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#and it's not even ian&mick's ring...
skxllz · 4 months
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Jealous Ian and Mickey??
say no more
+
“ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲? ”
warnings; mickey being mickey. physical violence (typical shameless shit). ian with rings + getting arrested hehe. blood mention. I think that's it??
date posted; 12.9.23
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usually, ian wasn't the type to get jealous. he had his moments in the past with mick’, with that fucker that had talked shit on ‘im at the bar. and maybe that angie girl... but that was a while ago. maybe even with svetlana, but of course that couldn't be helped. and maybe that one time when they first met you...
okay, maybe ian did get jealous. but that was besides the fact. he's never felt uncontrollable rage before when it's come to anyone other than mickey. the time mickey and svetlana married? he wasn't just heartbroken; he felt the need to actually kill terry and tell svetlana to fuck off in front of everyone, even though technically the circumstances weren't her fault. with you, he's never felt that — not since you started dating him and mickey.
it's funny really, for both of them. it was the moment ian realized he actually was in love with you — same for mickey. only, mick’ didn't realize until after the fact.
it started off with an actual date night between you three. ian told you that him and mickey planned one a while ago but it never sought through because some bitch named sammy got him arrested. you didn't know who the sammy chick was, and ian didn't explain who she was, but you mentally vowed that night to stick it to her. that's why you took them both out a week later, to some fancy restaurant on the west side.
mickey complained about a few things on the way there; the fact that he had to wear a tux, the way it fit him, and that the west side was the last damn place he wanted to be. he claimed it was where the ‘ rich bitches with those stupid nose bandaids ’ live and he wanted no part of that parade. you reassured him though that those noses of theirs would end up bleeding if they gave him the slightest problem.
to say the least, you gave him a boner and a good convincing.
after you arrived at the destination, you had watched while entering the restaurant as the two males gawked at the scenery of the place. it made ian question you just how you were going to afford everything —in which you laughed and just replied with “ don't worry, i’ ”— and mickey mutter under his breath just how much the golden posts by the doorway would go for on ebay. you swatted him on the shoulder since you heard ‘im.
you guys’ little trio was escorted generously to a nice window booth at the back of the restaurant, giving a nice view of the back patio where a fountain and little glowy fairy lights were displayed; giving off a familiar, comfortable feel. and, although you felt as ease, you could mickey still did not by the way he was tugging at different ends of his suit and scooting around in his seat.
“ mick- y’okay? ” ian asked, giving a puzzled questionable expression. the red head had been reading over the drinks menu when he noticed his boyfriend acting out of place.
“ this place gives me the fucking quivers... ” mickey muttered, once again shifting. “ I feel like ‘m bein’ stared at. ”
ian snorted at that. usually mickey didn't let shit get to him - especially people, at that. if there a problem, he'd sort it out himself, so why was he acting off now. “ why's that bothering you? ”
you were now looking at mickey as well, expecting him to answer as you raised your brows curiously. you too wanted to know why he was acting differently.
“ because, ” he sighed in frustration, only then leaning across to table to harshly whisper to Ian, while sparing you a slight glance. “ because I rather not fuckin’ ruin this night for y/n, okay? jesus christ. ”
ian's lips formed an o shape in realization. you were more sensitive than they were, so he could understand why mickey felt that way — didn't want to embarrass you or anything. if that happened, who knows how long of a grudge you'd hold.
mickey sat himself back just as a waiter approached. he was tucking in his finely pressed, button down shirt into his apron, not necessarily paying attention to his surroundings as he dropped a pen from his pocket. y/n realized — and, the good samaritan he was, he scooted out from the booth to crouch down and pick it up.
“ uh- here, ” he stood, pushing his hand out towards the waiter. “ you dropped this. ”
“ oh, ” the waiter extended a hand to take his writing tool back. and, as he did so, lifted his head, “ thank you- y/n? ”
“ blake? ” y/n asked, surprise on his face. “ holy shit. ”
that right there is when the first wave of jealousy struck in the night. the look of realization on both of their faces made Ian and mickey exchange glances — and, although ian felt a twist in his stomach, he wasn't exactly indifferent about the reunion just yet. mickey was, though. he looked sour.
and he was right to. throughout the remainder of the hours there, their waiter, blake, would always give you a smile that was always more than just a smile. he'd stop by more often than meant to, as well. asking for refills when it wasn't necessary, stopping by seconds later thinking he forgot a plate when in reality there was none to take. it pissed your boyfriends off - mickey especially.
the brunette had to withhold standing up and violating the guy where he stands. in mickey's mind, he wishes, wishes, that his stare alone could make this blake motherfucker burst into flames. it'd make his year. probably ian's too, because mick’ knew for a fact that his ginger companion was ready to blow the minute blake stopped by to give you the check.
ian's fingers were death-gripping his fork and his jaw was set. eyes pointed towards the table... and you were oblivious to it - cause you were too busy smiling at him.
“ say- ” blake spoke as he handed off the little black booklet to you, “ since it's been awhile, I was just wondering, would you like to hang out sometime? ”
mickey's head snapped up then. “ the fuck? ” he finally broke for the night. he's had enough. “ no- no, he won't like to fucking hang out sometime, ” mickey mocked, looking absolutely fed up. “ are you fucking nuts? you got some cotton in your damn brain- low iq? ”
the look on blake's face was priceless. his eyes were wide, jaw was dropped open. the hand that had stretched out to take the check back, paused midair. even you were looking at mickey like he was bat shit insane.
which, he probably was. but honestly, what do you expect with dating a milkovich?
“ you need to fucking scram before I pop your head off’a your body like a fucking cork. ” mick’ spat finally - and that was the straw that left the drink empty. you heard enough, scooting closer to mickey to calm him down.
“ mick- ”
“ who the hell are you talking to? ” blake's response made you whip your head around in his direction, eyes as wide as golf balls. was this kid crazy?
mickey looked at ian, who was already looking at him, ready to murder someone, before steering his eyes back onto the blonde male. “ I think I'm fuckin’ talkin’ to you- now y/n, sweetheart, move so I can kill this fucking rat. ”
by now, everyone around was staring. low, hushed voices whispering to one another, other waiters and waitresses watching the scene go down with saucer-bound eyes. a few folks had their phones out, recording, while others were on the phone with police.
“ I'm not moving. ” you sternly spoke, looking mickey in the eye so he knew you meant business. “ you promised you wouldn't make a scene tonight yet here you are, doing exactly that. ”
arms dramatically launched out of gesture to the blonde waiter, “ he was clearly hitting on you! ” mickey emphasized, making sure to get in through your head that you were being blind. you were. “ he wants in your fucking pants! ”
“ he does not want in my pants! ”
“ yes he fucking does! ”
“ stop swearing at me! ”
“ oh fuck off, get a grip! ”
you both were too busy arguing to notice that ian had gotten up from the table and approached blake. it wasn't until you heard gasps around you and a loud “ fuck! ” come from said blonde, followed by a thud, did you and mickey raise your heads.
ian was shaking off his hand with a blank mask of anger while blake lied on the floor, clutching his nose. blood gushed out through the cracks of his fingers, the red liquid flowing down and hitting the dark flooring of the restaurant.
people around looked frightened; staring at ian in horror, as if he was a monster. it was dramatic really.
a few of blake's coworkers rushed to his aid while ian walked back over to you both. his fist was raw and red, and his knuckles were slightly split open, but it wasn't too bad besides that.
“ holy shit... ” mickey breathed out, eyeing blake's bloody face from over your shoulder as he was stood to his feet. he was wobbly, wincing, trying not to shout as someone bumped him. it looked as if ian broke his nose. “ holy shit. ”
“ ian! ” you hissed, “ what the fuck! ”
ian shrugged, “ he got what was coming to him. he shouldn't hit on what isn't his. ”
you blinked lazily. shoulders slumping, breathing coming out in realization. “ but... I'm yours? ”
mickey scoffed and slipped his arm around your shoulders. “ are you insane? of course your ours, y/n. I wouldn't bite someone's fucking dick off for you if you weren't. ”
ian nodded towards mickey, “ what he said. I wouldn't just punch anyone. the dick deserved it. ”
you were silent for a moment, processing the emotions you felt. even though the gossip around you was annoying, you weren't necessarily mad at your boyfriends. moreso, you were just annoyed because the rest of the date was ruined. sure, you had dinner, but you wanted to do much more.
of course though, you couldn't, because the cops ran through the entrance seconds later.
“ he's over there! ” you saw the hostess point towards your red haired companion. ian swore under his breath, only to turn on his heel and book it in the opposite direction.
“ run, i’! ” you scream, looking worried.
“ fucking run like hell, ian! ” mickey looked worried too, surprisingly. I mean, it was his boyfriend, but usually he wouldn't let his emotions get the best of him cause of his pride. but here we are.
the night ended off with ian getting put into cuffs and walked out to the cop car. You and mickey both promised to bail him out somehow, and that you'd explain everything to his siblings.
“ oh- hey, y/n? ” ian called, just as the officer was shoving him into the vehicle.
“ yeah? ” you call back.
“ I love you! ”
your heart damn near skipped a beat. chest fell as you lost breath, a smile of joy spreading across your face. with happiness now in your heart, you lifted your hand, waving him goodbye.
that's when mickey suddenly pulled you by the arm, ripping a gasp from you, and kissed your temple.
“ I love you too, weasel. ”
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astaraels · 3 months
Text
Keeping Warm Against the Cold
Two newlyweds, a snowy day, a pile of Gallaghers, and lots of memories. for the wonderful @callivich! This is kind of a sequel to my fic, New Traditions, but you don't have to have read that to read this one. post-s10. Warning for some slight homophobic language between queer characters, but it's meant to be in good humor. (on ao3)
Mickey knocked the snow from his boots as he made his way up the front steps of the house. He exhaled deeply, his breath hanging visible in the air from the cold. Snow fell silently all around in the slow sunset, an almost eerie feeling with the streets so uncharacteristically silent. The lights from inside the house looked warm and inviting, though, and Mickey hurried through the front door.
