillo, who headed the investigation, stated that “We’re almost certain that at least one of the elected officials of the city has been misappropriating funds,” but declined to provide further details, so I did some digging of my own and uncovered a document that revealed that four members of the mayor’s cabinet have been funneling tax dollars into their own private accounts, and that one of them, Mr. Franklin Jones, failed to press charges of robbery on the Pied Piper out of fear that his own misdeeds would come under scrutiny.” This article is going to be great!

Act IV

(Enter Pied Piper, Heat Wave, and Mirror Master with a water bottle)

Mirror Master: (To Heat Wave) How did you manage to eat two buckets of that barbeque? My mouth felt like it was on fire after I ate one piece!

Heat Wave: You should try a ghost pepper sometime, buddy. If you thought that was hot, you haven’t seen nothing yet!

Mirror Master: I’ll pass. (Guzzles water) I’ve had enough eye-watering for a year.

Pied Piper: I’m so glad that I ordered the salad.

Heat Wave: You don’t know what you’re missing, little buddy.

Pied Piper: When I was seven years old, I had lunch with the President of India. That meal contained enough spice to put me off strong seasoning forever, so I am quite aware of what I’m missing.

Mirror Master: You’ve been to another country?

Pied Piper: (Embarrassed) Actually, I’ve been to twenty other countries, and to several more than once. My parents wanted to maintain their global connections, so the visits were a necessity.

Heat Wave: (To Mirror Master) His parents are stupid rich, remember?

Mirror Master: (Enviously) Right. (Pause) Well, if this heist goes right, by 5 PM tonight, we’ll be stupid rich too. Let’s get to the museum! Heat Wave, you’ll be alright by yourself?

Heat Wave: Of course I will, buddy.

Mirror Master: In that case, we’re set to go, Piper. It’s time to make some money!

(Cut to another room, where Iris is. Pied Piper and Mirror Master enter)

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Where is everybody?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) How should I know? This is your heist!

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Captain Boomerang told me that Storme would be here at 2:30, so where is everybody?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) Wait….you learned about this from Digger ?

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Yeah. Why?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master; growing increasingly louder) Because he’s Digger! If he knew about a potential target and didn’t go after it himself, it could only be because he was drunk! He must have given you the wrong time!

Iris: Who’s there? The museum’s closed to visitors today! (Gasps) You!

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Nice going. Now somebody knows we’re here! (To Iris) Hey, Mrs. Allen. Long time no see.

Iris: What are you two doing here? Pied Piper: Our intent was to steal Ms.Storme’s jewelry, but apparently we had some erroneous information and so we showed up before she did. What are you doing here?

Iris: I’m here to report on the donation of the jewels, and you two are under arrest.

Mirror Master: And you’re going to stop us from escaping how?

Iris: (Pulls out a gun) I’m licensed to carry a firearm, that’s how.

Mirror Master: YOU HAVE A GUN? (To Piper) This would be a good time to do some hypnotizing.

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) Before or after she shoots me? (To Iris) All right, we surrender. (Iris handcuffs them)

Iris: I’m so glad that Barry let me borrow those in case I ever needed to pull a citizen’s arrest.

Mirror Master (Aside) Beaten by a girl...this is so humiliating….

Iris: Really? That was way easier than I anticipated.

Pied Piper: Well, I didn’t want you to get hurt, Mrs. Allen. I really admire you. Your exposé on the plight of inner city schools was phenomenal!

Iris: You read my articles?

Pied Piper: Of course! Your crusades to better this city are worthy of the highest respect. You are quite as much of a hero as your husband, Mrs. Allen.

Iris: Why does a thief care about the betterment of anything? Pied Piper: Mrs. Allen, I only steal from those who can afford it, and, quite frankly, who deserve it, and only to give to those who need it. I may operate outside the normal legal parameters, but I only do it because working inside them will get me nowhere. The 1% control the system, so until the system is changed, I have to work outside it if people are going to get real help.

Iris: So why don’t you just help better  the system legally instead of breaking the law and getting yourself into trouble?

Pied Piper: Because someone has to help even the score in the interval, and, frankly, because it helps absolve me of my own guilt. I spent the first twenty-two years of my life living in scandalous luxury, without a thought for anyone but myself. My parents paid to cure me of deafness that would have been a permanent disability in anyone else, I had a closetful of clothes I never wore, I owned three cars before I could drive, and I had more toys than I could ever have used. My parents paid my tutors to ensure that I made high grades, and then they bribed my college to make sure that I was on the top of my class. If I’m on the streets and being thrown in jail now, it’s no more than what I deserve.

Iris: Do you mind if I record that? I always thought that there was something fishy about your family’s empire-other than you, I mean.

Pied Piper: You’d better not. My parents would pay through the nose to make sure that that story never got out, so there’d be no point.

Mirror Master: Uh, as much as Pied Piper’s daddy issues fascinate me, would you mind calling the police or the Flash already?

Iris: Oh, right. (Pulls out phone) Hey, Wally, I have some supervillains for you to pick up. (Pause) What, are you surprised? I didn’t become a famous reporter by being timid. (Pause) Yeah, I’m just fine. (Pause) No, no one else was in danger. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. (Pause) No, I’m not going to fight supervillains on a regular basis. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and facing the right morons. (Pause) All right. See you soon. Buh-bye. (Puts phone away) Back to jail for you two.

Mirror Master: I’m thrilled . (To Piper) Let’s pretend this never happened, okay?

Pied Piper: That sounds good to me!

Act V

(Heat Wave is onstage. Enter Wally)

Heat Wave: Hey, Flash! Seeing you really burns me up! (Shoots fire plume in the air)

Wally: Heat Wave?

Heat Wave: Yeah, that’s me! I hope you aren’t going to fight me, because that would be-

Wally: Playing with fire. Yeah, I know. Heat Wave: (horrified) You stole my pun!

Wally: Hey, you know what they say: It takes a thief to catch a thief.

Heat Wave: But you’re not a thief!

Wally: Yeah, I am! I stole your pun!

Heat Wave: (Laughs) Hey, that’s pretty good. You should’ve been a comedian! (Shoots fire at Wally, who dodges)

Wally: That’s what my aunt tells me. So, what are you doing here?

Heat Wave: Making stuff burn.

Wally: Well, yeah, I can see that, but I know you can’t be operating alone, because where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and when there’s fire, there’s you, and when there’s you, there’s the other Rogues. What are you guys planning? (Dodges another blast from Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: Stay still! (Misses again)

Wally: Why, so I can move out of the frying pan and into the fire? No, thanks!

Heat Wave: Hey, stop taking all my puns before I can use them. I don’t have that many!

Wally: Aww, stop being such a hot-head, Heat Wave!

Heat Wave: I bet you think you’re so smart! Well, you won’t feel so smart when Mirror Master and Pied Piper escape with all the loot they stole because I distracted you!

Wally: Oh, so that’s why you’re here. Well, I hate to break it to you, but they’ve already been captured. (Takes Heat Wave’s gun)

Heat Wave: They’re captured? I gotta go rescue them!

Wally: Uh, you might find that difficult without this. (Waves gun)

Heat Wave: Hey, give that back!

Wally: Nope. Finders keepers. (Handcuffs Heat Wave, then brings out Pied Piper and Mirror Master) Here’s your pals. If it makes you feel any better, you get to go back to jail with them.

Heat Wave: Hi, guys!

Mirror Master: Hey, Mick. I guess you got caught, too?

Heat Wave: Yeah.

Mirror Master: Ugh, I don’t believe this! How did we get defeated again ?

Heat Wave: Don’t feel too bad, buddy. You know what they say: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! We’ll get lucky eventually.

Mirror Master: Shut up and let me mope.

Pied Piper: (To Wally) Tell your aunt to keep up the good work, won’t you? Wally: Um...sure. And just so you know, my offer still stands: serve your time and then help us help people the right way.

Piper: I’ll...I’ll keep that offer in mind.

Wally: Great! And we’re off! (Exits with them, re-enters alone. Enter Iris) Great work, Aunt Iris!

Iris: Aww, it was nothing...and hey, I’ve got a guaranteed front-page story! (They high-five)

Wally: You know what? All that fighting made me hungry! I’m gonna go eat! Love you, Aunt Iris!

Iris: I love you, too! (Exit Wally) Ooh, just wait until I tell Barry I defeated two supervillains!

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

Look Beyond The Broken Bottles, Past The Rotting Wooden Stairs

“Juno? Dear? Are you alright?

It was a low, maternal voice coming from outside his door.

He thought everyone left already.

“Juno I’m coming in.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TW LUNG PROBLEMS, COUGHING, NIGHTMARES

TW FOR THE FOLLOWING IMPLIED CHILD ABUSE, DOMESTIC ABUSE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juno felt like he was buried under a layer of concrete and it was seeping into his lungs.

He had caught something on the last planet he was on, Vespa had said it was preventable by vaccine, to which Rita piped up next to him, which he was thankful for since he was unable to talk, that Sarah never really cared enough to vaccinate her kids.

He had spent the last two days in the infirmary, Vespa trying to find if there was any medication to help him, with Rita very rarely leaving his side.

But he moved back into his bed, or Jet carried him since he was too sick to stand but he wouldn’t admit that after Vespa determined there was nothing she could do.

They were stopped at a planet now, he didn’t know which one, but everyone else had decided to step off the ship, Rita said something about snacks before running off along with the rest of the crew.

He coughed, his chest heaving and he couldn’t catch his damn breath.

Maybe all those years of smoking were a bad idea.

His lungs were burning and he was distantly reminded of times in the past, with exes, with Sarah.

He’d always had bad lungs, but they were worse when he was young, probably cause of the constant fighting.

He closed his eyes and he was four, Sarah, through him into the counter when he was coughing, annoyed by the sound.

He was 8 and he sat in a steaming bathroom at Mick’s house, he heard his dad talking on the phone and Mick and Sasha were sitting with him, he couldn’t breathe.

He was 25 and with Diamond, his lungs were better but still pretty awful, it was the weekend he was pretty sure, saying Diamond was home but when he asked she said it was a Wednesday, that he made her stay home.

He cried that day when she wouldn’t talk to him in anything but short angry sentences.

He was 32, he’d left Diamond by then, he was in his office and could not recall when or how he got to work, and Rita was next to him, she was holding a drink of something to his lips, telling him it would help, then they went to her car and she brought him to hers, refusing to leave him alone.

He was thankful for that, saying she needed to drive him to the hospital that night because of pneumonia.

He was in his bed on the Carte Blanche and for the first time he wished he had someone next to him, he’ll even Diamond or his mom.

It made him feel sick that he missed them.

He needed to get to the shower.

He didn’t think he could move.

He felt a hot tear drip down his face, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop crying after it started.

The sobbing only racked his lungs more, and he couldn’t stop the wet and hacking coughs from escaping.

“Juno? Dear? Are you alright?

It was a low, maternal voice coming from outside his door.

He thought everyone left already.

“Juno I’m coming in.”

She did, the door opened to reveal Buddy holding a mug of tea, in a relaxed outfit with her hair pulled back into a low bun.

He was still coughing and she quickly made her way over the bed, setting the mug on the side table, and propped Juno up, which he was very thankful for.

She rubbed his back while he coughed, still crying, and propped him up against the wall when it abated before sitting next to him on the bed.

“You’re burning up, dear.”

She mumbled, brushing her hand through his hair, and he let himself lean into it before he realized.

He nodded, and she set her hand on his knee, her expression was warm and comforting.

He let himself feel comforted for a moment.

“I’m going to go and set up a hot shower, you don’t need to take it right now but the steam could help with your lungs, wait here.”

He nodded, convinced she read his mind, and she stood up to go start the shower.