A blast of warm air hit him in the face—thank fuck, too, since it meant someone managed to get the electric bill paid on time—and he kicked his boots off in the entryway. The lights from the tree twinkled brightly as Mickey entered the living room, and he could see the presents under the tree were all wrapped a little haphazardly. Debbie and Sandy were lying on the couch on top of one another as Mickey shrugged off his coat, and Franny played with her toys on the floor close by.
“Can’t you lesbos take it somewhere else?” Mickey said without any heat to his voice. “There’s fuckin’ kids here.” Debbie raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned back. She rolled her eyes, and then made a big show of leaning down and planting a huge smack of a kiss on Sandy’s lips, while his cousin grabbed at Debbie’s ass over her jeans.
“Sorry, Mick, it’s dyke central in here,” Sandy told him. “Better luck next time.”
“Plus, you and Ian still haven’t apologized for fucking on the couch last month,” said Debbie. “The brand new couch. You have a room, you know. My eyes still can’t unsee it.”
Mickey shrugged. It wasn’t his fault they’d gotten a little frisky while having the house to themselves for once. How were they supposed to know Debbie would get home from work early that day?
“Sorry, little red. Guess the shine ain’t worn off just yet.” He held up his left hand, waggling his ring finger to show off the silver wedding band.
“Gross,” she said, but the look she gave him was equal parts exasperated and fond. “Ian’s upstairs with Carl and Lip trying to rearrange the furniture, by the way.”
“They’re still not done with that shit?” The Gallagher brothers were moving Carl’s things into Liam’s room for the winter, since the RV had proven to be far too cold to keep a baby in. So Lip, Tami, and Fred would take the brothers’ old room until the weather warmed up. Mickey wasn’t thrilled about more people in the house—shit was crowded enough, especially since Sandy had apparently moved her crap into Debbie’s room and made herself at home—but at least he could always retreat to his and Ian’s room.
“Yeah, apparently little miss middle class wanted to get the vacuum out. I didn’t even know there was one here,” Sandy said, snorting with laughter. Mickey, who had never used a vacuum in his life, just shook his head and called out to Franny as he tossed her a candy bar he’d grabbed on the way out of the store.
“Thanks, uncle Mickey!” she exclaimed.
Debbie glanced over at the bag Mickey held in his hand, eyebrows shooting up and a knowing grin crossing her face. “Is that Ian’s present? The one we talked about?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Mickey gripped the plastic handles of the bag and held it close to his side. “Well, I mean—yeah. It was the only fuckin’ thing I could find at the last minute, so it’s better than nothin’, ya know?”
The look on his sister-in-law’s face told him that for all his blustering, she could see right through him. Debbie had always been good at that, after all. “Well, I think he’s gonna love it, so don’t worry too much. But you’d better go get it wrapped, get it under the tree. Christmas is just a few days away.” Mickey had gotten one or two other—private—gifts for Ian, but this one was what he could actually open on Christmas morning with the family. Even though he knew it wasn’t a big deal—they were married, for fuck’s sake, he could get his husband something sentimental for Christmas if he fuckin’ wanted to—he still felt his face heat up with a little awkwardness as Debbie gave him an excited grin. “Go on, get moving, before those idiots get done moving furniture.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fuckin’ going,” he muttered, but it only served to make Debbie and Sandy laugh. As he headed up the stairs he could hear Franny offering a piece of her chocolate to the two of them, all polite and good mannered and shit. Kid was a cute one—Debbie had managed to raise her right.
Soon enough, Mickey could hear the familiar voices of his husband and brothers-in-law, although he wasn’t able to make out exactly what they were saying. He went into his and Ian’s room, looking around for a good place to hide Ian’s gift where the sneaky asshole wouldn’t find it. Underwear drawer was out; so was under the bed. Even though they never cleaned there, it would be just like Ian to do so when Mickey specifically did not want him to look in that exact spot. He briefly considered hiding it in Debbie’s room, but he didn’t want to be held responsible for Franny breaking it. Not that he thought the little girl would do anything on purpose—she was good as gold, for all the chaos she’d been through in her short five years—but kids were clumsy and he didn’t wanna risk it.
The closet was cluttered, things thrown about haphazardly under the clothes they’d managed to hang up on the rack. His gaze fell on the gun safe he kept shoved in the back corner; it was just the right size to keep Ian’s gift hidden. Mickey went to get the key out of the sock drawer (he still wasn’t used to some of the ways his husband organized things, but if it made Ian happy, Mickey figured he could get used to it), then shoved a bunch of shit out of the way in the closet so he could pull the gun safe out. He didn’t have any wrapping paper, so he’d have to wait until the next day to make it all nice and shit. Ian was going with Carl to do some last minute shopping anyway, as long as the weather held up, so he’d have some time. The gift fit inside the box, although just barely, so Mickey locked it back up and put it back in the closet just as he heard Ian’s voice coming closer to their room. He shoved the closet door closed and scrambled onto the bed, trying to look casual, when his husband walked in and grinned at him.
“Hey, Mick,” Ian said brightly. “When’d you get back home?”
“Eh, not long. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.” Mickey moved over to make room for Ian, who seemed all too happy to sit down next to him on the bed. He leaned over and put a hand on Mickey’s cheek so he could pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. Honestly, Mickey didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, especially the feeling of the matching silver wedding band on Ian’s ring finger against his skin. They’d only been married for two months now, but like he’d told Debbie, the shine still hadn’t worn off yet. Mickey pulled Ian in closer, a hand on his shoulder, and grinned against his lips at the feeling of warmth that radiated off his husband. Ian was like a space heater, which was great when the weather was like this, all freezing cold and snowing like nobody’s business.
“Missed you,” Ian said against Mickey’s lips, sending a thrill up Mickey’s spine. Two little words that threatened to make him melt like the biggest sap in existence. Then again, the gift in the closet was plenty enough evidence that he was nothing but whipped for Ian fuckin’ Gallagher, and he didn’t give a shit who knew it, either. So what if Lip was gonna give Mickey shit for it on Christmas morning? Ian would love it—Debbie had assured Mickey of that, which was nice of her, but he knew the moment they’d seen it in the shop that it’d been perfect—and that was all that mattered, really.
“Yeah, yeah, missed you too, Gallagher.” Mickey patted Ian’s cheek and smiled softly. “You guys finally get everything fixed up to Blondie’s liking?”
Ian rolled his eyes, but chuckled at Mickey’s nickname for Tami. “Yeah—took a while, but we made it work. Liam’s being a good sport about sharing with Carl, at least. I’m just glad Fred won’t be out in the cold.” After having lived out of a car with his family when he was younger, Mickey knew that the whole situation definitely hit a sore spot for Ian. Personally, Mickey didn’t give a fuck about Lip, but he did agree with Ian that the kid didn’t deserve to freeze. “Thought you said your errands were gonna take longer. Not that I’m complaining about you being back early.”
With a snort of laughter, Mickey snuggled back against Ian, pulling his husband’s arms around him for the warmth. “Roads are shit right now,” he explained. “Smart people are stayin’ home, keepin’ warm, that kinda thing.”
“What, are you saying you’re not smart?” Ian teased, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s jaw. Mickey decided not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he reached around and pinched Ian’s side, right in the spot he knew his husband was most ticklish. It got exactly the reaction he was hoping for—Ian jumped, not having seen it coming, but then he got back at Mickey and shoved him against the mattress with a laugh as he decided to tickle him back.
“Fuck you, Gallagher!” Mickey managed to get out, kneeing him in the stomach to try and get the upper hand. It worked well enough—Ian was caught off-guard long enough for Mickey to get him on his back and pin his hands over his head. It didn’t stop Ian from grinning like a madman, though, and he leaned up to kiss him hard; when he pushed Mickey backwards against the pillows, Mickey didn’t protest or fight, for once. He liked the way it felt when Ian pressed him into the mattress, the weight of his husband on top of him making Mickey feel safe and secure. Warmth radiated off of him in waves as Ian pulled Mickey into a spooning cuddle, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing a light kiss there just below his hairline.
“Gotcha,” Ian murmured against Mickey’s ear.
Mickey bit his lip and tried not to grin. “Uh huh,” he said. “Ever think of the fact that I got ya right where I want ya?”
Ian shook his head, arms tightening around Mickey for a moment in a hug. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got you , Mr. Gallagher.”
“Well, Mr. Milkovich, I guess we’re both getting what we want, then.” Mickey’s cheeks were burning with heat, and not just from Ian’s embrace. Even after all these years, Ian could still make him blush like a fucking teenager with a stupid crush. It wasn’t his fault his husband was a sappy bitch, though, and he could enjoy that now. Sometimes he had to remind himself about that, about the fact that he got to wake up next to Ian and go to sleep next to him and kiss him every day for the rest of his life. After they’d spent so long with their lives and relationships in turmoil, through breakups and mental illness and prison sentences and all the rest of it, they’d made it to this point.
Sometimes Mickey wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Then he would shake his head and decide not to question it, before the universe decided he was too happy and figured it needed to fix that for him.
Mickey turned in Ian’s arms, albeit with some difficulty, then put his own arms over his husband’s shoulders. “Seem pretty feisty today, Red,” he mentioned casually. “Holidays really get you excited, huh?”
With a bashful glance to the side, Ian shrugged, unable to fight the smile that crossed his face. “I’m just happy,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Mickey’s lips. “You know, technically I think this is our first Christmas together.”
“Nah,” Mickey said, frowning slightly. “We had the one—right after you had your, uh…your first crash.” He didn’t like saying depressive episode , because it always felt too clinical. “Remember? The kid’s first one—you and Svet made us watch Home Alone three times in a row, and then the stupid Muppet one.” He’d never admit it, but Mickey really did love the Muppet Christmas Carol. Svetlana hadn’t stopped singing the opening number from that one for at least a week every time Mickey walked in a room, even getting Ian and Mandy in on it. That had been the first time Mickey saw Ian smile after weeks of him being stuck in bed, and whatever else he felt about it, Mickey had been grateful to Svetlana for helping pull Ian out of the fog. Whatever else had happened, no matter how it all fell apart, it had been the first good Christmas Mickey could remember.
“...I kinda remember it,” Ian said, sounding a little lost in thought. “Mandy got Yev that Santa onesie, and then she made me help her with Christmas cookies.”
Mickey snorted. “Yeah, and you guys got more cookie batter all over the fuckin’ kitchen than you got in the bowl for the actual cookies.” They hadn’t been great—neither Mandy nor Ian were the best at baking—but the thought and effort mattered more than anything. It had taken all of them to pull Ian out of the darkness in his own mind. They hadn’t had much of a tree, just something that had fallen off the back of a truck, and half the Christmas lights they’d strung up were dead bulbs, but seeing Ian smile again after so long had been worth it. He hadn’t been a ghost for much longer after that.
“...maybe we should call Mandy for Christmas,” Ian suggested quietly. “I got a text from her a few months back, with her new number. She heard about the trial, wanted to see how I was doing.”
Mickey felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his sister. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since she’d run off to Indiana with that fucking bastard of a boyfriend who’d beaten her black and blue, but Ian had seen her a few times in the years since. Told Mickey that she’d been doing better, been living on the West Side last he heard, and had not-so-subtly hinted at maybe getting back in touch. It was a strange thought—they’d been close when they were younger, but he didn’t know how she’d feel about hearing from Mickey after all this time. “...you really think she’d wanna hear from me?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah, Mick, I do.” He’d brought up the idea of reaching out to Svetlana and the kid as well, although that was a bit more of a complicated situation itself. Mickey still had mixed feelings about Yevgeny, but part of him did miss the cobbled together family that they’d created, all those years ago in the Milkovich house. When they were happy together, all of them; when he could look at Yevgeny and Svetlana without bile rising in his throat. Things were more complicated than he’d realized at the time—he knew that now—and it probably hadn’t been much different for her, either. Last he heard she’d married some old geezer and was living it up on the North Side. He could admit it now that he’d been a piece of shit back then. Maybe now that he and Ian had fixed things between them, they could fix some other things as well.
“Yeah, well…lemme think about it.” He felt Ian press a kiss against his hair in acknowledgement, but thankfully his husband didn’t push the issue further than that. Mickey wasn’t ready for it, not just now, but he thought he might get there soon enough.
The two of them settled into a quiet, cozy silence, Ian resting his chin on top of Mickey’s head. Mickey closed his eyes and leaned back against Ian’s broad chest, enjoying the way his husband’s arms enveloped him and made him feel safe and warm. When he cracked open one eyelid he could see the snow still falling out the window, steady and unlikely to stop any time soon. Perfect weather to stay in bed, curled up with the love of his life to keep them both warm and comfortable.
The two of them eventually slid down the bed until they were lying with their heads on the same pillow, Ian snuggling his face against the back of Mickey’s neck. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be right now, especially with how warm and comfortable his husband was against him. Let it fuckin’ snow for all he cared. This was the best place, the best feeling in the world.
--
As he’d suspected, the next morning found the snow piled up at least six inches, much to Franny’s delight. Debbie had had to cancel her jobs for the day, and both Lip and Tami had gotten calls that their workplaces were closed from the weather as well. Chicago was used to plenty of snow, and they’d already put snow chains on their tires in anticipation, but this time it had come with a half an inch of ice according to the weatherman on TV. Better to stay home than chance ruining one of the few vehicles the family could use.
After breakfast, Liam and Franny had run upstairs to get their winter things on, since Franny had insisted that they go play together. Tami sat at the table feeding Fred while Carl was on the phone to let his boss know he’d be in late. “You and half the city,” Lip told him. “Who’s gonna commit a crime during a fuckin’ blizzard, anyway?”
“You never know what people are gonna do,” Carl said, shrugging his shoulders. Mickey silently agreed with that—he and Iggy and Colin would ride the L to the North Side in the aftermath of a bad storm sometimes, see if they could break into homes that rich fucks had left empty while they spent the winters in Florida or some bullshit. Not that he was gonna admit it to a fuckin’ cop, even one that happened to be his brother-in-law. 
“Uncle Ian! Come with me!” Franny called as she jumped down the steps two at a time, the laces of her boots coming untied. With a laugh, Debbie motioned her little girl over so she could re-tie them for Franny. Sandy scooped a big spoonful of cereal into her mouth, glancing over at the mother and daughter pair next to her. His cousin liked to talk a big game, but Mickey could tell she already had a soft spot for Franny. Her and Debbie’s relationship had been like a whirlwind, with her even moving her stuff in a week after his and Ian’s wedding, and this tended to be when Sandy started feeling trapped. Mickey knew the feeling, and he knew his cousin—he should probably talk to her at some point so she didn’t try to bolt the way she always did. Maybe in the past he’d never bothered interfering in her relationships, but he didn’t want to see Debbie hurt. And maybe he thought it’d be good for Sandy not to sabotage what seemed to be a pretty good thing, either.
“All right, Franny, I’ll come with you,” Ian agreed, tugging gently on her pigtails and making the little girl giggle. “Sandy? Debbie? You guys gonna come?”
Sandy shrugged, chewing another spoonful of cereal as she thought it over. “Sure, why not?”
“I’ll get my coat,” Ian said, then glanced over at Mickey, who was sitting in the corner and drinking his coffee. “Mick? You coming?”
Mickey shook his head. “Gotta help Debbie get some more of that Christmas shit outta the attic,” he said. Technically it wasn’t a lie—the wrapping paper was in the attic—and thank fuck Debbie backed him up.
“There’s some old Christmas dresses up there in a box, I wanna see if any of them will fit Franny. And we might have some Christmas stuff for Fred, too!” she added, looking over at Tami. “Sheila made a really cute Christmas sweater for Liam one year, I think we still have it in storage. It’d look really cute on Fred.”
Tami didn’t look entirely thrilled, but Lip nodded with a slight smile. “Yeah, I remember that one—with the fucked up looking reindeer on it, right?”
“You want to put our son in a Christmas sweater with fucked up reindeer on it?”
Lip shrugged. “His first ugly Christmas sweater. Rich people are all about that shit, aren’t they?”
As the two of them went back and forth on the subject, Mickey finished his coffee and took his mug over to the sink just as Ian passed him while pulling on his coat. He reached out and brushed his hand across Mickey’s shoulders. It was just a small touch, but it meant everything that they could have this now, openly showing affection in front of Ian’s family without anyone batting an eyelid. A far cry from the way things were when Mickey lived here the first time. When he and Ian were still an open secret, when Mickey was still terrified that anyone might find him out. But now all that happened was a sly grin from Sandy across the room, more a reminder of their conversation from the day before than anything.
Ian held his arms out and Franny came running to him; he lifted her up into the biggest bear hug he could manage and she shrieked with laughter. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” she chanted as Liam came down the stairs bundled up in a hat, coat, scarf, gloves, and boots. The three of them headed out the back door, a burst of freezing winter air making them all shiver through their sweaters in spite of the heater running full tilt.
“Okay, little red, we doing this or what?” Mickey said, and Debbie got up from the table to follow him up the steps. Once upstairs, they worked together to pull down the attic stairs, and they climbed up one at a time, Debbie turning on the light as she got to the top first.
“Wrapping paper is…right here!” she said, shoving a box towards him. He picked out a roll of green paper with a pattern of gold stars. Ian did love green, Mickey knew, so it’d be a good choice. He’d be a pretty piss-poor husband if he didn’t know Ian’s favorite color, and it wasn’t something dumb like the Santas or elves or shit he saw in the box next to the one he’d picked out. Debbie, for her part, was digging through another box until she pulled out a red sweater that looked a little big for the six-month-old Fred, but was indeed covered in fucked-up looking reindeer. “Ha! I knew we still had it,” she crowed triumphantly. “Fiona never threw away any baby clothes. I’m just glad we still had this one.”
“...those really are some fucked up deer,” Mickey said, furrowing his brow a little. “You really think Tamietti is gonna let Lip put that on her kid?”
“C’mon, Mickey, it’s Christmas,” she said with a grin. “And it’ll be hilarious to see the look on Tami’s face when Lip tells her that they’ve gotta do it. You know he will.” And yeah, Mickey knew Lip well enough by this point to agree with her on that.
“I’m gonna go get this thing wrapped before your kid gets tired and Ian’s back inside,” he said. “You done up here?”
She shook her head. “You go ahead. I’m still trying to find the Christmas dresses for Franny.”
Mickey headed back down the stairs with the wrapping paper tucked under his arm, and headed back to his and Ian’s room. As he dropped it on the floor and found the key to the gun safe, he felt a pang in his heart at the thought of Ian’s face lighting up when he saw the gift Mickey had gotten for him. It wasn’t anything special, but Debbie had assured him that Ian would love it when they’d gone looking last week and found it sitting in a back corner of the store. As he opened the gun safe, Mickey pulled out the wooden trinket, not too big but still enough that the words on it could be read.
It was shaped like a wreath—not some dumbass Christmas thing, but with the natural wood colors still showing through unpainted—and had the names and birthdays of each Gallagher sibling. He’d debated about whether to include Frank and Monica on it, but figured in the end that Ian would appreciate the inclusion of his mother, even if she was on the same level as their father for the other siblings. It was Ian’s gift, after all, so fuck what they thought. Monica was the only one with a date of death added, but her and Frank’s wedding dates—all three of them—were added beneath their names, which sat side-by-side at the top of the wreath. Under Lip’s name was Fred, and Debbie had Franny’s beneath her own. And next to Ian’s name was Mickey, his full name and date of birth burned into the wood, along with the date of their wedding underneath.