After a few minutes, or less he wasn’t sure, she was back and she carefully helped the lady out of his bed, slowly walking into the bathroom and sitting him on the ground.

He expected her to leave, but instead, she closed the door and sat on the floor next to him, gently pulling him into her.

“Its alright, Juno, you can rest.”

He tried to fight it, he knew comfort was temporary, never lasting, but it felt so safe that he let himself, resting his head on her lap as she ran her hand through it.

He let himself rest as the steam filled his lungs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buddy didn’t want to be a mother, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t maternal.

When her Vespa had told her that the ex-detective was ill, she was filled with an emotion she very rarely felt.

She made her way into the infirmary with her wife to check on him on occasion, but he was often asleep, and if not Rita or Peter were by his side.

But, now everyone except her and Jet was off the Carte Blanche at the market, and she just didn’t feel comfortable leaving the lady alone the whole time.

And she’s right to have come in when she did, she thought.

Seeing Juno so… vulnerable scared her in a way, he was usually so defensive, always picking fights as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But there he was, crying and ill alone in his room, unable to even catch his breath.

She remembered about steam helping, so she brought him into a steaming room, and that’s where she sat now, with the lady laying his head in her lap.

When she was looking into the Private Eye, she found many articles about Sarah Steel, about his brother and how he was killed, and she knew that couldn’t have meant good things for his childhood but wasn’t exactly sure of the details.

She still wasn’t, sure she had seen the aftermath of some of his nightmares and the way he acted when Vespa raised her voice or got angry, how he was reckless on missions resulting in frequent injuries.

That wasn’t even counting things that weren’t related to Sarah, but she assumed there were many, judging by the number of scars.

After some time in the steaming bathroom, she brought him back into his room, got him settled on his bed with a cold cloth on his head, and sat next to him on a chair.

It was half an hour before he started having nightmares again, violent thrashing, and sobbing, which triggered coughing fits but he couldn’t seem to wake up.

Buddy held Juno in his arms as he shook with violent coughing and sobs.

The lady didn’t seem to register what was going on, and he clung to her, trust in a way she had never seen him show, even to Rita.

“Hush, you’re okay.”

She rocked him gently as he sobbed, mentioning names she didn’t recognize and some she did.

He begged for forgiveness, and she tried to calm his tears, but to no avail.

“Alright Juno, it’s alright, just breathe.”

He curled into her, and she still wasn’t quite sure what to do.

She had never seen anyone quite this ill, at least it had been a long time.

Of course, her Vespa had gotten sick, and so had she, but she rarely had to do more than keep Vespa in bed, and she slept off her sickness most of the time.

She had taken care of Jet a few times from illness or injury, but he was fairly good at taking care of himself.

Juno shook in her arms until he wore himself out enough to fall asleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juno woke up, feeling sticky and alone.

There was a cup of water next to his bed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he could breathe.

He groaned and got out of his bed, wrapping a sweater around himself and slowly making his way out of his room.

The lady walked into the living room to see the whole crew there, talking in hushed voices, and Vespa was the first one to see him.

“Steel, what’re you doing up?”

The rest of the crew pipped up, and Juno felt a blush rise on his cheeks.

“Mista Steel! You’re awake!!”

Rita bounced over to him and led him over to the couch in the room, where the rest of the crew slowly made their way over.

“What happened and why are y’all treating me like some damsel in distress or somethin’”

He felt exhaustion tugging at himself again as a blanket got settled around him, but was rudely drawn o of it by Vespa shoving a thermometer in his mouth.

It beeped, and Vespa looked slightly relieved.

“You still got a fever but it’s down, you should go back to bed.”

He really didn’t want to stand up, but he’d rather that then Vespa kill him.

“Now, dear, Juno has been stuck in his bed for a rather long while, he could use a little company Look beyond the broken bottles Past the rotting wooden stairs and time away from his room, besides his bedding could use a wash.”

Juno was hit with a pant of guilt realizing that someone must have been taking care of him, something he honestly didn’t feel he deserved.

“‘M sorry”

He felt the couch next to him shift and a hand on his shoulder leading him against someone’s chest.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, Juno, and as a family, we help each other.”

Buddy held him close, and he let himself rest, surrounded by his family.

[puppetsoftomorrow]

its the post-episode avalance angst we all didnt need but i wrote anyway!!

tw for mentions of panic attacks and character death

Sara shot awake, the pain in her head indescribable, an electronic scream ricocheting in her ears - she slid off the bed, her back pressed against it. She pressed her hands to her ears, but the sound was getting louder and louder, her eyes were burning - she screwed them shut, then pressed her palms to her eyes.

"Sara? Sara, baby, you're having a panic attack, it's okay -"

Ava's voice cut through the noise, and Sara felt hands on her wrists, pulling them gently, but she shook her head, trying to breathe.

"It hurts - it hurts -" She said, breathless, and tried to shake off Ava's hands.

"I know." Ava said, voice soft. "Can you look at me, baby?"

"It's my eyes." Sara gasped, shaking, and Ava's hands on her wrists stilled.

"What?"

"They're burning - I'm burning -" She said, and Ava's hands moved to her arms.

"Let's get you to Gideon -" She said, and she helped her up.

Sara walked shakily down the corridors, her hands never leaving her eyes, Ava's arm around her waist, leading her gently, holding her close as she stumbled. She heard the whoosh of the med-bay doors, and Ava guided her into the chair.

"Can you put your hands down? I need to attach the bracelet -" Ava murmured, but Sara shook her head.

"It hurts so much." She whimpered.

"Oh - Sara - Gideon, can I have bandages?" There were noises, a slight crash, then Ava's hands were back on her wrists. "I'm gonna bandage them shut, okay baby?"

Sara pulled her hands away gingerly, and the noise in her head reached a fever pitch, but Ava worked quickly, winding the bandage around, and the noise quieted down, and Sara could breathe again.

Ava clicked the bracelet around her wrist, then kept her hand there, intertwining their fingers. There was quiet, and Sara tried to calm her breathing.

"I think I died." She said quietly into the darkness. She heard Ava's sharp intake of breath.

"What?"

"Charlies sister - she - I'm not sure, she glowed, and I hit the ground, and I wasn't. Then I was." Sara whispered, squeezing Ava's hand. "It was like - before - so cold, so lonely. Just darkness."

"Is - is that why you're in pain?" Ava said, her voice hoarse. "Gideon?"

"I can't find anything wrong." Gideon said, sounding almost remorseful. 

"What? You have to -" Ava started, and Sara squeezed her hand again.

"Whatever this is, Aves, it’s from a god. I don't think Gideon can help."

There was silence, only the beeping of the machines and the soft noises Ava was making.

"Wait - Behrad -" Sara sat up suddenly, pulling the bracelet away, but Ava put her hands on her shoulders. "If I'm alive, maybe -"

"I don't think so." Ava said sadly. "Zari's with him now."

"Why - why do I get so many second chances?" Sara whispered, and Ava's hands came to her cheeks, holding her gently.

"This isn't your fault, my love."

"I couldn't save him." She whispered. "I - I should have -"

Ava's hands were in her hair now, and she felt the press of her lips against her forehead.

"We have to get the loom. We have to bring him back." She said, her voice quiet and resolute, and she felt Ava hum against her skin.

"We need to find out what's wrong with you first." Ava said quietly, and Sara knew something was wrong when Ava didn't protest about using the loom.

"Can I just - sleep, please." At Ava's noise of protest, Sara turned to the ceiling. "Gideon, I'm not gonna die tonight, right?"

There was silence, and Sara didn't miss the way Ava stiffened.

"As far as I can tell, Captain, you are perfectly healthy."

"See?" Sara hummed, pulling off the bracelet. 

"No, Sara, you died -" Ava stumbled over the words. "You can't see. You're in pain -"

"I just want to sleep." Sara said, letting her exhaustion bleed into the words.

"Okay." Ava said, after a minute, and Sara moved to get off the seat, but found herself blocked. Ava wrapped her arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Sara let herself fall, just a little, into her chest, and breathed in.

"C'mon then." Ava said quietly, and they made their way back to their room.

///

It was getting louder.

It had been getting louder for days, the static and the screeching.

She'd managed to ignore it at first, wearing dark glasses, then bandaging her eyes at night.

She'd told the team the basics, and they didn't question her.

"I was hit by a god, it's gonna leave a mark." She said, trying to keep it light. Everyone was too shook up over the loss of Behrad to press her.

No one noticed as it got worse.

Ava noticed, or she started to. She stayed closer to her, never letting her pour her own coffee or get dressed without help, and she always made some excuse to be in the bathroom when Sara showered. Whenever the glasses slipped and Sara flinched, she was always there to press a kiss to her temple or squeeze her hand, something quiet and just for her, even in the middle of all the chaos.

Sara didn't have the heart to tell her how bad it was, or the low pain in her chest. She'd thought maybe it was indigestion, or a side effect from dying, but it was getting worse and worse, and her mind was drawn back to the newspaper.

Burned alive from the inside.

Maybe it was her punishment, for taking so many lives. To die slowly in the darkness.

///

The pain in her head was so bad she could barely breathe, and Sara couldn't hide it any longer.

"Go, go get the last piece. I'll be fine." She said, smiling in the direction of the Legends, from her position on the med-bay chair.

"Captain -" Nate said, clearly torn, but Sara interrupted him.

"Go. There's no time to lose."

They left, one by one, until there was only one shape in front of her, and Sara could guess who it was.

"You too, Aves. They'll need you."

"Sara -" Ava said, her voice cracking over the last syllable. "You're in pain."

"Gideon can give me something, I'll be fine. I need -" Sara took a deep breath. "Look after them, for me? Please?" She said, quietly desperate, and she heard Ava sigh, then felt as she squeezed her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

Sara nodded, then saw her shadow leave the room.

"The Legends have left, Captain." Gideon said, and Sara was only half listening. She dropped the sunglasses down by the chair and threw her arm up to cover her face, screwing her eyes tight shut, but the pain in her head was at a fever pitch, and the burning in her chest was clawing at her throat.

"What's the verdict, Gideon?" She asked, trying and failing to keep her nervousness out of her voice, and there was silence.

"I'm not sure, Captain, I can't see why -"

"I'm dying, aren't I?" Sara asked, quiet and scared.

"Yes." Gideon said, and the silence afterwards rang with a finality Sara understood.

She let out a breath, strained and shaking.

It was a strange feeling - the slipping away.

What does it feel like? Ava had asked once, as they lay in bed in the early hours, Sara drowsy and pliant in her arms.

Like falling asleep, Sara had said with a yawn.

///

The mission had gone terribly. They were all fractious and heartbroken, and they’d let the final piece of the loom slip through their fingers. They separated almost as soon as they’d reached the Waverider, Zari already crying, Mick muttering something about needing a beer.

Ava took a minute in the corridor, wiping her eyes and steadying herself. She’d felt like a pale imitation of Sara out there, too nervous and inflexible to make the right decisions, and she was a little embarrassed about seeing her again.

She opened the doors, and Sara was asleep. She took a few steps forward, words already spilling from her, apologies about the mission, and her hand came up on instinct to cradle her cheek.

It was so cold.

Ava snatched her hand away, the words caught in her throat, a dreadful coldness running down her spine.

“Sara?” She whispered, bringing her hand back down, rubbing her thumb over her cheekbones.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Sharpe.” Gideon’s voice was grave, and Ava didn’t hear the rest.

The Legends were in the med-bay, and Ava wasn’t sure how she was there, on the floor.

Sara’s weight was in her arms, her head lolling back. Gideon was speaking again, but Ava wasn’t listening - she held Sara against her, trying to keep her warm, her hand stroking the contours of her face – her cheekbones, her slightly blue lips, the pale violet of her eyelids.