Ian’s family was the most important thing to him—Mickey knew that. He also knew that, even though it came off as a joke, Ian calling him “Mr. Gallagher” every now and again was his way of letting Mickey know that he was now, officially, part of that family as well. They’d gotten called ghetto married since Ian was seventeen and Mickey was nineteen, when Mickey was technically married to Svetlana and raising a child with her and Ian.
But now it was official, their names forever linked together both on their marriage license and in the records of the city of Chicago. Anyone could look it up and see—see that Ian and Mickey had stood up and proclaimed their love for each other, had said the words and signed the papers that told the world that they belonged together forever. And sure, maybe Ian had gotten their license framed (although it was still sitting in the back of the closet), but this would show Ian that Mickey accepted his place in Ian’s family, too. Their names burned into the wood together, with room…room for others, maybe, one day. And even if those names never came along, it’d still be all right. They had each other, and they had their family. And Mickey knew, as he clumsily wrapped the wooden wreath in the green and gold paper, that things would be all right.
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gallawitchxx · 4 months
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hello bee - my offering to you to please speak more on conspiracy theory mickey: 🪴🍉🍫🎶🎷🦇
(hey remember when my ask linked to a completely random post that one time. i hope that doesn't happen again ahaa)
oh hello ray babyyyyy 🖤🖤🖤 ily did you know? thank you for the offerings, your link worked perfectly this time & i would love to chat more about conspiracy theorist!mickey! 👀🔎🕵️‍♂️
soooo, my guy is absolutely a moon landing denier 🌕🚫🧑‍🚀 like, what do you mean a bunch of astronauts went to the moon a few times & then we never went back?? what kind of fucked up science is that? it absolutely could've been faked on a soundstage, those hollywood fucks are always making shit look real!
also! ALSO! aliens! 👽 can't trust the government for shit, but even they're admitting aliens are real now! but mickey was into area 51 waaay before it was cool, ok? if he weren't married to the world's biggest worry-wart, he would've strapped up & joined all those guys that ransacked the place a while back. yippee kay yay, motherfucker! 🛸 we can’t be alone in the universe & to say differently would be ridiculous.
"gotta watch out for the gray, ian." "who are the gray?" "those big gray alien fucks that are messin' with our dna. snatchin' people right up off the ground & doin' all kinds of experiments on 'em & shit." "mick... just because you're turned on by aliens doesn't mean that they're abducting people & changing our genetic code..." "it's called galactic interference, asshole. look it up." ... "& fuck you, it ain't my fault you look like a goddamn freckled freak." "you need to get off the internet."
because yeah. that's where most of this shit gets stirred up. of course it is. when mickey can't sleep, he's scouring reddit boards & weird little sites that nobody's ever heard of, reading post after post by people with usernames like tinfoilhat4life and wakeupsheep69. he's not sure that he believes everything he reads -- he's definitely not into some of the more whack ones that right wingers have been peddling recently about pizza shop sex rings & whatnot -- but look.... he doesn't know.... you know? 👀🔎🕵️‍♂️✨
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ana-lora-rein · 10 months
Text
𝘌𝘺𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘛𝘴𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘭𝘶 ܟ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 ܟ Broken Wings
Amateur translation. Postcanon.
Fandom Avatar.
Marines don't die, they go to hell...
His ears were ringing endlessly, and his heart, pounding frantically in his chest, seemed about to burst out. The only thing that cooled off was the tailwind, which kept from passing out. If he had lowered his eyelids for even a second, in a fainting state, he would have fallen from the flying banshee straight into the rocky abyss of the soaring mountains. Miles felt warm trickles of blood rolling down his temples. He had to overcome the stabbing pain in his body to brush it away with his hand.
— Bitch... — Quoritch cursed, spitting up the clots. He gripped his fingers tightly on the collar straps of the winged beast, guiding it toward the base.
The flight wasn't long, but all the way there, Miles had only one thought: Why didn't his son stay with him? Little Spider, struggling with conflicting feelings, did not let him die: pulled from the bottom of the wreckage of the sinking shuttle, growled one last word and fled away. Maybe the kid did it out of the compassion he'd inherited from Sally? Or out of a sense of indebtedness to the one who had brought him into the world? In any case, the colonel was left confused. And in the back of his mind, two very different beginnings were struggling. They, like cats, were gnawing at him from inside, reminding him that sooner or later he would have to choose. One was demanding to turn around, to find that scoundrel Sully and take out the wretched gang for the damage they'd done, and the other was wanting to forget, to tell everyone to go to hell. His jaw clenched in irritation, and Miles clenched his teeth. He promised himself he'd figure it out. But there was no way to undo what had happened. His team, his loyal comrades-all of them dead at the hands of the blue apes. What a shame for him as commander! Poor Lyle. He wanted to go to the makeshift sauna at the bottom of the hill just outside the town. And the Reaper... She'd still be alive and well, even if she was blue in the body. Mansk had intended to ask the beastie out on a date. And though all the boys knew how foolish his idea was, he couldn't ask anyone else out.
«Scumbag Sully and his cum wife!»
A gagging interrupted Miles' thoughts. Rekom crouched on his side, spitting out blood. A stinging, biting pain squeezed under his ribs. He mentally counted the damage his enemy had done: a punctured shoulder, something like a lung wound, a concussion that made him dizzy and his eyes swim. All this he had felt once before. On Earth War, it was like déjà vu, a memory that came back to him. The pain was the same, but the motivation was different.
Hear that, Sally, how does it feel to betray your country?
The Winged Beast. Banshee. It suddenly nervously fluttered its wings, screaming as if distraught. The animal sensed everything the rider was experiencing. The colonel remembered the connection (tsaheylu). This connection seemed too strong, too obscene and too explicit. Gathering his will into a fist, Miles took a deep breath and exhaled, placing his palm against the banshee's head. He stroked the beast, tried to calm it down, because we don't need the bird to get nervous and send it into the abyss. The colonel understood that he had to get to know his new friend better, to learn the subtleties of communication.
Like a thunderclap, the wireless rattled loudly in his ear. He still had the earpiece with the microphone in his ear.
— Quaritch! Can you hear me? General Ardmore calling!
— Shit... — Miles sighed heavily, coughing and coughing up, — Yes, I'm on the line, General! The mission failed, there were too many of them! Back to base!
— Why haven't you been in contact for two hours?! What happened?! What happened to Dr. Ian Garvin?!
— Missing or dead.
— And Captain Mick Scoresby?
Miles crouched in pain and wrapped his arm around himself, trying to answer as calmly as possible. He never liked to report, especially to women, and the worst thing for him was when it was a woman who turned out to be the boss. The colonel could only respect the generaless for the first half of the day he met her before she got under his skin with arrogance and prejudice.
«Fucking bitch...»
He had to unfasten the Velcro vest and throw it off his bloody body: even the clothes squeezing his chest prevented him from speaking.
— Missing or dead, — the Colonel repeated.
— Go immediately back to the scene and find the doctor! Can you hear me?
— I hear you. — Miles's breathing quickened and his eyelids seemed too heavy.
He wanted to finish, but the shroud that fell over his eyes and the ringing in his ears plunged him into darkness. His hands slid down, and recom fell chest-to-chest on the banshee's neck, finally losing his composure and his equilibrium.
***
Laura Asadi always loved weekends. Even though the sun was beating down like never before, illuminating the city streets with its scorching rays and casting glares on the glass panoramas of the buildings, she went to the park for a long-awaited jog. Nothing could have made her happier than the mesmerizing nature of Pandora. Unless it was music on her headphones and a desire to pursue dancing, singing, photography, or maybe even writing a novel. But as much as a young soul's heart tugged at creativity, it was her profession as a therapist that allowed Laura to leave a dying planet and find herself in the most influential organization. The RDA appreciated her abilities and welcomed her into their ranks. They gave her a new life that she longed to share with her family. Happy for their daughter's fate, her parents remained on Earth. Laura could only arrange their move to Pandora by working off her first contract, and she humbly awaited that day.
The week flew by unnoticed. Every day she had to work late with patients caught up in the maelstrom of events. People couldn't find common ground with the local tribes: A prolonged war had broken out. Diversion after diversion claimed more and more victims. Few survived the battle with the Na'vi. Lora understood that they were fighting for their territories, and were not at all happy to have unexpected visitors from space. Any attempt to negotiate between the two parties to the conflict was backfiring. Too different lives, too different species, too different view of the world.
Laura admired the philosophy of the Na'vi. Before going to bed, she read books about this amazing species, their culture and everyday life. She especially liked the works of the once popular scientist Grace Augustine. Fifteen years ago this woman had managed to make contact with the Omatikaya forest clan. They even built a school for children, where Miss Augustine taught earthly lessons and shared her knowledge. But, unfortunately, her efforts were wasted. There was a conflict that remained the subject of numerous theories. Laura heard only one truth: A certain Marine Jake Sully, an Avatar member, sided with the Na'vi during the first war, gathered the clans into an army, and prevailed by expelling the humans from Pandora. This precedent has remained on everyone's lips to this day. After all, from time to time Sully would sabotage military depots and blow up cargo trains. Some considered him a collaborator, a traitor to the motherland, and some quietly admired him and wished him victory. Laura, on the other hand, always found it difficult to choose. She tried to stay out of the fuss and do her job - to heal the wounded, to save lives. After all, working off her contract to get her family back from a dying, poisoned Earth.
Gathering her long dark hair into a ponytail, Laura stepped into the thicket of the park, breathing in the scents of the local flora through the transparent oxygen mask. She liked to come here in the mornings when she got up early: she enjoyed nature, and fed the funny prolemurs with bananas before exercising. Some animals began to recognize her, came down from the trees and unceremoniously stretched out their paws in the hope of getting a treat. This time red apples were waiting for them. No sooner had the girl rustled her backpack than twigs rattled around her. On all sides there were those who wanted to eat them. They wiggled their ears, curiously waiting and looking at the guest with interest.
— Guys, not all at once, you do remember to be able to share, don't you? — Laura laughed as she handed out the apples. One of the cubs, begging for attention, climbed down from his mother and brazenly climbed onto the girl's shoulder, wrapping one pair of long paws around her and tugging at the strap of her top with the other. — Oh, is that you, buddy? I remember you, you're growing up fast...
She quickly got used to and grew to love the animals here. Her acquaintances and colleagues always wondered how these animals let her in so quickly. After all, usually prolemurs tried to stay away from people, and if they approached, it was only for a moment. Inadvertently, Laura thought she loved animals more than people, and she should have gone to the veterinary department. If it weren't for her promise to her dad and her love of the arts, she would have. Born into a family of the medical generation, she hadn't found the courage to break a long-standing tradition. Even though she felt out of place, she was one of the best in the department.
Asadi didn't have time to finish feeding the prolemur pack. Suddenly the roar, so wild and piercing to the core, made the beasts scream and scatter in panic in the bushes. The girl shuddered, clutching her heart in terror. The sweep of bright blue wings that came down on the ground, crushing the bushes, shocked and stunned her. Laura had never seen a mountain banshee this close. From something screaming in panic and shaking her head. The girl opened her eyes in wild amazement. A bloodied, unconscious Na'vi had fallen from the winged animal's back. A tall blue body in military gear fell between two prickly bushes. The banshee flapped its wings and rose into the air, disappearing into the sky.
«Oh my God, it's an avatar!»
Laura dropped to her knees and crawled toward the man. The long thorns of the bushes touched her tanned skin, scratching her to the point of pain. The girl clenched her teeth from the unpleasant thrill, but, holding herself together, approached the victim. Streams of blood trickled from his wide nose, mingling with the profuse sweat on his blue skin. The avatar furrowed his dark eyebrows and lowered his pointed ears in pain and agony, but he did not regain consciousness. He only opened his mouth, breathing heavily in the air he needed.
Laura caught her breath. She stared in shock at the three-meter-tall humanoid she was seeing for the first time in her life. Her hands were shaking with excitement. She hadn't had to deal with avatars yet. The therapist wasn't sure she could give first aid to this creature properly, because she didn't know how much their anatomy matched that of a human. But despite her fear and uncertainty, her therapist habit was to go nowhere. With feverish movements, she began to check for a pulse and determine the damage to her body. The girl also fleetingly noticed the long tail she had accidentally sat on. She hesitantly put her palms to the humanoid's chest, probing for numerous cuts. Blood was flowing from the punctured shoulder. She had to act immediately. The purple insignia of skulls and a snake on the victim's clothing suggested that this was someone very important to the RDA. A recombinant organism. Back from the dead, he risked ending up on the other side of the world again.
The therapist gathered her senses and was vigilant. She grabbed the edges of her cotton T-shirt, tearing the white fabric in two halves. A few moments more, and the punctured shoulder was carefully bandaged. The girl couldn't let it die. Quickly she took the smartphone out of her backpack with her bloodstained fingers and dialed the right number. The beeps were excruciatingly long. Laura was shaking with fear for the creature's life. She gently wiped the blood from under his nose, checked his pupils, and lifted her eyelids. Rekom was on the verge of life and death. Laura swallowed the lump in her throat. Emotions were running wild.
«God, I hope you don't die!» — Laura thought, and a shuddering veil covered her eyes.
— Emergency service. What's wrong? — The operator's long-awaited voice came through the smartphone like a breath of oxygen.
Laura perked up, holding reckom's bandaged shoulder with her free hand. He hissed desperately, like a roadkill cat, remaining unconscious with only one twitch of his tail.
— Therapist Laura-Anastasia Asadi speaks! Suburban Park sixth district, thirteenth precinct on the south gate side, a recombinant has been found in critical condition! Send a car immediately, he has lost a lot of blood, punctured shoulder! Also suspected second-degree concussion!
The wounded man moved his ear. He tried to catch every word, tried to come to his senses, but all he could do was open his blood-glued lips and whisper faintly:
— I must... I must...
— What? — Laura leaned toward his face. She excitedly contemplated every inch of smooth blue skin with smooth "tiger" stripes, and her hand gently slid down the long neck of the amazing creature, where the pulse beat faintly.
— Miss Asadi, five minutes, the brigade is on its way, wait!
***
At the end of the long, bright tunnel, flooded with blinding light, Miles saw the outlines of people. They were calling his name and rank, asking him to return. Somewhere he'd heard those voices before, painfully familiar, but no image had ever emerged in his mind.
«Who are they? And what do they want?»
As if he were weightless, light as a feather, he floated and felt absolute serenity. He did not want to fly to the sound of the voices. He wished he could stay. This strange place of walls of bright white light engulfed him with every second and distanced him from human silhouettes. It seemed so familiar, so quiet and safe. There was no noise, no one was giving orders. And there was no pain.
«It's so good here» — Miles thought, but the bliss was short-lived. An invisible force, like a magnet, pulled him forward along the tunnel. A sense of excitement and fear made his heart beat fast. Now he heard not only people's voices, but also the pounding of his own heart. Something squeezed his lungs. The feeling of his body returned. And the pain returned. The heaviness in his right shoulder was accompanied by a groan. Miles opened his eyes.
— Finally! We thought we'd lost you, Colonel, — said the man in the big round glasses and white coat. The nurses, standing on either side of the patient, shined flashlights directly into his eyes, testing the response of his pupils. Miles exhaled irritably. He wanted to raise his hand and shove the pesky medics away, but the straps of sturdy material prevented him from even moving.
— What the hell? — the recom stared at the restraints that held him in one position, overcoming the stabbing pain in his ribs.
— I'm sorry, sir, this is an involuntary measure. Do you remember what happened to the previous shift of doctors? Your violent reaction sent them to the ICU.
— I'll put you in the ICU if you don't take off those fucking bracelets right now. Now!
— Sir, no, I can't, I'm sorry, that's an order... — the doctor smiled tensely, adjusting his glasses on his thin humped nose.
— I order you! — growled grudgingly Miles, emphasizing the pronoun.
— Please, sir, calm down, you can't be nervous, you've been injected with a double dose of antibiotics...
The doctor's speech of trembling, uncertain words was interrupted by an electronic beep. The massive doors parted to the sides, opening to the visitors. General Ardmore appeared in the ICU in the company of several guards and with a man in a black business suit. When Miles saw people in such suits in front of him, he was knowingly preparing for something unpleasant. These well-dressed rats always demanded too much and gave nothing in return. The first thing he would remove from his memories of his past life was service to such chumps.
— You have no right to give orders if you can't handle even a simple task,— the general said, and walked over to the wounded man, looking at his injuries from head to toe with a look of frustration, — report what happened. And where's Dr. Ian Garvin?
Miles pressed his lips together, holding back the urge to curse, and, clenching his fists, obediently answered:
— The ship sank. The crew, the doctor, and the captain are probably dead. So were my men. Sully attacked from several flanks. There were more of them than we thought, there was little chance of winning.
— But those chances were there? — the man in the suit asked.
Miles glanced at the stranger, thinking only of how nice it would be to take a cool shower now, but instead he had to lie in the medication-soaked room and report back.
— That's right. If it hadn't been for their tame whale with amrita in its head, I'd have executed the scumbag Sally.
A tense feeling arose in his mind. He remembered how the blue savage, Sally's wife, had put a dagger to Spider's throat, intending to avenge her son's death. But was Miles guilty of that? Jake, as a father, had failed. The inevitable war, one way or another, would have touched everyone anyway, and the family leader could have ensured that the children would not be involved. But he himself gave the trump cards to the enemy and was punished by fate.
— Are you going to write in your report that the whale is to blame for your failure, too? Or maybe you screwed up strategically after all? — The generaless folded her arms across her chest in displeasure, glaring at recom with her penetrating eyes from beneath her camouflage cap.
Miles turned his head away, looking out the ajar window, and for a few seconds there was silence in the ICU. There, on the base grounds, right on the roof of the warehouse, sat his dark blue banshee. The celestial predator spread her broad wings that dangled gracefully on either side of the roof and brushed out her feathers. Military onlookers passed by, darting away as if she were a demon, but the bird was strikingly calm.
«What devotion» — still marveled the recom.
The irritation was replaced by an unpleasant longing somewhere in the depths of soul. Son. He came to mind again. The boy had chosen to stay with the one who had raised him since he was a baby, even after the demon stepmother had nearly slit his throat. Miles tried to understand his own feelings and inadvertently imagined two different beings struggling inside him.
«You little bugger, all because of you!» — thought the colonel, remembering the face of the furiously snarling Spider.
— I'll make the report very honestly, don't worry, General,— he said, looking at his boss again with a calm look.
— It's not the report I'm worried about, it's your recklessness and stupidity! You've been dragging around with that wild boy and you've let your guard down.
— You're looking in the wrong direction, General. I took Sully by surprise, killed his son. He'll come. He'll want revenge. Then it'll be over quickly.
— Oh, so the result of the defeat is the future? — The man in the suit came back into the conversation. He kept writing something down in a folder. — You sacrificed an entire fleet to eliminate one saboteur? Then how many souls do you need to take out the others? Particularly the leader.
— I don't like the way he looks at me," Miles blurted out, trying to lie down more comfortably, but the pain in his shoulder made him moan painfully.
— Meet the chief administrator, Mr. Jonathan Bryce, — the general waved to the doctor, pointing to the medicines, and he obediently administered a recurrent dose of painkillers.
Miles shook his head hopelessly and closed his eyelids tiredly. The voices ringing in his head were getting tiresome.
— The last thing I need here is another Selfridge...
— Don't be sarcastic, Colonel. Do you realize why you were sent here again? — asked the man named Bryce, — because I got the impression that you had lost the thread of the narrative in the cases.