“I wasn’t here.” She found herself saying, whispering, over and over. “She was alone, again – she was all alone.”

///

They moved her next to Behrad.

Mick had carried her, his face resolute, tears on his cheeks.

Ava sat on their bed, shaking.

She knew what she had to do – rally the Legends, get them together so they could find the loom and reverse this. Look after them, just like Sara had asked.

But she couldn’t stop shaking -

She hadn’t told Sara she’d loved her before the mission. She’d been so worried – Sara’s illness had been getting worse, even though she’d brush it off with a joke and a shrug anytime Ava had asked, which was so Sara, and Ava had just wanted to get the loom and get back to her – she hadn’t been thinking.

Sara had died, alone in the darkness, and Ava hadn’t told her she’d loved her.

Ava couldn’t even begin to process it. She’d been created to fight, to comply, to file, not to love so deeply it made her soar and sick with fear. Not love so much she was preparing to kill a god to bring Sara back.

She took deep breaths, steadying her heart and pushing her feelings down, down, down.

///

okay heres the question - should i continue this? what should the ending be? should i post it to ao3?? thanks for reading!!

[doof-doofblog]

"Tell Her!"

Monday 25th January 2021

Hello everyone! Hope you've all had a good relaxing weekend!  `We're back with a fresh new week of drama and anticipation. After what happened during Friday's episode, I'm really excited to see what will be the aftermath of Sharon's attempt on killing Ian. What will the neighbours and community think about Ian disappearing all of a sudden? I genuinely can't wait to see what happens.

As I predicted, after Ian's disappearance, Kathy appears to be hunting high and low for her son. Concerned that no one has seen him since the previous night, and he's not responding to any of her phone calls, Kathy is getting more and more concerned for her son. I'm sure you'll remember that when Ian decided to flee Walford, he chucked his phone into the bin, and without a word to anyone, disappeared into the night after realising that Sharon was behind the attack and wanting to kill him after learning the truth about Dennis's death. Kathy decides to confront Sharon about her son's disappearance, but of course Sharon can't reveal what's really happened and informs Kathy that Ian has probably gone for a walk to get some fresh air. To be fair, Sharon also has no idea where Ian has gone, before she makes her way back to the Vic, she asks Phil whether anything happened between him and Ian the previous night. Phil admits that Ian was no where to be seen, but makes the valid point that if he had seen him, he wouldn't be walking around right now. But it's not just Kathy who is questioning Ian's absence, Max also confronts Sharon later in the Vic. Max eventually got suspicious of Sharon and voiced his concerns to Ian, I do feel that maybe people are going to point the finger and blame Sharon for Ian going AWOL. But in all fairness, Sharon didn't go through with her plan, the last she saw Ian he was alive, she has no idea when or where he has fled. I do feel though that Kathy isn't going to let it lie, she'll be wanting answers from Sharon that's for sure!

The second thing I want to mention briefly, has anyone got any idea what Chelsea is up to? I'm still unsure as to what is happening with her, what her story is. I feel like it's going to be a long time until we learn what "The job" is that she's supposed to be doing. Since her return we've been made to believe that she has built bridges with her Father and decided to give him a second chance, however front of sticking up for her Dad, completely changed when she started getting phone calls from an unknown person. In this episode we see her getting a call from someone named "Caleb" and eventually a face is given to this person's identity. Chelsea seems really stunned to see him, who is this Caleb and what has he got over Chelsea? Is she working for him maybe? As they sit together in the Vic, Caleb seems to compliment on the clothes that she is working, pointing out that it was with his money that she paid for those items. Chelsea informs him that he will be getting the money back, but as soon as he mentions Lucas, Chelsea informs him to let her deal with him. Is Chelsea using her Dad to perhaps pay this Caleb back? Who knows? Either way, I'm looking forward to finding out more of Chelsea's story. What do you think it could be? Do you understand what's happening more than I do? If so, please enlighten me, as I am finding this a little bit confusing and quite difficult to follow. I'm hoping as time goes on, more will be revealed and everything will make sense.

Thirdly, I have to mention Ben and Callum, don't I? I have to! After hearing news that Lexi isn't feeling too well at school and with Ben being busy and Lola being stuck at the salon, Callum appears to be the only person available to help and pick the young girl up. However, as soon as he gets there, Isaac refuses to let Lexi go with him, as his name isn't on the Parental and/or Guardian list for who the school should contact when their child is ill. As far as Isaac is concerned, the only people who are on that list are Lola and Ben, even though Callum fights his corner, informing him that he's not a stranger and Lexi will be safe in his hands if she was to go with him. But, to be fair, Isaac is only doing his job - if he was to let Lexi go with an unknown member of the public (which is how the school will see him) - he could be in huge trouble. This specific event seems to surprise everyone, Ben even pleads to Lola to allow Callum onto the list, but Lola admits that just because Callum is another one of Ben's boyfriends, she can't allow him on the list and strictly informs him that the list is just for family members only! Clearly, this seems to play on Ben's mind. Later, whilst Ben and Callum are discussing the situation together in the Mitchell household ... and in the most unaffectionate, non-romantic way possible, Ben proposes to Callum saying that he can sort the whole thing out if they sign a few papers at the registrars office! As the way proposals go, I have to say that has to be the worst one I have ever seen! Callum is completely and utterly stunned by his boyfriends words, and not in the most happiest way. I mean, fair enough Ben has never really been good with words, but come on!!! Later on, Ben is looking after his daughter as Lola approaches and they once again begin chatting about the day's events. It's then that Ben reveals that he had a way of sorting it and revealing to them both that he proposed to Callum, but when they realise there was no romantic gesture and it literally happened in the Mitchell's kitchen - both Lola and Lexi aren't surprised that Callum walked off. They inform him that if he's truly wanting to get married to Callum, then it needs to be for the right reasons - not just so his name can be put on a list! Plus he needs to show more feeling and romance towards his proposal! Let's hope that the next time Ben proposes to Callum, that he actually does it right!!

The final thing I need to talk about is Frankie and the Carters! The Carter's seemed to have welcomed Frankie into their family after the learning the truth about her identity. In this episode, Frankie is waiting very patiently for Mick and Linda outside of their apartment, as the couple approach her she informs them that today is the anniversary of her little brother's death, (Harry). Before mentioning that she'll be going to the cemetery with her Mum, she also uses this time to once again plead to them to not report her Mum to the police. Mick takes it upon himself to reassure his daughter that they won't mention anything to the police. Interestingly later on, Shirley confronts Linda, informing her that she's been told everything about Mick's past and how he doesn't want to involve the police, however she feels that they need to do something so Katy could never do the things she did to Mick to anyone else. Linda seems to completely understand Shirley's concern, but she also states that they need to stay strong for Mick and go with what he says, as they need to stick by him and do what's best for him. A little bit later, Linda meets Frankie in the Cafe, after a brief discussion Frankie introduces a man named Jed to Linda, informing her that she think he's a type of step-brother to her. (Harry's brother, on their Dad's side!) As Linda looks up this man, she asks Frankie whether she could also attend going to the cemetery, regardless of Katy being there she also wants to pay her respects to the young boy who died so young, Frankie is really touched by her gesture and agrees for her come along. However, later on after they've all returned from the cemetery they decide to go for a drink at Ruby's club. As Linda buys a round of drinks, Stuart is sat as the bar and they begin to discuss Frankie. Stuart is surprised to hear that Frankie is the daughter of Katy Lewis, suddenly Linda begins to question his experience of being in care with Katy, it's then that Stuart reveals that other than Mick, she did have a few favourites that she used to look after. These words seem to really shake Linda to the core, as Frankie dismisses herself to use the lavatory, Linda takes it upon herself to approach Jed. Trying to be as subtle as possible, she begins to dig and find out more information from him, asking about his Dad not being involved with Harry, even though he was, even informing Jed about her and Mick's connection to Frankie. It's the she takes the big step in asking him questions regarding whether Katy kept things secret from him, it looks as if Jed suddenly clicks on to what she's talking about and becomes really uncomfortable. Frankie returns to see Jed leaving the club, Linda being completely apologetic thinking she may have got the wrong end of the stick. But as they venture out in the cold evening, Jed confronts Frankie saying that he's never said anything to anyone about his relationship with Harry, but poor Frankie has no idea what's talking about. Suddenly everything becomes crystal clear to Linda - Jed was Harry's Father! Jed is another victim of Katy's sexual abuse! But he happens to mention "Any of us!" - it looks as if he's claiming that there are other victims of Katy, other young men she's preyed upon!

At this moment I feel so so sorry for Frankie, learning that her Dad was abused by her Mum, and now who she's always believed to be her step-brother, revealed to be her younger brother's Dad! Putting into perspective that her Mother is a sexual predator, a paedophile! Poor Frankie's world has been turned upside down. Surely Linda sees now that Katy needs to be reported to the police, will she reveal to Mick that there are other victims of hers out there? Will she and Shirley maybe bring it upon themselves to search for other victims and begin to build evidence or a case for the police to investigate?! Katy needs to get her comeuppance! As dark as this story is, I think it's one of the best I've seen in a long time. I'm really excited and intrigued to see where this story is going to go!

What do you think is going to happen next? Please feel free to leave me a comment or a message, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you all again so much for reading! I'll be back again very soon! Love you all xXx

[wehangout]

I can Still hear You Saying (You Would Never Break the Chain)

AO3

“Knew you’d come.”

You didn’t know. Had no clue. You used to know. Used to know that you could turn up after however long away and Ian would climb on you without a second thought. Used to know that you could say whatever the fuck you wanted and still be Ian’s first choice. Shit, you used to know everything there was to know about Ian Gallagher, up until that day in front of his house.

Sure, the luggage was fucked up, taking your baby had been a shock, and the porno was a kick in the fucking teeth, but …

That moment, staring into Ian’s wet eyes – you didn’t know him, not anymore.

And you don’t know him now.

You had sat on those stairs, hands shaking and mind praying the only way a Milkovich knew how – desperate and hating yourself more with every passing second. Because you didn’t know if he’d turn up. Not anymore.

You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?

The fuck, indeed.

But now he’s here. Ian’s here and he’s kissing you – he’s kissing you like maybe he’s missed you, maybe this isn’t entirely one-sided, maybe the end wasn’t really the end. And it’s good, it’s everything, it’s better than you’ve ever imagined.

You’ve imagined. A lot. You tried everything to move on, but nothing worked. You couldn’t fuck him out of your system, you couldn’t scratch the tattoo away, and you couldn’t go a single fucking day without thinking about him. Wondering, hoping, wishing maybe today was the day he’d come back and visit … call, send a letter, a postcard, a fucking smoke signal, anything, Ian, please.

But there was nothing. There was never anything and it should have helped, going cold turkey should have eased you out of all things Ian Gallagher, but the exact opposite happened, and it fucked you up.

He has a boyfriend.

You didn’t know that either.

 His kisses used to tell you everything. You would know exactly what kind of fuck he wanted from you by his kiss alone – lots of tongue meant he was impatient, needy, didn’t want to wait anymore; tiny bites on your lips and jaw meant he was feeling playful, that he wanted to laugh with you as much as he wanted to fuck you; and heavy, open-mouthed kisses … fuck, that usually meant he was about to tease you until you couldn’t breathe.

You don’t know what his kisses mean anymore.

You thought you could, thought that being with him brought it all back, made you aware again of who he is, aware of Ian. You read that first kiss and everything in it, but then he pushed you away.

Then he told you he had a boyfriend.

There’s a chill in your gut, one that slithers its way up your chest, makes you ill. But you push it away, because he’s there. You didn’t know he would come, but he did and he’s pushing into you, lips gentle while the lack of lube borders on that side of painful.