— You can't judge a war that isn't over by one lost battle,— Miles immediately retorted, — Sully will come back himself, and this will be our chance to eliminate the bastard.
General Ardmore's face stretched an ironic smile. She spread her arms to her sides and replied:
— You have lost twice, Colonel. Once in that life. The second time in this life.
— Honestly, I don't quite understand what happened in that life, — recom frowned unhappily, shaking his head, — everything seems like some kind of deja vu and only, with some sense of the past. Bryce, tell upstairs that I've been sold a blue marriage.
— And it isn't a marriage at all, Colonel, — the man smiled haughtily, as if hiding something important, and then slammed the file shut.
Miles opened his yellow eyes in bewilderment, and even the general looked questioningly at the RDA representative.
 — What does that mean? What do you mean?
— Tell me, Doctor, how long will the recombinant have to be serviced? — Bryce ignored the colonel's questions.
— With injuries like that it will take at least a week, — replied the medic and scratched the back of his head, unsure of his patient, — sir, it is advisable not to disturb him even now...
Bryce squinted, tapping his fingers on his folder, then looked at the general and said confidently:
— We need him tomorrow.
— Tomorrow?! — The doctor's jaw dropped, — but, sir, it's highly irrational, he... He needs rest and treatment...
— Well, now I know why they tied me up! — Miles laughed out loud, — Doc, you didn't want me to blow somebody's face off, did you?
— You have some special remedy for our colonel, don't you? — Bryce went on asking questions, insisting on his point.
— Yes, but you don't understand...
— Wonderful! - he interrupted the doctor with a satisfied smile on his lips," Then you know how to get him back on his feet.
«What are these bitches hiding?».
***
Time was nearing sunset when Laura took off her disposable work robe and tossed it into a small recycling chamber. At the push of a button, not a trace of the artificially created used fabric was left. The day had been impossibly boring, except for a failed morning jog. Couldn't get that wounded recombinant out of my mind. Big and blue and so adorable that Laura couldn't help but worry about him. Every now and then she wondered if he had survived. She hoped for the best, and didn't have the courage to call the Center. And who on earth would report the well-being of an important RDA recom to an ordinary GP? Laura was sure that even such information remained a secret within the walls of the organization. The recombinant program remained inaccessible to most of the staff: none of the rank-and-file knew about its details, only the creators themselves and the upper ranks of specialists. Laura had heard that every employee touched by the program signed a nondisclosure agreement, and leaking information threatened huge fines and prison. But there were even crazier rumors: a rumor had circulated among a large group that one of the scientists had gone missing after management learned of his entries in a personal diary. He was writing down what he was obliged to keep only in his head, and the RDA thought he might have been passing secret information to the ranks of the enemy. When Laura first heard this story, she only wondered to whom this scientist could have revealed secrets if the RDA had no competitors on Earth for thirty years? They were absolute monopolists. Could the scientist be revealing secrets to the Na'vi clans? But what could they possibly know about it? Or perhaps he was secretly collaborating with Jake Sully himself? Whatever the truth was, Laura didn't believe these tales, and only smiled at such stories.
With an unpleasant heavy weight on her soul due to not knowing the fate of the recom, Laura was about to leave the infirmary, but then she was called at the guardhouse. The operator behind the monitors, named Sam, waved, and the therapist immediately walked over to the counter.
— Let me guess, you mean I'm being left on the night shift again? — Laura leaned her head on her side tiredly.
— Pumpkin, what do you think of me! — laughed the red-haired operator in the black uniform, — Do you really think I only intend to bring you bad news?
— Why? — Asadi stretched out and laughed in response, — it's not bad news at all, I love my job and my patients, it's just that only robots can have no rest.
— I know, I know, you try harder than anyone else, — Sam said as he patted the girl's hair, which fell in a wavy mop of long dark strands to one side as Laura habitually tucked it back and to the side.
— Oh, you sly fox,— she scowled playfully, — just to flatter.
— And you're wrong, not flattery at all, — the guy pulled out of his jacket pocket almost transparent card, handing it directly into the hands of his partner — a name pass of the first level. Passed a few minutes ago. But don't flatter yourself, it's disposable.
Laura opened her eyes in amazement. She twirled the card several times, as if to verify its authenticity. Such passes were issued only to personnel from the RDA Center: scientists, engineers, programmers, elite military and directors. She looked questioningly at Sam, who was smiling, genuinely pleased with her reaction.
— Yeah, yeah, it's right up there. They said the management wants to see you today.
— They did? But... why? — Laura panicked, feeling her cheeks redden as her blood pressure soared — oh God, did I do something wrong? Did I kill the patient? That's right, I killed him!
Sam laughed, throwing his head back and grabbing his stomach.
— Baby, come on, calm down! It's just a request to appear in front of your superiors. Maybe they want to promote you.
— Sam! Promotion? You... — Laura looked at the chart, — Jonathan Bryce? That's the kind of authority given to our chief medical officer so he doesn't have to bother the top for no reason.
— Well, then the head doctor can fire you too, why would Bryce have to write you a pass like that and call you in to see him? — The guard barely calmed down, wiping away the tears that came out of laughter, — God, pumpkin, you're just a miracle, you made my day more fun, I love you...
Laura put her palm to her forehead, herself barely restraining a laugh from her silly reaction. But at times like this, when excitement overwhelmed her, she couldn't help herself. Laura possessed concentration and vigilance only in her work, because she understood that she could not make mistakes as a professional. But in life, this philosophy did not apply.
— I'm sorry, Sam, I... I sometimes lose control... — the therapist took a deep breath and exhaled, looking at the pass again. — It says the time. That's in about twenty minutes. I wonder why I'm being summoned.
— Let's go for a ride, and we'll find out together? — Sam smiled slyly, taking the backpack from the girl and slinging it over his shoulder.
— Are you on a motorcycle? — Laura pressed the pass to her chest.
— That's right, miss!
— That's good, sir! I love the speed!
***
The tailwind blew Laura's curls as she made her way to the main RDA building. Sam was accelerating faster and faster on his motorcycle, and she held him tightly by the waist as she watched the neon lights of the city. On the road, she only wondered why this building was farther away than the others. Almost at the edge of the city towered a tall gate of solid steel, shutting out whatever was going on there from the gawkers. The area looked more like a secret military training ground than a haven for scientists and business directors: endless hangars, armored vehicles, men in uniform, and fighter planes on the roofs. The area was constantly patrolled by guards armed to the teeth. No one could enter the area without a pass, which made Laura uncomfortable. She, a rank-and-file general practitioner, was suddenly given that pass.
«I hope me don't get fired» — the girl thought, resting her chin on Sam's shoulder and looking hopefully ahead at the road. And when the gates of the main building appeared on the horizon, she craned her neck in curiosity and felt her knees tremble.
Sam stopped the motorcycle just inside the security barrier that separated them from the entrance to the compound, ten meters away. The automatic metal detector emitted a distinctive beep, scanning the arrivals with a bright red stripe from bottom to top. Laura pressed her lips together uncertainly, pulling out her precious security badge. Several guards approached with machine guns. One, pointing a machine gun, walked around the arrivals as if looking for something suspicious.
— Good evening, what can we do for you? — one of the men asked, tall, pumped up and tattooed.
— Hello, delivering a guest to Mr. Jonathan Bryce, — Sam smiled friendly, nodding at the passenger in the back.
Laura felt a little uncomfortable holding out her pass to the guard. The man looked at the card, then at her, twisting it in his fingers with disbelief.
— Laura-Anastasia Asadi? — he asked in a clarifying manner to
— Yes, sir...
The second gunman's walkie-talkie crackled and he asked into the microphone:
— This is the central station speaking. Requesting validity of badge twelve thirty — two for time twenty-one zero zero. Do you copy?
— I confirm it's up to date, — a soft, female voice answered, — Let through.
Laura bit her lip with the excitement that overwhelmed her trembling soul. She looked ahead at the massive gate, imagining what everything looked like there, for she had never had to be here before. Curiosity scrambled like cats. And the guard lowered his weapon and only nodded his head forward, letting his guest through. Sam wanted to follow, leaving the bike with the guard, but he was immediately stopped by a hand.
— You can't. No pass, — the tattooed man said.
— And who's going to show her where to go? — Sam with a wave of his hands.
— Go to the gate, miss, — the guard turned to Laura, — they'll meet you there and escort you to your office.
Asadi nodded obediently and, after saying goodbye to Sam who winked at her, moved toward the gate. There she was met by a second group of guards and a screening system. She was asked to have her fingerprints and retina scanned. The access card was told to be kept until she left the building, and after that it would no longer be valid.
Laura was finally led onto the grounds. She opened her mouth in amazement, convinced she was right. A veritable military training ground. Armored vehicles, fighters, robot mechanics, and people in uniform. Several soldiers passed by in three-meter-long exoskeleton suits, raising a column of gravel dust into the air. The therapist coughed, brushing the dust off her face.
«Wow!» — she wondered.
— Miss Asadi? — A woman's voice was heard from behind, and the girl turned around to see a servicewoman in outfit.
— Huh? Yes, it's me... — Laura was confused.
— Come on, I'll accompany you to the boss's office. He's already waiting for you. Is this your first time here?
— Yes, I've never visited this building before. Tell me, why are there so many military men here? — Laura was curious, looking around with the gaze of a keen tourist.
— The war, — answered the girl briefly. — Several new regiments and units have arrived.
— Is it really that bad?
— Miss Asadie, the military is not just here to perform its direct tasks. We employ hundreds of men every day for various jobs. You don't have to worry, everything's under control.
«I want to believe it» — Laura thought, wrapping her arm tentatively around herself.