But it’s worth it. It’s so fucking worth it to have him inside of you, have him moaning against your skin, whispering your name as he comes far quicker than you remember him ever doing so.

 You don’t know what’s going to happen now. It’s morning. He’s getting dressed and you’re barely fucking awake.

He spares you a glance. “Back to work and shit.” As if it was nothing, as if being with you again was just another fuck.

So, you ask, because you don’t know. And when he kisses you, when you hold onto him with everything you have, you still don’t know.

 “This goodbye?”

Yeah, he’s carrying a bag, and yeah, he fucked you good last night, but that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to Ian Gallagher. Maybe that’s why you have so many questions. There’s a huge fucking list of them that run through your head.

You taking your meds?

Who’s this fucking boyfriend?

EMT, man, really?

Did you bring the uniform?

You really takin’ your meds?

How’s Mandy?

Your family know where you are?

Seriously, though, you doin’ okay? Takin’ your meds?

You can’t ask them, though. Not those ones. You keep things casual.

“You ever been to the beach?”

“Want anything?”

“You got a better idea how to get cash?”

“You ever had one of those croissant-donut things?”

“Wanna fuck again?”

“Where should we stop for the night?”

“What the fuck?”

“You got a bank account?”

But then you can’t hold back. It’s dark and your alone with Ian. Like, really alone. Not sitting in a car, listening to music and talking shit or planning how to get across the border. You’re beneath the train tracks looking at the fucking stars, and everything hurts so good and so bad that you can’t help yourself.

Because he’s lying next to you. He said it was hard to see you behind that glass. You desperately want to attach your mouth to the corner of his jaw, and you know he’d be okay with that. He hasn’t mentioned his boyfriend once. He looks at you the way he used to …

“You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?”

The silence aches.

“A lot.”

Maybe you still know him after all.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Or maybe you don’t.

 He leaves you at the border. Leaves you with an I love you and a couple of grand, as if that’s supposed to make everything okay.

You don’t know him. Maybe you never did.

 He treats you different in prison. It’s weird. He’s still the cocky shit he’s always been, but then he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon or some shit, and it makes your insides gooey and your mouth stupid.

He blows you every night that first week. Every night, without fail, the second those lights go out he’s on you, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach, tasting and teasing you until his lips finally – god, Ian, finally – wrap around your dick.

Eventually the banging slows down. It’s less frantic, less impulsive, less every day. But it’s never less – never less good, never less intense, never less you and Ian.

It’s just less. And the less it is, the more he talks.

“I should have gone with you.”

“God, you smell good.”

“I’ve fucking missed you.”

Sometimes you say shit back, sometimes you touch his face, not knowing what to say. Sometimes you pretend you’re already asleep because you’re here, you’ve given up your freedom for him, but you’re sure as shit not ready to talk feelings again.

 There’s one guy who fucks with you as soon as he gets the chance. You’ve been in for nearly three months when he arrives, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him because – shock-fucking-horror – he’s friends with Terry.

He corners you one day when you’re leaving the laundry and it’s stupid, so fucking stupid. You knew he was out to get you, but you still walk that deserted hallway alone, you still don’t tell Ian, and you still mouth off to him when he pulls out his shiv.

He’s cruel and quick, but he’s small. You put up a good fight, break his nose and kick him in the balls, all the while he cusses you out with derogatory comments you no longer give a fuck about. But when he gets you with the shiv – and what a fucking surprise, he gets you right in your left ass cheek – everything goes rage-white.

You bite, you pull his stringy hair, you squeeze his wrist until he drops the shiv on the ground next to you. Then you pick up the shiv. You don’t aim, you don’t think – you drag it across whatever skin you can find, infinitely proud when you shove him away and see his face carved up.

“Don’t gotta worry about him no more,” Ian says later that night.

You’re out of the infirmary, but Terry’s buddy is still there. Seems you got a little too close to his eye.

“Why’s that?” you mutter, the good drugs the doc gave you kicking in.

“I took care of it.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, Gallagher?”

Everything’s a bit dopey, a bit tilted, but you don’t miss his smile. “I took care of it,” he repeats. “No one’s gonna mess with you again, Mick.”

A shiver of fear you haven’t felt in a long time runs through you, but you pass out before you can reply. It’s not until two days later, when you’re in the infirmary getting your dressing changed, that you find out what Ian did.

Fucking tough guy, acting like he took the fucker out in his sleep, added Deep Heat to the anti-biotic ointment. It would cost him his cushy job, too, if anyone found out, but no one narcs in prison.

And no one wants that burning shit in their open wound, so they leave you the fuck alone.

 The Chatty Cathy attitude doesn’t go away.

Sometimes it’s little things that shouldn’t mean shit.

“You get a haircut? Fuck, man, you look good.”

“Hey, you want my last smoke?”

“You’re always been so fucking good at poker, Mick.”

Sometimes it’s filthy and leaves you panting.

“Remember the first time you rode me? I think about it all the fucking time.”

“Christ, no one sucks cock like you, Mick.”

“Want you to come on me, on my face, yeah, do it, I fucking want it.”

Sometimes it’s everything.

“I love you.”

 Prison food is shit, but you make it bearable. Ian makes it’s bearable. He takes your egg whites and swaps them for his yolks. You give him the milk for your coffee, and he sneaks you his extra sugars. He picks the broccoli out of your stew and replaces it with half his potatoes.

Prison showers are shit, but he never lets you go it alone, always has your back, and if you drop the soap, he picks it up because that shit ain’t a fucking joke.

Prison visits are the worst. He gets visitors – Fiona, Lip, Debbie and her kid – you get no one. But after a while, money starts showing up in your commissary, he gets back from visits with messages like Lip said to say hey, and his pictures from Franny say To Uncle Ian and Mickey.

 He gets a parole meeting. You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

But you don’t know. There’s still this itch inside of you that expects things to be like last time, that expects Ian to forget about you the second he leaves this place because you just don’t know.

But you’re beginning to.

[sunsetsover]

i'm so sorry about the election result, it's pure shite :( for headcanons/fics, god PLS do either mama highway coming back oR callum and lexi x

don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault :-( it’s david cameron’s fault.  he literally started this whole shit storm and now he’s pissed off somewhere meanwhile the rest of the country is fucked lmao danny dyer was RIGHT

i would love to talk abt mama highway tbh but i feel like in order to do the subject justice i’d have to really sit down and go back to see what callum/stuart/j*nno have said abt her in the past bc i remember little bits (like didn’t callum talk abt getting a valentine’s card from her last year? but then stuart told whitney that they hadn’t spoken to her in years? so did they retcon that out? idk i have Questions) but i probably don’t remember loads so maybe i’ll come back to her another time and do a proper post abt it. but i do really hope she comes into the picture at some point in the future bc i think it would provide some really good conflict for callum (like just imagine the undeniable anger he’d feel towards her for leaving him with j*nno vs his desire to have a mum and some semblance of his own family... trying to figure out if he wants her around and if can forgive her or if he even WANTS to forgive her... like what if callum wanted to forgive her but stuart wanted nothing to do with her and it caused a rift between them? there’s so much the writers could do w that and it would be so GOOD) and some much needed background/history for callum and stuart. like there’s so much missing there bc none of the highways have really spoken abt her or what happened at all so all we really know is that she left and has (assuming the valentine’s thing has been reconned) never really had anything to do w her sons... but like why did she leave? WHEN did she leave? did she go bc j*nno was an alcoholic and scumbag, or did her leaving make him like that? did she leave for good and basically have nothing to do with any of them, or was she still a mother to them initially? did she try to take them with her, or was she happy to leave them behind and live her own life? does she have other kids now? like??? there is SO much there and it would be so good to explore and it would be so much fun to write.... @ ee hire me

(also lmao i said i wasn’t gonna talk much abt her but look.... i just can’t help myself apparently)

but callum and lexi... god their relationship really is so sweet and i am especially emo abt it today.... i just think it’s so interesting how ben having a kid has never ONCE been a problem for callum like he embraced her straight away and is more than happy to be a part of lexi’s life and god yeah i just love them sm

here are some headcanons for ur enjoyment (i’m sorry i didn’t write u a fic but i do have a lot of callum/lexi in the fics i’m gonna be posting soon so i hope ur not too disappointed 🥺️):

callum is really nervous initially to spend time lexi outside of like normal everyday stuff - like taking her to school, for example, or being around during her bed time. it’s not that he doesn’t like her or doesn’t want to be there, he just doesn’t want to impose. and he worries that he is imposing by doing stuff like that, or maybe she didn’t actually want him there - or around at all - and is just too polite to say. ben assures him, when callum tells him that, that if lexi hadn’t wanted him around she would definitely not have a problem letting everyone know. callum had appreciated him saying that, but didn’t believe him until one day when he was stood in the school playground with ben waiting to pick her up, and she had burst out of the building and went straight for callum, eager to show him the picture she had drawn for him during lunch, when they’d been kept inside because of the weather. ‘oh that’s nice, innit?’ ben had said, feigning insult, ‘you draw a picture for callum, but you don’t draw one for your own dad?’

they bickered playfully while callum had just stared at the picture, a little bit confused as to what it was he was looking at, but appreciative of it all the same. it even had ‘to callum’ in spiky, childish letters written in the top corner.

he turns back into the conversation just in time to catch ben saying ‘no, you can hold callum’s hand if you like him so much’, to which lexi whines and tries to pull ben’s arms away from his chest where he’d crossed them tightly so she can take his hand. he caves a moment later, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder and running off with her. a few other parents look over when they hear the commotion - lexi is half laughing, half screaming, and ben is tickling her sides, growling something that sounds like ‘you’re my baby, mine’ - but ben doesn’t even seem to notice. he just stops by the gate, looking back at callum, waiting for him to catch up.

the picture goes straight on his fridge as soon as he gets home. he doesn’t doubt what ben tells him about lexi ever again.

the first time callum and lexi spend proper time alone together, it’s the school holidays and ben is ill at home, and lexi is going a little stir crazy being stuck in the house, which really isn’t helping ben feel any better, but no one else can look after her bc they’re at work or out. so callum offers to take her out for a little while, get her out of ben’s hair so he can rest. he’s never seen ben so grateful.

they only go to the park, but lexi seems excited anyway - holds his hand on the way there without him having to ask, doesn’t wonder too far away from him. he pushes her on the swings for a little while then sits off a ways to watch her play with the other kids at the playground. 

at one point she trips and falls while running and callum absolutely freaks out bc she’s scraped up her knees and palms, but lexi bothered at all. she doesn’t even cry. in fact she’s already stood herself back up by the time callum gets to her, dusting the gravel off her raw knees and palms. she even makes to run off again - callum has to stop her so he can take her somewhere and get her cleaned up.

he’s still freaking out, so he takes her to the pub, figuring mick would know what to do. mick, much to his dismay, laughs when he sees the state callum is in about the whole thing (compared to lexi, who is very much over it), and pulls out a first aid kit for him to use. callum sits her on the bar, and lexi chats to mick about what they’d been doing as callum cleans the dirt off her scrapes, then slathers them in antiseptic cream and carefully puts plasters on both of her knees. he honestly thinks he’d been less stressed dealing with literal war wounds.

callum orders her a lemonade and a packet of crisps out of sheer guilt, which makes mick shoot him a look that screams ‘soft touch’ even as he pulls out a glass and starts filling it. then, as callum passes money to him across the bar, he can’t help but ask mick ‘what am i gonna tell ben and lola? they’re gonna kill me’. mick just laughs. ‘they’re not gonna kill ya. she tripped and scraped her knees, halfway; she’s a kid, these things happen.’ and then he’d passed him his change, and they’d both looked at her, drinking too fast through a straw, kicking her legs against the bar from her stool. ‘look at her,’ mick had said, ‘she’s absolutely fine, ain’t ya?’ and lexi had just smiled around her straw and nodded.