It was harder to breathe in here. There was so much dust and mechanical odor in the air that her throat became dry. With every step she took, she swallowed a lump across her throat and coughed. It seemed that the mask wasn't enough. But once inside, Asadi forgot all about air: the mask could finally be removed. Bright holograms dazzled her eyes. A group of operators was working on something, even though there were many people in military uniforms in the main hall. The monitors glowed with numerous scans of the terrain: soaring mountains, the sea, and some parts of the forested area. Laura turned her attention to the image of fallen centuries-old trees engulfed in flames. They must have been blown down quite recently by volleys of missiles. The girl casually shuddered.
— Sector Five, attention, deal with a herd of direhorse. The distance is six meters, we need a clear path to the mines, — one of the operators muttered lazily into his earpiece.
— They're really close, — the other smiled and shook his head, — I guess they're used to it.
— If the second shift stops feeding them, there won't be a problem.
— We'd better put it in the report, see if it helps.
Laura, stopping behind the cameramen, stared into the monitor where the image of the horses was transmitted and smiled as she watched several cubs frolicking beside the road. She didn't even notice the servicewoman walk to the elevator and call out to her several times.
— Please keep up, Miss Asadi, it's easy to get lost here, — the uniformed conductor warned as she pressed the button for the top floor.
Laura felt the familiar excitement again, only now, on top of everything else, her heart was jumping out of her chest: she could hear it pounding in her ears. To calm herself down, she had to take a bottle of water out of her backpack and take a few sips, but it was in vain - the water had time to heat up and was not tasty. Laura relied on her self-control, so as not to look like a pathetic, intimidated rabbit to her superiors. A long corridor, wide windows of offices and people in business clothes. Now she felt herself outside the military training ground. The top floor turned out to be exactly what she imagined the entire building to be.
— We're here, Miss Asadi, Mr. Bryce is waiting for you, — the girl guide stopped at the main translucent door, where you could see several people: one in a black suit, another in a military uniform.
Laura straightened her back and cleared her throat, nervously adjusting her loose curls. Her cheeks lit up with a treacherous blush. She couldn't hide her excitement; she always had a hard time with any lie.
— Thank you for seeing her off, — the therapist said.
— You're welcome. Come in, don't be shy, — the military woman opened the door, inviting her guest in.
Laura entered the office. Attention was immediately drawn to her. Jonathan Bryce turned around at the sound of the doors opening and immediately smiled when he saw the girl. Standing next to him, General Ardmore folded her arms across her chest.
— So you are Miss Asadi? — asked the head administrator and invited the guest to sit down.
— Yes, Mr. Bryce, I'm a general practitioner, I work in the city clinic, — Laura modestly squared her shoulders and sat down in a cushioned chair. She suddenly felt dirty and clumsy, as if a homeless person had been brought into a rich house.
— I remember you on the first day of your stay, you arrived as part of the third crew, didn't you? Serviced the frozen staff? — The Generaless stepped back to the window, observing what was going on outside.
— That's right, — Laura quickly mumbled with excitement and only then realized that this was the answer of the soldiers, but the generaless apparently found it amusing: she smiled at her succinct military answer along with Bryce. — I was twenty when I was accepted into the program, and I was twenty-five when the ship arrived on Pandora.
— I'm still new here and had no idea there were precious diamonds on the staff. A young beautiful girl, and a talented therapist too! — Jonathan splashed his hands in admiration and went to the coffee machine with three cups. — Not many people at such a young age are able to achieve intergalactic flight... Tell me, what is your secret?
Laura was confused at the question, ran her eyes around and answered tensely:
— I just got lucky... When I applied, I didn't count on anything at all, but I heard that the RDAs prefer young professionals, those who can work hard and diligently, and those who are far away from retirement...
— You really are a long way from her, — laughed the General, and Laura smiled modestly, dropping her gaze to the floor. — You're good. Mr. Bryce, you don't know yet, but this girl has already proved herself. When there was an accident on board, thanks to Miss Asadi's ingenuity, she managed to keep the frozen in their original state. She manually kept the capsules at the correct temperature for several hours while the damage was repaired. Had it not been for her idea with the tubes and the pump, we would have lost people.
— Thanks, but I was just doing my duty and listening to the head doctor, — Laura couldn't hold back a modest smile, she wasn't often praised by such big men as four-star General Francis Ardmore.
— Look at you, shy, too! — Bryce put a cup of hot coffee on the table in front of the guests. — Miss Asadi, you shouldn't be modest, you should be proud of your success and talent! After all, we invited you to express our sincere gratitude to you personally for not allowing our recombinant to perish.
Laura looked up, full of hope at the chief administrator.
— Had he survived? Is he all right?
— Thanks to your vigilance. A few more minutes and we would have lost him.
— Wow... — Laura whispered faintly to herself, tucking the unruly curls behind her ears and sighing in relief. — And I thought you were going to fire me...
— No, miss, — Bryce shook his head, taking a sip from his mug of coffee drink, — it's specialists like you that the RDA needs. Right now the ten-mile bridgehead has two million inhabitants. Most of them are military personnel, medics, scientists and engineers. But very soon, thanks to people like you and me, the city will blossom.
— You will help us to do it, won't you? - The general winked at the visitor from under her cap.
Laura smiled:
— With what I can, of course...
— Sure you can, — Bryce reached into his desk locker, pulled out another pass card, and placed it in front of the therapist. — To thank you for saving our precious recombinant, I invite you to a business dinner. There won't be many guests, but I'll introduce you to our leading scientists and specialists. We will decide where to place you, closer to the main control center.
Asadi's jaw dropped. She took the ID card with trembling fingers and clapped her eyes in amazement. It was too sudden. The unexpectedness struck at the heart, making her mentally tremble and rejoice, and outwardly just sit in a stupor at such a generous invitation from the chief administrator. She had never been to a social event before, especially to meet the cream of society. And the cream of society on Pandora was considered to be the famous talented scientists, military men, and engineers. It was an honor for Laura to meet them. It seemed as if a captivating dream had plunged her into a reverie.
— Mr. Bryce, thank you, that's... Thank you, Mr. Bryce, I would be honored to accept such an invitation... — ...Laura repeated the boss's name several times with excitement.
— We'll bring the car to your place of residence. And to make it less exciting for you, this pass can be used by two people, take someone with you to make it safer, — said General Ardmore, putting a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder.
Laura smiled through tears of undisguised joy.
— Thank you, thank you very much...
***
— Not a bad girl, — the general stated as she and the administrator descended into the catacomb system beneath the RDA main building. A spiral metal staircase stretched down four meters, illuminated by wall-mounted neon lights. The air here was cold and musty, with a touch of medication: an unpleasant but harmless bitterness lodged in my throat.
Bryce followed the general downstairs, grabbing a protective, see-through jumpsuit with black gloves from a rack and pulling it over his business suit.
— Funny, it made me smile. I can't remember the last time someone lifted my spirits...
— Is that why you invited her to dinner, so she could keep... to keep you amused?
— I just wanted to thank for saving the colonel, that's all. I didn't expect to see such a pretty girl in the GP ranks. I'd have to go to that clinic and see if I'd be surprised.
— You can't put your finger in your mouth, Jonathan...
— I can't resist a young exotic! — Bryce laughed as he followed the general down the narrow corridor.
At the end was a massive iron door, more like a bank vault door. Inside, under the bright lights, among the chemicals and medical equipment, a group of scientists in protective, see-through jumpsuits and masks labored, observing the subjects and their reactions. Desperate cries echoed through the lab from the sealed chamber. Jonathan opened his mouth in amazement as he walked around the side of the chamber, standing in front of a thick armored window in the floor.
— Is this exactly what you told me about? — the receptionist asked with admiration.
— Yes, sir. We're still just at the beginning stage, but I think by the end of the week we'll have a result that will satisfy us.
— And we can start the cleanup as early as next week? Are you sure about that?
— Absolutely, — said one of the scientists, who approached the administrator and extended his hand in a friendly black rubber glove.
Jonathan shook the man's hand and, clearing his throat, asked:
— What exactly did you come up with? So far all I can see is a squirming blue primate. And, I don't get it, is that our recom?
— Retired, sir, — the general clarified. — One of the surviving recoms from Quaritch's group. Arrived at the base a couple of hours before the colonel. Failed, but will be able to serve in a different way now.
— On the basis of a neurotoxin, which is used by local humanoids, we managed to develop a unique powder mixture, — began to explain the scientist, not paying attention to the cries of the experimenter. — The spraying range of this crystalline substance may be small — five meters, if you wish — but the result will not disappoint you. Besides, the poisoning affects not only the fauna, but also the flora, which is consumed by the na'vi.
Lieutenant Lyle Wainfleet clenched his fists to the point of pain, trying to break free of the steel shackles. The collars around his ankles, hands, and neck squeezed his flesh tightly, preventing him from moving even a couple of centimeters. His blue naked body shuddered now and then in spasms of unbearable pain. The only thing left was to cry out desperately, hoping that at least someone would hear him from above and help him out of his torment. But the torture continued. The white gas came from the pipe every five minutes with an increased dosage.
— I'll kill you scum! I'll kill you! — Lyle screamed, baring bloody fangs like a hunted predator.
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mickmilks · 6 months
Note
fic requests you say? where's bongo cat.
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anyway i'm throwing my hat in the ring and ask for trans!mickey after too surgery (and ian taking care of him, because mickey is being a little stupid and tries to do everything himself).
not sure that's what you're asking for but it's what came to mind.
(also, can you imagine trans!mickey realising he has an excuse to wear his hawaiian shirts now and also when he realises he can just leave them open now because his chest his flat. i am experiencing emotions.)
this got longer than needed, anyway, love ya, bud, hope YOUR recovery goes well!
nosho!!!! when i say i am in love with this prompt...
this also ended up being a little longer than planned so uh. oops? or you're welcome.
----------
“C’mon, let me-”
“I got it, Ian!” Mickey huffs.