(for the record, ben and lola had not killed him when they had found out. in fact, lola had laughed nearly as hard as mick had when she’d seen how guilty he felt.)

less specific but lexi loving to sit on callum’s shoulders bc he’s so mf tall that she feels like a giant

lexi inviting him to come see her in her school play and callum getting embarrassingly emotional about it

callum being the ONLY ONE who can make her eat her vegetables........ like she will only willingly eat them if she knows callum has cooked them.... it’s actually a bit of a problem bc now she won’t ever eat vegetables anymore....

ben coming home to find lexi AND callum sat on the floor colouring, so immersed they don’t even realize he’s there

callum and lexi being the early risers in the house so most weekends they’ll end up sitting on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching cartoons in the morning while they wait for everyone else to get up

i could literally talk abt callum and lexi all day but i’ll stop there bc this post is long enough as it is but just know i Love Them

💖💖💖

[mrslittletall]

Title: The Crazy Cat Vicar (Chapter 7) Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar, Vicar Amelia Word Count: 2.487 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989841/chapters/57443668 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/614300380283699200/title-the-crazy-cat-vicar-chapter-6

Summary: Laurence shows a young Amelia his cats.

(Author's note: I had two chapter ideas for this and my Laurence Discord voted that they wanted to see the Amelia chapter first. Enjoy!)

“What's wrong, Amelia? You seem rather upset.,” Laurence asked and the toddler in front of him pouted and crossed her arms.

“You let me win.”, she said.

Laurence had spent the last few hours playing board games with the little girl and in fact, he had gotten easy on her a few times, not wanting to risk tears when he would win all the time, to win board games was easy for him, even against adults, so winning against a toddler was literally child's play.

“Well, if I would have beaten you all the time you would have gotten upset. And now that you win you are also upset?”, Laurence asked. “That kind of makes me the loser in all ways, don't you think.”

“Still.”, Amelia said and turned around, still pouting. If Laurence wasn't infertile and therefore knew that Amelia couldn't be his child, he would have considered that she could have been the result of one of his many one night stands. Despite her young age of three years she was not only very intelligent already, could talk with almost no trouble and she also was bratty. Just like him.

“Come on, Amelia, I am sorry.”, Laurence said, feeling a bit bad about having teased the girl. Smart or not, she still was a sensitive toddler and had to sort her feelings out. “Let's ditch the board games for now. What do you want to play?”

That got Amelia's attention and she turned her head around and clapped her hands: “I wanna see the cats!”

“What... Amelia, I don't think that is a too good idea...”, Laurence said. He had made the mistake and mentioned the cats in front of the girl, but he knew how toddlers were and feared that she would get hurt when she would try to pet them and probably completely disrespect their boundaries. Though, he had a hard time to say no when Amelia looked at him with this big pleading eyes.

“Fine.”, Laurence gave in. “But there are rules. The first rule is, don't touch them without asking me first and the second rule, no loud noises. And be gentle with them. Do you understand, Amelia?”

The toddler stood up and nodded excitingly, already extending her hand for Laurence to take. Laurence actually never had planned to get children of his own, and not only because he was physically incapable of it, but also because he thought he wouldn't make a good father. So how had this little girl managed to worm her way into his heart? Even though he planned for her to become the next Vicar once he would retire (in the far future), he already thought about making it official and adopting her.

As he and Amelia walked out of the room, Laurence spoke: “I have three cats. Mick, Mary and Gary. All of them have different characters and temperaments. Mick is the one who is the most unpredictable, so I would prefer to introduce you to Mary or Gary first. I would say Gary, he is a pretty relaxed cat.”

“Mhm.”, Amelia said, indicating that she had listened to what Laurence had said. For how bratty she could be, Amelia had been raised in the church orphanage, she had been a foundling, abandoned as a newborn (was he really sure he wasn't his... being infertile could mean that there was just a tiny little chance, so tiny that it would practically never happen), so she had been raised to have perfect manners. Laurence knew that she let herself go in his presence because he let her.

“Hmmm... where would Gary be at this time of day?”, Laurence asked himself. The cats hung out around all kind of places in the church. Mick often was notoriously hidden, Mary liked to hang around in the library and Gary... Gary would often hunt mouses that made it into the church. Which made the cellar or the attic most likely, where he didn't exactly wanted Amelia to take. Laurence considered to go to the library to introduce Mary instead when he saw Gary strolling along the hallway. What luck!

“Oh, look, there's Gary.”, Laurence said and kneeled down, laying his hand on Amelia's shoulder. The girl stared at the cat with big sparkling eyes and Gary stopped, turning his grumpy face to stare right back, unblinking, as it was typical for cats.

“Laurence, look.”, Amelia said. “It's leg's missing. Just like uncle Gehrman.”

Laurence had to restrain himself from not laughing out loud, she had pointed out the exact same thing why Laurence had named Gary after Gehrman. As he caught his breath trying not to howl and thinking about how to break to Gehrman that even a toddler thought Gary looked like him, Amelia plucked at this sleeve and asked: “Laurence, are you alright?”

“What? Oh, sorry, Amelia, dear, I am fine.”, he said. “How about we try to see if Gary wants to come over?”

Amelia nodded her head with such enthusiasm that her long hair got all dishevelled and she gave Laurence a grin. He certainly needed to give her a brushing later.

“When you want for a cat to come over.”, Laurence said, “You stretch out one finger.” Laurence did as he said and promptly Gary came over to sniff at the finger. “They just have to come over and sniff at it. And then, you show them your palm and when they want pets... they decide for you.”

Laurence offered his palm to Gary and the cat promptly pressed his head into Laurence' head, accompanied by a deep purr.

“What's that? Is kitty upset?”, Amelia asked, clearly concerned.

“Oh no no no, that is a good sign.”, Laurence said. “It's called purring. Cats do this when they are content. He likes being pet by me.”

“Can I pet him too?”, Amelia's eyes got even bigger than Laurence thought would have been possibly.

“Sure. Just do like I showed you.”, Laurence said, withdrawing his hand. Gary opened his eyes and stared at Laurence with disdain, clearly having expected more pets.

Amelia also kneeled down, even though she was still tiny for a human, she was already bigger than a cat and extended her had just like Laurence had showed her. Gary sniffed it for a bit before he decided that he would like more pets and pressed his head against the tiny hand of the toddler.

“Laurence, he's soft.”, Amelia squeaked and then flinching, clearly remembering that Laurence had warned her not to make loud noises. “He's soft.”, she said in a whisper, making Laurence chuckle, both because it was funny and because the sight of Gary pressing his head into Amelia's tiny hand was adorable.

“Just wait until you meet Mary.”, Laurence said, feeling confident that Amelia would be able to handle her just fine. He just had his doubts about Mick and would save him for a later date. “She is often in the library. Come, let's go, Amelia.”

“Shortlyyy...”, Amelia said, still being engrossed by petting Gary. Laurence waited and observed her, it wasn't like they were in a hurry. As he noticed that Gary started to have enough, he said. “See, he is stiff now and has enough. Stop petting him or he could scratch.”

Amelia immediately let go of Gary and came running back to Laurence who took her hand again.

The both of them walked to the library without incidents, where the librarian cheerfully greeted Laurence and Amelia and offered her candy and soon the toddler was blissfully chewing on some, a thing she didn't had in common with Laurence who disliked sweets. Well, maybe he had liked them before his chronical illness had struck, but he associated the taste too much with being dizzy and feeling weak to be able to enjoy it anymore.

“Mary likes to sleep in the book shelves.”, Laurence explained. “Finding her could take a while though. There are so many here.”

“So many books.”, Amelia pointed out. “How often could you read a bed time story with them?”

“A lot.”, Laurence simply answered. “We would never run out of bed time stories.” Though of course not every book was appropriate for a bed time story.

Luck was once again at Laurence' side, because he spotted Mary in the astronomy section, being curled in at around his eye height.

“Ah, there she is.”, Laurence said and as Amelia looked around, getting gradually more disappointed about not spotting the cat, Laurence picked her up. “Right there.”, she said and saw how the toddler's eyes sparkled again.

“A cloud!”, she exclaimed and then promptly put both hands in front of her mouth and whispered: “A cloud.”

Laurence had to chuckle a bit, that was too cute. Thankfully Mary wasn't bothered a lot, she just raised her head and blinked sleepily at the toddler, then making a big yawn and sitting up, stretching, blinking a bit more.

“It seems like we woke her up.”, Laurence said. “Do you want to pet her?”

Amelia nodded with excitement and Laurence moved Amelia closer to the shelf, so that the girl could offer the cat her hand, she was a quick learner indeed. After Mary had sniffed it intensely, no wonder, Gary's scent must still have been on it, she allowed the toddler to pet her and Amelia giggled at the soft touch.

“So soft...”, she whsipered.

“Mary is the softest cat around here.”, Laurence smiled. Well, her fur was the softest, from the character she had quite some willpower, just like the woman he had named her after.

It felt like Amelia would have liked to pet Mary for ages, but eventually Laurence had to intervene, because he had the feeling that Mary got upset.

“When a cat doesn't like to be touched anymore, you have to respect this.”, Laurence said. “If it gets stiff or growls or even hisses, you better stop or it could attack. And Mary looks rather stiff to me. Let's leave her for now, alright?”

“Yeees.”, Amelia said and withdrew her hand, but still kept her eyes on the cat. “That were, um, two.”, she said, leave it to Amelia to already be able to count just fine. “Where is the last one?”

“Mick?”, Laurence said. “I would prefer for you to not meet him yet. He is pretty... unpredictable. Like, even I can't say what is going on in his mind, I couldn't protect you when anything bad happens, understood?”

“Yes...”, Amelia said, but she looked a bit disappointed. Apparently Laurence had found himself a cat lover as big as himself. That were good conditions if he planned to adopt her. The more they had in common, the easier it would be for them to bond.

“Listen, Amelia, because we are already here, how about I read a story to you?”, Laurence offered.

“Yay!”, Amelia clapped her hands at the suggestion.

“Great, then let's make ourselves comfortable.”, Laurence lowered the girl to the ground and took her hand, guiding her to a part deeper in the library, where there were two armchairs and a rocking chair standing around, some kind of reading corner. Laurence helped Amelia sitting in one of the armchairs and then said: “Wait here while I pick out a book.”

Amelia nodded and Laurence could see like she glanced around the library with interest. He knew it was no trouble for her to be alone for a few minutes, she wouldn't wander off. And she would have spoken up if she needed anything, like food, water or a bathroom break.

Laurence asked himself just which children's book he should read to her as he stood in front of the proper section and eventually picked out a book with short stories, one that he remembered from his own childhood, it made him a bit nostalgic when he thought about how he had sat on his own mother's lap as she had read it to him.

As Laurence returned to the book he saw that Amelia had propped herself up on the arm rest and stared at something on the rocking chair. Inevitably his gaze went there too and he gasped when he saw.. a cat. A cat that he never had seen before.

“Who's thaaat?”, Amelia asked.

“I don't know.”, Laurence said. The cat was from a medium size, a grey tabby with white paws and was sleeping soundly. “I have never seen that cat before...”

Laurence put the book down and picked Amelia up before he sat down, placing her on his lap. “Maybe it wandered in the church because it smelled food. Or followed the other cats.”, Laurence mused, picking the book up. “I think about it later, it seems harmless. How about I read to you now?”

Amelia was more than eager to get a story and after a while the toddler had managed to fall asleep in his arms. “Time for your nap, hm..”, Laurence said as he stroked her hair and gently picked her up, bringing her back to the orphanage so that she could nap in a proper bed. Fortunately, she was a heavy sleeper, just as heavy as he had been as a child.

After Laurence had brought Amelia back, he went back to the library and confronted the librarian about the unknown cat.

“Huh... that isn't one of your cats, Vicar?”, she said, clearly being confused.

“I have never seen this cat in my life.”, Laurence said.

“Well, he once turned up sleeping into the rocking chair and we started to give him some treats.”, the librarian said. “He would always eventually leave, we didn't think anything about it. Like I said, we though it was one of yours. Shall we kick him out?”

“No.”, Laurence said. “When he is already there, he can stay. Have you given him a name?”

“Not yet. We always wanted to ask you about his name, but it was never the right time.”, the librarian said. “Why don't you give him a name now?”

“Hmmm...”, Laurence said. “I guess I need to look at him a bit closer.”

He went back to the rocking chair in which the cat still slept, completely ignoring anything and anyone. Laurence even kneeled down to pet him and he didn't react, well, outside of a slight purr.

“You know who you remind me off?”, Laurence said as he continued to stroke the rough fur of the cat. “The old geezer. Always in his rocking chair, wouldn't pay attention to any of us when he stared out at the lake. I know.”

He stood up and looked down at the cat: “I am going to call you Will.” (Author's note: I hadn't planned to introduce a new cat at first, but then I got the idea for a Master Willem cat which just wandered into the church and made himself at home. Also, I wrote Amelia with my own toddler experience in mind, I have a nephew who is around four years old and it is very typical for toddler to draw their words out or talk in short sentences. Also, Laurence is talking normally to Amelia because baby speech is dumb.) Chapter 8

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #9: The Decline and Death of Brian Jones

I’ve probably made it no secret that I have a freaky-ass memory throughout the course of this series, and this won’t be an exception. Aside from many of the exact dates, I can remember exactly how I got obsessed with Brian Jones.

It started in May 2019 while I was goofing off in art class. I was trying to write about the 27 Club, being obsessed with Kurt Cobain at the time, when I found myself captivated by a certain other blonde in the club.

I don’t know what kept me around. Maybe it was the delicate features framed by silky blond hair. Maybe it was the complicated story of his life. Maybe it was his mysterious death, and my drive to find out what really happened. Or maybe it was that shitty movie they made about him in 2005.

Whatever the reason, I stuck around. I’ll even put it this way: “Came for the morbidity stayed for the music. “

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It took me about a week or two to come up with my first theory between wondering what the hell I was getting myself into and trying to decide whether I should watch Stoned. I found out very early on that Brian had developed asthma at the age of four after a bout of croup. Knowing that asthma attacks can result in death, I didn’t think it unlikely that Brian could have drowned as a result of an asthma attack. In my research, I found an article stating that chlorine mixing with organic material can trigger symptoms of asthma attacks and allergic reactions.

I knew I’d need more evidence though but given that I didn’t want to be too intrusive this early on, that would be a slow process. If there was one thing I held on to, it was my firm resolute to not fall for another murder conspiracy so soon. It didn’t end so well for me the last time.

As I was trying to piece together what exactly happened to Brian Jones, I was also beginning to find out the story of how he got to that point in the first place.

There are many reasons I have love-hate relationships with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and their treatment of Brian Jones is by far the biggest one.

Where the story of Brian Jones’ decline really starts is at the Ealing Club on 7 April 1962. It was here that a young Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Dick Taylor saw Brian “Elmo Lewis” Jones take the stage for the first time. The next month, Brian put an ad in the papers for musicians to come join a band he was starting. He quickly brought together Ian Stewart, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Dick Taylor, and Tony Chapman. The band, which Brian dubbed “The Rollin’ Stones,” gave their first performance on 12 July 1962, though there seems to be some confusion over who was playing drums that night. Bill Wyman replaced Dick Taylor on 7 December 1962, and Charlie Watts replaced Tony Chapman on 9 January 1963.

In the early days, Brian served as the Stones’ manager. It ended up being this very thing that led to the first cracks in this fortuitous partnership.

First thing’s first, Andrew Loog Oldham came along, and in May, he became the Stones’ manager. He only really had eyes for Mick and was one of the ones who led the subsequent whispering campaign against Brian. Not helping anything was when, on 13 October 1963, the others found out that Brian had been paying himself an extra £5 ($5.58). These were expenses he deducted because he believed that should be his pay, considering he was doing much of the work at this time. (I can sort of relate; I’ve suffered through high school group projects).

On the economics side (lord knows, that’s more Mick’s thing than mine), Bill Wyman has since stated that the Stones were making £193 ($215.38) a week. Adjusting for inflation, Brian was deducting roughly £87.26 out of £3,608.53. For the Americans in the crowd, that’s roughly $114.20 out of $4,722.66, once adjusted for inflation. Granted, across the board, that’s roughly 2.5% of the band’s total income at this point. Still, even that much might matter when you’re a bunch of starving artists.

When Paul Trynka summarized why everybody was pissed in his book, Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones, he said that for Mick, it was because he was a student at the London School of Economics. Five pounds is five pounds. Meanwhile, Keith was pissed because he, like everyone else in the band, was under the impression that they were earning equal pay in this group effort.

Pro-tip: If you start a band and feel you should be paid more because of how much of the work you’re doing, please disclose this with your band and work out an arrangement that will be beneficial to everyone. Otherwise, shit gets ugly.

Brian also didn’t help his case by insisting on staying in fancier hotels than the others (he was a bit of a neat-freak and a narcissist).

Keith later said, “He had an arrangement with (Eric) Easton, that as leader of the band he was entitled to this extra payment. Everybody freaked out. That was the beginning of the decline of Brian. We said, ‘Fuck you…’”

Meanwhile, Ian Stewart (who had been ousted from the band earlier that year) stated, “When we started playing outside London, Brian said, ‘I’m the leader of the group and I think I’ll stay at the best hotel. All the rest of you can stay in a cheaper hotel.’ Of course, the rest of the Stones just laughed at him, and that was it from then on. It was all over for him as the leader. He started to isolate himself because of this attitude.”

With one little five-pound note (and an ego trip), Brian had set in motion his entire downfall.

It might seem petty to myself and plenty of other Brian Jones fans, but lord knows, I’m not Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, or Andrew Loog Oldham. Besides, I have no idea how I’ll feel about all this in five years.

Meanwhile, I must confess that I almost did fall into that mindset of believing Brian was murdered. In June 2019, I was in Paris, on a trip across France led by my French teacher. Somewhere between trying not to lose my mind in a big city and taking awkward selfies at Jim Morrison’s grave, I, being overly chatty, started talking to one of my peers about music-related topics. I told her Brian’s entire life story as I understood it at that time, having been obsessed with him for a little over a month at that point. In my haste though, I unintentionally managed to convince her that Brian had been murdered. Despite not meaning to, I did end up entertaining the possibility, both for her and myself, for at least the rest of the night.

Besides, at the time, I was drawing blanks in trying to find hard evidence that Brian wasn’t murdered. I had one (water-logged) book saying he wasn’t, and a (shitty) movie and another book saying he was.

And then, at some point, I regained my senses, and not because of how ridiculous Brian’s death was when depicted in the movie Stoned. (For fuck’s sake, there was a shooting star in the sky at the moment of his death and he showed up as a ghost in the last five minutes). It really had everything to do with how much I regretted believing Kurt Cobain had been murdered.

I once again gathered my resolve and decided to go back on the hunt for more clues.

The second part of Brian Jones’ decline undoubtedly involves his tempestuous relationship with German-Italian actress Anita Pallenberg. The two started dating after a Rolling Stones concert in Munich on 14 September 1965 and developed a close bond, thanks in part to Brian’s ability to speak German. She gave him the confidence he needed to go against Mick and Keith and helped him become the fashion icon he is still remembered as today.

The Who’s Pete Townshend later had this to say: “We hung out a lot from about 1964 to 1966. Part of the time he was seeing Anita Pallenberg. She was a stunning creature. I mean literally stunning. It was quite hard to maintain one’s gaze. One time in Paris I remember they took some drug and were so sexually stimulated they could hardly wait for me to leave the room before starting to shag. I felt Brian was living on a higher plane of decadence than anyone I would ever meet.”

However, their relationship was also highly abusive. They would verbally and physically abuse each other. In fact, one time, Brian broke his wrist while the two were on a trip in Tangier. Though Brian said it was the result of an accident, Christopher Gibbs and Bill Wyman have both stated that it resulted from an altercation with Anita (though sources vary about whether he broke his wrist on a metal window frame or her face).

Of their relationship, Keith had this to say, “I would hear the thumping some nights, and Brian would come out with a black eye. Brian was a woman beater. But the one woman in the world you did not want to try and beat up on was Anita Pallenberg. Every time they had a fight, Brian would come out bandaged and bruised.”

I’d go so far as to say that the one good thing that came out of their relationship was the fact that Brian composed the soundtrack for her movie Mord Und Totschlag (A Degree of Murder).

As I’ve previously written about, when Mick and Keith were charged with drug possession in February 1967, lawyers told the Glimmer Triplets (Mick, Keith, and Brian) that since they were the most visible of the Stones, they should leave the country. So, Brian and Anita left Britain, heading for Morocco. However, Brian was already in no condition to travel, and he fell ill with pneumonia in Toulouse. He ended up spending a few days there (including his 25th birthday), while Keith and Anita met up in Tangier. There, she started an affair with Keith behind Brian’s back (Keith even confirmed in his autobiography that she made the first move).

When Brian finally arrived, he could tell that there was something going on between Keith and Anita. Keith was apparently shy around girls at this stage in his life but was more confident around Anita. Meanwhile, Anita was now a bit more open around Keith. Not much is certain about what happened next. What is known is that Brian paid for the services of two prostitutes and that there was an incident between him and Anita that night. Keith said that he threw food at her and humiliated her. Bill claimed that he beat her to the point where she was scared for her life. The less said about Stoned, the better.

Regardless, whatever Brian’s actions really were, it was over between him and Anita. Keith convinced her that if they didn’t get the hell out of there, Brian might try and kill her. The next day, Mick, Keith, and Anita fled Morocco, leaving Brian stranded for the next two days.

Brian’s father later blamed his son’s downward spiral on Anita breaking his heart. Others, such as Linda Lawrence, suggest that it was Mick and Keith’s betrayal that hurt him far more than Anita’s.

In either case, he never really forgave Keith. Beyond that, his drug and alcohol consumption only worsened.

This part of the Stones’ history is… tricky. Of course, I can’t condone Brian for his behaviour, but Keith, and especially Anita weren’t entirely in the right in this situation. Ultimately, Keith and Anita stayed together until 1980 and had three children (one of whom unfortunately died in infancy). Besides, I understand Keith’s actions the most out of everyone, given that he had a noble intent in getting Anita away from Brian’s increasingly toxic behaviour. Of course, it’s also important to note that Brian and Anita were 25 and 24 respectively at the time of this incident, and beyond that, they were young and impulsive, with unfortunately predictable results, given that they both could be volatile.

I may have an infatuation with Brian, but sometimes, something’s got to give.

Fifty-two years after that clusterfuck, I was continuing my research into the life of L. B. H. Jones as the fiftieth anniversary of his death came and went. A week or two later, I decided, despite some reservations, to get Bill Wyman’s book, Stone Alone.

Say what you will about Bill (I know at some point I’ll be commenting about the travesty that was his relationship with Mandy Smith), but I figured that if I wanted to know about the early Rolling Stones, he’d be one of my best sources. At the very least, he’s the only one who’s given Brian any sort of credit for his accomplishments instead of solely focusing on his failures like Keith tends to do. As I was flipping through random pages, I learned that Bill had written about one of Brian’s many illegitimate children. He called her “Carol,” for the sake of anonymity, and in it, he discussed the matter of her being diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy. She and Bill even applied some of her symptoms to things Bill observed when he was with Brian. In that one instant, what happened to Brian the night he drowned seemed to make perfect sense.

One of the things that had made putting the clues together so difficult from the very start was that Brian had punctate haemorrhages (tiny bleeds normally found in shaken baby syndrome) in his brain, which indicated that he’d been thrashing around quite a bit in his final moments.

Temporal lobe epilepsy can’t be cured, but it is manageable to a degree with medications. Brian, however, was never diagnosed, which is why we can’t be certain that he had epilepsy. There is no doubt in my mind that if Brian did have epilepsy, it would’ve gotten worse over time, given that Brian received no treatment. Carol speculated that Brian likely chalked up many of his symptoms to being hungover. Even then, he might not have realized that something was happening with his brain.

While I was typing up my theories though, I remembered that I’d found his toxicology report not long beforehand. As I read it, I found out that the drug that was in his system was likely Mandrax, which he had been prescribed in the days before he died. When I looked up Mandrax, I discovered that it was a brand name for Quaaludes. It can cause mental confusion, ataxia, seizures, and impaired decision-making, among other negative side-effects. The impaired judgment would explain why Brian decided it’d be a great idea to go swimming after he’d had sleeping pills and alcohol…

I still didn’t consider my work done, but this was the closest I’d come to having answers yet.

Speaking of Brian and drug abuse, the third key to understanding what happened to Brian, is to look at his two drug convictions.

However, I already talked about this (quite recently too), so I’ll try and keep this section brief.

As Mick and Keith were formally charged with drug possession on 10 May 1967, Brian found his home being raided by police. Although he’d been tipped off about their arrival, they still managed to find a handbag with cannabis in it, as well as methamphetamines and cocaine. It could be argued that the evidence was planted, but there is no way to prove this. In court, Brian confessed to doing cannabis but denied doing anything stronger (even though there’s pictures of him tripping on LSD early in 1967). The Stones’ new manager, Allen Klein, told him to stay away from the other Stones. However, this had the effect of further isolating Brian when he needed his bandmates the most.

On 30 October 1967, Brian was sentenced to three months in prison for cannabis possession and another nine months for allowing cannabis to be smoked in his home. He was additionally fined. After a rough night in prison, he was released the next day, awaiting appeal, though he was left shaken by that experience.

On 12 December, Brian went to appeals court, where his psychologist argued that Brian would become suicidal if he went to prison. Brian was sentenced to three years’ probation and ordered by the courts to seek professional help.

Lord knows, at this point, Brian might have been making an honest-to-God effort to get off drugs, but on 21 May 1968, police raided his house again. This time, they found cannabis hidden away in a ball of wool in the process. This usually inspires more impassioned arguments from Brian Jones fans that the evidence was planted. Brian himself said that he would swear until the day he died that he didn’t commit this second offense. Because he was still on probation at the time of this second arrest, he was facing a long jail sentence if found guilty.

On 26 September, Brian was found guilty of drug possession for the second time. However, the same judge who sentenced him to a year in prison the first time took pity on him. Instead, he fined Brian and gave him a stern warning to not show up in court again.

As you can see with the attached pictures though, the trials only helped speed up Brian’s downward spiral, and he shut down mentally.  

Honestly, I think the trials are a large part of the reason Brian went downhill as fast as he did.

Meanwhile, back in the present day, it was September now, and I was starting to get into the swing of being a full-time college student. While I was procrastinating, as usual, I was messing about on Google and I happened upon Brian’s autopsy report. Fact about me: this was far from my first time reading either autopsy reports or death certificates, so I decided to give it a look. After all, I could understand quite a bit of the medical jargon, which I blame on the fact that I loved reading medical books in elementary school. Couldn’t hurt, right?

Was the report perfunctory? Yes. Were there mistakes? A few that stood out, such as Brian’s height being given as 5′9″ when he was 5′6″, and his age being listed as twenty-six as opposed to twenty-seven.

However, that report did reinforce my most recent conclusions that Brian had overdosed on sleeping pills, which was exacerbated by alcohol.

I knew now that Mandrax had once been prescribed to treat anxiety and insomnia, which Brian likely suffered from following the stress of two drug trials that both resulted in convictions. This was also a time before doctors realized the addictive properties of Quaaludes. For all I know, Brian might not have been keeping the best track of how many pills he was taking (which is also how Keith Moon died).

Going back to the long, sordid story of Brian’s collapse, the fourth major reason he found himself being kicked out of the band he founded was that he stopped contributing to the Stones’ music.

In the documentary Crossfire Hurricane, Mick stated, “You certainly didn’t know if he was going to turn up and what state he was going to be in and then, what he was going to be able to do in that state. What job could you give him? And then, one time, when we sat around, on the floor, we played, in a circle, playing “No Expectations”. And he picked the guitar and played a very pretty line on it which you can hear on the record. And that was the last thing I remember him doing that was Brian. Or, the Brian that could contribute something very pretty and sensitive and it made the record sound wonderful.”

Some people have compared Brian to someone who wants to quit but doesn’t want a confrontation (Brian, believe it or not, wasn’t exactly keen on confrontation). Instead, he puts in the smallest effort he can, if that. In fact, Brian had wanted to leave in 1967, but Mick convinced him to stay.

Perhaps Brian’s fate might have been different if he’d gone with his gut in 1967.

Brian still contributed to much of Beggars Banquet. By 1969 though, it seems as if he’d completely given up on the band he’d founded. He stopped showing up to the studio, and if he did come, he’d be too intoxicated to play. In fact, there were points where Mick and Keith would turn off his amp, if not tell him to just go home. It got to the point where he (barely) appears on two songs on Let It Bleed: “Midnight Rambler” and “You’ve Got the Silver.”

Frequent Stones collaborator Jack Nitzsche later said “Brian came up to me, looking pretty shaky, and asked me what I thought he should do- he didn’t know where he fit[ted] in. I told him to just pick up a guitar and start playing. Then he walked over to Mick and asked, ‘What should I play?’ Mick told him, ‘You’re a member of the band, Brian, play whatever you want.’ So he played something, but Mick stopped him and said, ‘No, Brian, not that- that’s no good.’ So Brian asked him again what to play and Mick told him again to play whatever he wanted. So Brian played something else, but Mick cut him off again- ‘No, that’s no good either, Brian.’”

Marianne Faithfull, Mick’s girlfriend at the time, told a friend that Brian had sent Mick several letters over a period of several weeks while Mick was away. One that she’d opened said “Please let me come back in. I’ll play bongos, anything, but please let me come back in.”

…I need a moment to recollect myself.

Some fifty years later, I was still trying to make it through my first semester of college. I got myself a book about the 27 Club, figuring there might be something that would aid me in my research. There, I learned that, reportedly, Brian had not only been taking Mandrax, but also Piriton (hay fever medication), black bombers (which had been prescribed to him a mere ten days before he died), and Valium. That’s on top of an inhaler that would later be found to cause heart palpitations.

A couple of months later, I decided to look up the side-effects of every drug that Brian had ever taken, be it proven fact or allegation. That part of my research isn’t quite finished yet, but what I’ve found with the five medications that Brian was taking around the time of his death proved to be particularly shocking.

For the sake of brevity, I can’t list every side-effect. What I did notice is that some included side-effects of tachycardia/bradycardia, confusion, loss of coordination, impaired decision making, hyperactivity, seizures, and stomach problems. Some, like the uncoordinated behaviour, were noted by those who were there, such as Janet Lawson, who realized that Brian had taken sleeping pills that night, based on him muttering that he’d taken “sleepers”. Others could be a no-brainer, given that Brian had an enlarged heart and liver, in addition to suffering from bronchial troubles and pleurisy.

My immediate thought was, “Jesus, Brian, what the hell were you doing to yourself?”

And now for the final part of Brian’s story: the last twenty-five days of his life.

The Stones wanted to go on tour again, this being their first in two years. Due to Brian’s convictions, Stones management discovered that he probably wouldn’t be able to receive a work visa in the U.S. On 8 June 1969, Mick and Keith drove down to Cotchford Farm to tell Brian that he was fired. They brought Charlie along in case Brian decided to put up a fight. However, Brian agreed to back out gracefully, possibly knowing that he’d burned too many bridges at this point. The next day, Brian released a statement, which painted the decision to leave as being his own. He capped it off with “We had a friendly meeting and agreed that an amicable termination, temporary or permanent, was the only answer. The only solution was to go our separate ways, but we shall still remain friends. I love those fellows.”

As I’ve said though, how Brian truly felt about this turn of events will forever remain a mystery.

In the days before he died, it has been suggested by those close to him that Brian was planning on starting another band. Some believe he was going to bring in Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. Jimi’s camp has since denied that Brian ever approached Jimi. There are also lingering questions regarding whether Brian had given up hard drugs or if he was still taking them. I doubt the latter, considering the well-documented stress of the drug trials.

The picture above was taken nine days before Brian died. Honestly, I do believe there was still some hope for Brian (I can even see it in his eyes). Whether he would’ve recovered or not and whether he’d still be alive today will forever remain up to conjecture, as that’s another possibility that followed Brian to the grave.

Wednesday, 2 July 1969 was host to hot, muggy weather that exacerbated Brian’s asthma. He spent his last day alive with at least three people: Anna Wohlin, his 22-year-old, Swedish girlfriend, Janet Lawson, a registered nurse who was dating Stones minder Tom Keylock, and Frank Thorogood, a 43-year-old builder who’d been doing work on Brian’s property at the time.

Details of Brian’s final day are sketchy, and there are some disagreements over what exactly the people involved did throughout the day. For example, there are disagreements about whether they watched television or not. Some would argue that this is clear evidence that Brian was murdered. I would posit that three of the four parties involved had been drinking. Even if everyone was sober, in a situation such as this, human memory can be extremely unreliable. For example, hundreds of witnesses were interviewed on the night Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, but no two accounts are alike. What we know had to be stitched together from witness accounts in which everyone claimed to have seen or heard something different.

What seems to be the most agreed-upon version of Brian’s death is that he decided to go swimming. Anna was reluctant and had to be persuaded to join in. Janet, the only sober person among the group, decided against swimming, most likely to keep an eye out for everyone else. Janet said in her witness report (recorded on the morning of July 3, 1969) that she strongly felt that Frank and Brian were in no condition to swim. She also recalled that Brian had great difficulty in standing on the diving board, being helped not-so-successfully by Frank. Even after that, his movements in the water seemed sluggish.

I don’t know, but if that were me, I would’ve called emergency services right there and then.

According to Janet, Anna was the first to return to the house, followed by Frank about ten minutes later. When Janet next went out to check on Brian sometime around midnight, she found him face-down in the deep end, and “immediately sensed the worst.”

She ran back to the house to get Frank and Anna, and with their help, got Brian out of the pool. She immediately began resuscitative efforts, despite knowing Brian was already dead. Anna later claimed that she felt Brian’s hand briefly grip hers. However, when paramedics arrived, they pronounced Brian dead in the early morning hours of 3 July 1969.

Brian’s official cause of death was given as drowning by immersion in fresh water, partly as a result of liver damage and the ingestion of drugs and alcohol. To be precise, 1,720 micro-gms of an “amphetamine-like substance” and the alcohol equivalent of three-and-a-half pints of beer were found in Brian’s system.

In short, it was death by misadventure.

As seems to be the case when a young celebrity dies under tragic circumstances, conspiracy theories have since risen regarding Brian’s death. The following list is taken from Paul Trynka’s book. For the sake of brevity (such as it is), some of these will be combined into one section.

1. The most predominant of these theories states that Frank Thorogood drowned Brian. Whether it was second-degree murder or manslaughter as a result of rough horseplay will usually vary between sources. Brian reportedly asked Janet to get his inhaler shortly before his death. The story then goes on to state that Frank drowned Brian and participated little in the efforts to save Brian’s life. It should be noted that Janet did state in her original testimony that she’d asked him to call emergency services.

The main reason people will give about why they believe that Brian was murdered is that Tom Keylock claimed to have heard Frank confess on his deathbed to the murder. However, Frank’s daughter, Jan Bell, has denied that such an exchange could have happened. There was never a point where Keylock had spent any time alone with her father. Furthermore, he’d only been admitted with a respiratory problem, and thus could not have known that he was on his deathbed. She also claimed that on the morning of Brian’s death, Frank saw an argument between Mick, Keith, and Brian over the name “Rolling Stones.” During the fight, Keith allegedly pulled a knife on Brian. If this did happen, it was likely earlier in the year.

In addition, Janet and Anna have since claimed that Brian was murdered. Janet later claimed that much of her original testimony was suggested to her by investigating officers and that Tom told her to hide the fact that she was his girlfriend. Anna claimed that she was spirited back to Sweden in the immediate aftermath of Brian’s death, where she allegedly miscarried Brian’s child. One of Anna’s friends later said that her belief that Brian had been murdered was a recent development. It’s also notable that neither witness came forward until after Frank died. Many of Anna’s recollections about Brian, such as him being focused on music are also contradicted by others who were close to Brian at the time.

Keith later said, “I knew Frank Thorogood, who made a ‘deathbed confession’ that he’d killed Brian Jones by drowning him in the swimming pool, where Brian’s body was found some minutes after other people had seen him alive. But I’m always wary of deathbed confessions because the only person there is the person he’s supposed to have said it to, some uncle, daughter, or whatever. ‘On his deathbed he said he killed Brian.’ Whether he did or not I don’t know. Brian had bad asthma and he was taking Quaaludes and Tuinals, which are not the best things to dive under water on. Very easy to choke on that stuff. He was heavily sedated. He had a high tolerance for drugs, I’ll give him that. But weigh that against the coroner’s report, which showed that he was suffering from pleurisy, an enlarged heart, and a diseased liver. Still, I can imagine the scenario of Brian being so obnoxious to Thorogood and the building crew he had working on Brian’s house that they were just pissing around with him. He went under and didn’t come up. But when somebody says, ‘I did Brian,’ at the very most I’d put it down to manslaughter. All right, you may have pushed him under, but you weren’t there to murder him. He pissed off the builders, whining son of a bitch. It wouldn’t have mattered if the builders were there or not, he was at that point in his life when there wasn’t any.”

(You’re telling me he can apologize for telling Mick to get a vasectomy, but not for even a fraction of the shit he’s said about Brian?)

In 2005, this version of events was turned into the appalling movie Stoned, which featured Tom Keylock as an adviser and was based on claims made by Janet Lawson and Anna Wohlin. The director, Stephen Wooley, claimed to have researched the material for this story over a period of ten years. Really, it feels less like ten years of research, and more like one week. From what I could tell, it did seem that Brian’s death was manslaughter, but honestly, it was too confusing. Frank seemed damn determined to drown Brian in that moment. The movie (quite literally) drowned on arrival.

2. In 1983, Nicholas Fitzgerald wrote Brian Jones: The Inside Story of a Rolling Stone. In it, he claimed to have been a close friend of Brian Jones (his cousin, Tara Browne, actually was a close friend of Brian’s). Not only that, but he claimed to have seen Brian’s “murder.” He claimed that he and 19-year-old Richard Cadbury (who passed away before the story came out) visited Brian at Cotchford Farm the day he died. Allegedly, Brian told Fitzgerald all about his plans to start up a supergroup with John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix, saying “Don’t say anything… it could be dangerous!”

(As keen as I am about the idea of John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, and Brian Jones being in the same band, you can probably tell that I think this story is a load of bullshit.)

After Fitzgerald and his friend visited a pub, they returned to Cotchford Farm at about 11:15 PM, leaving their car some distance from the house. (Keep in mind, the coroner said that Brian died somewhere between 11:30 PM and 12:00 AM). There, he and his friend saw three men holding Brian under the water, whilst two other people stood by. Suddenly, a man, likely Keylock, jumped out of the bushes and told Fitzgerald to scram, lest he be next.

He refused to give a formal statement to the police. What I don’t think the dumb fuck was counting on was that police would investigate his ass, considering that withholding information could’ve resulted in him being charged with being an accessory to murder after the fact. The police determined that the evidence Fitzgerald gave was “bizarre, full of unverifiable claims that, he, too, had escaped murder attempts, that Cadbury might have been involved with the murderers, and that Cadbury, too, had died ‘in mysterious circumstances”. Detective Chief Superintendent J. F. Reece summarized it best when he said that Fitzgerald was a “Walter Mitty type person” and that he’d come up with the allegations to promote his book. In fact, the book itself had even more ludicrous allegations, such as how Tom Keylock had overseen the whole thing. It got to the point where Eddie Kramer called the story “silly.” John Lennon, meanwhile, believed that Brian was another victim of the drugs scene, and even dreaded him coming on the phone (another reason I don’t believe the supergroup was in the cards for Brian’s future, regardless). Also, Fitzgerald mostly relied on the testimony of those who had already passed away, such as Suki Potier, one of Brian’s girlfriends, who died in a car crash along with her husband in 1981. One of the few living witnesses Fitzgerald claimed to have run into, James Phelge, denied ever having met him.

Also, pro-tip, if you’re going to claim to have been a close friend of someone you’re claiming was murdered, don’t sell your story to the tabloid that got him busted for drug possession. Just saying.

3. In 1990, A. E. Hotchner published Blown Away: The Rolling Stones and the Death of the Sixties. In it, he claimed that Brian’s childhood friend, Dick Hattrell, and a random Cockney named "Marty” had knowledge that Brian was murdered. He claimed that Rich (sounds better to me than Dick) visited Brian shortly before he died and became worried about him. Later, he bumped into someone who claimed to have witnessed Brian’s murder. Marty claimed to have witnessed the murder, claiming that two other women were there, including Linda Lawrence (mother of one of Brian’s sons) who was spirited out of the country following Brian’s death.

In reality, she last saw Brian in 1968.

Similarly, Hattrell has since stated that the story was nonsense; he never visited Brian at Cotchford, and he never said Brian was murdered. Marty has since kept his mouth shut.

Really, it just doesn’t hold up when closely scrutinized.

4. David Gibson claimed to the Brighton Evening Argus that, while he was fitting carpets at Brian’s home, Brian and Anna were absent throughout the better part of the day. When they returned later in the evening, Brian begged Gibson not to leave. Gibson, meanwhile, believed Brian had been murdered and that Tom Keylock was responsible. Some, like Sam Cutler, claim that Gibson saw Princess Margaret at Cotchford Farm, which has led to speculation that Brian was killed to protect her reputation. Gibson never went to the police, and probably believed that he’d been subject to threats and murder attempts. However, aside from Brian’s paranoia and belief that someone was out to get him, Gibson’s story doesn’t line up with many of the other conspiracy theories.

5. Geoffrey Giuliano in his 1994 book Paint It Black claimed that a man named “Joe” said that he’d held Brian’s head under the water for shits and giggles (not something one would normally do for shits and giggles). The thing is though, Giuliano’s book largely recycled content from previous books on the subject, and beyond that, made elementary mistakes, such as claiming that Frank had fled the scene, when in reality, he was there when police officer Albert Evans arrived at about 12:10 AM. It was later found that the tape he’d sourced some of this information from was a fake, made for American radio programmes in New York.

6. Given that Tom Keylock was a bit of a dishonest/disliked character in life, it should come as no surprise that some of the theories focus on him too. In 2009, Sam Cutler claimed that after Brian’s death, Allen Klein (himself a sleazeball) hired some PI’s to investigate Brian’s death and that they’d discovered that Tom was responsible. While Tom did try to pin the blame on Frank and told Janet to conceal her relationship with him, and it is known that he apparently stole some of Brian’s belongings after he died, that does not make one a murderer. It’ll certainly make him a slimeball, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. Meanwhile, in 2013, Cutler claimed confusion as to whether the Klein report even existed. I think at this point, it’s safe to call it a hoax.

In addition, while it is more likely that Tom would have been the murderer instead of Frank, he does have a rather rock-solid alibi in that he was at Olympic Studios and was the one who received the call that Brian had died. Really, any theories that try to say he masterminded a huge plot to have Brian killed and make it appear as an accident tend to raise more questions than it answers.

Let’s all make no mistake though, the police did jump to conclusions rather quickly, there are several obvious mistakes in the autopsy findings, and not to mention, police failed to control the area, which is likely how Tom was able to steal Brian’s belongings and possibly have some destroyed.

Meanwhile, I myself believe that Brian’s death was accidental. Likely, it was the result of a cocktail of prescription medications, alcohol consumption, maybe a side-effect or two resulting from that, and possibly even heart failure or liver disease. Perhaps Brian fainted (which, I honestly hope for, given how painful it is to drown), and with no one around to notice his plight, he quietly slipped away.

I know there’s no way to prove this, given that the police don’t have a good reason to dig up Brian’s bones and it’s probably far too late for a second toxicology report, but given the available evidence I’ve been able to find, I believe this is the most likely version of events.

Truly, a sad ending for a man, who didn’t even have a chance to get back on his feet before fate (and a lifetime of drug/alcohol abuse) intervened.

Whenever I read about Brian’s life story, I always find myself interested by the mistakes, intrigue, and betrayal that seemed to plague Brian’s life from the outset. There are a multitude of what-ifs that honestly make this tale haunting, such as what might’ve happened had Mick and Keith not bullied Brian so severely. There’s also what might have happened if both the Stones and the authorities had better understood the effects of drug use and had the resources and compassion to better deal with Brian’s situation. Most hauntingly, there’s the question of what might’ve happened had someone been near Brian in his final moments and had the opportunity to save him.

I think the biggest reason I keep coming back to his story is that his life as a whole was very conflicting. It honestly inspires both condemnation and sympathy/pity, even in me.

Even if Mick and Keith would rather forget that Brian was ever a part of their band, it is my honest belief that people will continue to discover Brian Jones, whether it be through the 27 Club or through some other means, and I hope that they take the time to learn his story.

Sources/Further Reading: https://www.drugs.com/illicit/quaaludes.html https://asthma.net/living/swimming-pools-triggers/ https://www.drugs.com/sfx/ergotamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/valium-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/amphetamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/chlorpheniramine-side-effects.html Stone Alone by Bill Wyman Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Rock Legend by Laura Jackson https://clearcomfort.com/why-asthma-allergy-sufferers-should-avoid-chlorine-pools/ http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1963.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1962.html https://www.inflationtool.com/british-pound/1963-to-present-value?amount=5 https://people.com/music/anita-pallenberg-rolling-stones-keith-richards-brian-jones-love-triangle/ https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-lists/the-27-club-a-brief-history-17853/ https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-found-dead/ https://www.denofgeek.com/us/culture/music/281978/the-rolling-stones-and-the-mystery-of-brian-jones-death https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/brian-jones-sympathy-for-the-devil-182761/ https://www.mojo4music.com/articles/15989/brian-jones-it-was-murder https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-murdered/ https://www.udiscovermusic.com/stories/just-why-was-brian-jones-so-important-to-the-rolling-stones/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/obituary-brian-jones-189861/ https://www.oxfordtreatment.com/prescription-drug-abuse/tuinal/