It’s been two weeks since Mickey’s top surgery, and much to Ian’s dismay, is trying to do everything himself. Stubborn-ass, Ian calls him. Currently, Mickey is trying to reach for a coffee mug in their cabinet.
“Mickey, you could tear your incisions. Please, just let me do this one thing for you. I’ll let you make the coffee, but the doc said no reaching for a few weeks. Please.”
Begrudgingly, Mickey relents. 
“Fuckin’- fine. I hate this.” Mickey says with a sigh.
“I know,” Ian says softly, grabbing Mickey’s favorite mug from the shelf and setting it on the counter, “but if you want to heal properly, you’ve gotta listen to the doctor.”
“Feel so… useless and shit. Can’t even get a stupid coffee cup. Feels like I can’t do anything, man. Just wanna be done with this shit.”
“It’s only a few more weeks, you’ll make it, I promise. You’ve made it this far, you did such a big thing, and the payoff will be so fucking worth it.” Ian tells him, reaching to rub Mickey’s back gently. 
“Yeah, guess you’re right. Just tired of bein’ in bed all the time and cooped up like this.”
Mickey leans into Ian’s touch for a moment, then grabs a coffee pod to put in their new Keurig coffee maker. He pops it into the top of the machine and sets the mug underneath the brewer before pressing the brew button. Soon, the comforting scent of coffee fills the air. 
“Can I grab the milk for you, your highness?” Ian asks with a small smirk. 
“Fuck off, man. Fine.” Mickey retorts, a small smile in return to assure Ian he’s not actually mad.
“Hey, don’t forget, you get those annoying bandages off later today. I think you’ll feel a lot better,” Ian tells him, pouring the milk into Mickey’s coffee.
Mickey glances down at his chest, smoothing one hand down it and smiling a bit to himself. 
“Can’t believe I finally did it,” he says in a whisper. “Felt impossible, y’know?”
Ian softens at that. 
“You made it, Mickey. And I am so fucking proud of you. I love you.”
“Love you too, sap,” Mickey says, leaning over to give Ian a peck on the lips.
*******
Mickey can’t believe it. He stands in front of the mirror at the doctor’s office, seeing his unbandaged chest for the first time. The scars are still red and pronounced, but the doctor assures him that over time and with proper scar care, they’ll heal up nicely, and may even fade. A permanent reminder of how far he’s come, and the feeling of freedom is overwhelming. Tears start to form, but he rubs at his eyes to keep them from falling. 
“Holy fuck,” he says on an exhale. “It’s… that’s fuckin’ me.”
The doctor smiles, and gives Mickey and Ian a rundown of scar care, and leaves the room to give the two of them a moment together.
“You did it, Mick. I am so proud of you for doing this.”
“I - fuck.”
Before he can get too overwhelmed, Mickey reaches for his shirt and carefully pulls it on, turning to Ian. He leans into him, wrapping his arms gently around Ian’s waist, burying his face into Ian’s shoulder. Ian hugs him back, rubbing up and down his back.
“C’mon, let’s go. Let’s go get you something to celebrate. I’m thinkin’ milkshakes. What do you say?”
Mickey huffs a laugh, and nods against Ian’s shoulder. 
“Yeah, let’s go.”
*****
Six months later finds Ian and Mickey at the shores of Lake Michigan, the two of them lounging in beach chairs. Ian shirtless, Mickey with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt (that he definitely did not steal from the laundry room in their apartment complex). Content smiles on both their faces, hands clasped together between the two chairs. Years ago this seemed unfathomable to Mickey, laying side by side with someone who’s loved him unconditionally throughout everything, who’s been by his side through thick and thin. Let alone, laying (mostly) shirtless on a beach with that same man, watching as the sun reflects on matching silver bands on their fingers. 
“Didja ever think we’d make it here?” Mickey whispers.
“Always.” Ian says with a squeeze to Mickey’s hand.
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sluttymickey · 2 years
Note
ok but now i need to know how ian telling mickey what he was gonna say once their in bed goes. someone write a fic RN!!
Your ask gave me a sudden burst of inspiration so, how about that someone is me, anon?👀
*******
“Hey.” Mickey says softly and gives Ian's hand a gentle squeeze.
“Hmm?” Ian squeezes his hand in return, and then goes back to running his thumb over the ring on Mickey's finger.
“What were you gonna say? Before?” Mickey mumbles from where his cheek is smushed against Ian's chest.
“Before?” Ian repeats, confused.
“Before. When you were. You know. Proposing or whatever.”
Ian huffs a laugh out and looks down at Mickey. “Thought you wanted me to ‘save the fuckin’ speech?’”
“Yeah well, fuck me for not wanting to wait anymore to be engaged to you, asshole.” Mickey rolls his eyes. ”Fuckin’ forget it,” he grouses and buries his face further into Ian's chest.
“Hey.” Ian says, and pokes Mickey's cheek just to be annoying.
“What.”
“Sit up.”
Mickey sighs as if Ian's asked him to run around the block with him, but manages to sit up without further dramatics.
Ian moves to get off the bed so he can get on one knee, but Mickey puts a hand on his thigh and stops him. “Where you goin'?”
“I'm gonna need to be on one knee if I'm proposing again, Mick. I wanna do it right this time.”
He does. Really. Mickey deserves better than being proposed over fucking patty melts or at a dumb concert that they'd both shown up to with different dates.
“Aye,” Mickey squeezes his thigh. “Ain't nothing wrong with the way you proposed.” He cocks his head and gives him a lopsided smile. “Was kinda hot. You fucking all those guys up for me.”
And Ian shrugs and smiles back because yeah. Maybe proposing after beating up a bunch of guys was kinda an ideal Mickey proposal. But still. He could've done better.
And it's as if Mickey hears exactly what's going on in Ian's head. He brings his hand up from Ian's thigh to cup his cheek. “It was fuckin' perfect, Ian. I don't care about the getting down on one knee and all that bullshit. It was always gonna be a yes from me no matter what. Just wanna be fuckin' married to you.”
“Oh.” He knows he's grinning like an idiot right now but all he cares about is that Mickey wants to just be fucking married to him.
“Ooh,” Mickey smiles back and pulls Ian for a kiss. They kiss slowly, softly. Smiling against each other's lips, the kisses hinting at what's to come later that night.
There's still one thing left before they get there, though.
“But you wanna hear me say the words,” Ian pulls back, and asks against Mickey's lips.
Mickey's cheek pinken faintly and Ian loves his soft, shy, fiancé, so fucking much.
“Yeah.” Mickey whispers.
He holds both of Mickey's hands in his, staring into his eyes, feeling a little swoop in his belly even though he knows Mickey's gonna say yes. It's Mickey. Fuck, he properly asking Mickey to marry him.
He wishes he could go back and tell his 15 year old self that his dream is gonna come true.
“I love you, Mickey Milkovich. More than anything. And if you'll let me, I'd like to spend the rest of my life loving you. I don't ever wanna be away from you again. These past few days without you were hell, Mick.”
He points at Mickey's pillow, smiling wryly. “You know I fucking cuddled your pillow to sleep? Just so I could have something that smelled like you while I slept.”
“Mick, I wanna fall asleep and wake up next to you everyday. And I wanna press my nose to the back of your neck. Both times.”
“Dating a fuckin' golden retriever.” Mickey jokes, but his voice is soft.
Ian grins and leans forward to lick a fat stripe on Mickey's neck and giggles at the way he immediately pushes him away.
“What the fuck, Ian!”
“I wanna spend the rest of my life annoying the fuck outta you. So.” he shrugs and flashes Mickey a full smile that makes Mickey roll his eyes but smile back at him right after.
But this is not enough. He's not done yet.
He wraps his arms around Mickey's neck and pulls him closer.
“I want to make you laugh everyday. I want to call you my husband all the time. I want to grow old with you. I want to take care of you.”
He pauses.
“And let you take care of me. And I can't promise that I'm gonna always make it easy, Mick. But. No matter what. I want you beside me. Thick and thin. Good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit.”
He looks up to see Mickey's eyes are teary. His are too. He brings his arm down and holds on Mickey's hands again.
“I love you. And I'm gonna spend my entire life loving you. 🥰Mickey🥰, will you marry me?”
He's barely finished his sentence before Mickey's on him, holding his face and kissing him.
“Yeah,” Mickey says, in between kisses. He's everywhere. Running his hands through Ian's hair. Kissing his jaw. Caressing Ian's cheek with his thumb as he kisses him deeply.
“I'll marry you. Of course I'll fucking marry you.”
This is it. This is the happiest Ian's ever been.
He lightly bites on Mickey's neck, and Mickey's hand in his hair tightens. “I think it's time we properly celebrate our engagement, yeah?”
“Fuck yeah.”
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mzshko · 1 year
Text
Galladrabbles Master Post
___________________________
Finally, Mickey releases his hold on Ian’s throat, and his legs give way immediately as he slides down the wall to his knees.
“Get up, Cupcake. We’ve been in here too long.”
Attempting to get air into his lungs while rising unsteadily to his feet, Ian swallows hard and glares at Mickey, who only tips his head back resignedly.
“Don’t keep tryin’ to run. You’re only making shit worse for yourself.” He hesitates a moment before slapping cuffs back on Ian’s wrists. Neither make eye contact with anybody else as they exit the bathroom and start back down the aisle.
___________________________
When the train collides with a fallen redwood, Ian’s still handcuffed. Bone-chilling air suddenly seeps in from outside and lights flicker as the flipped car lands with a spray of sparks and a metallic shriek.
Now jolted into action, Ian throws his weight into the emergency exit, but the latch is stuck. On his third attempt, Mickey barrels clumsily at him, causing both men to lose their balance and tumble out, hitting the tracks hard.
Mickey grits his teeth, righting himself and blinking blood from his eyes, before setting off after the trail of footfalls Ian’s left in the snow.
___________________________
It’s a universal truth that if something can go wrong, it usually will. And so, no sooner does Mickey find Ian in a forest clearing, slouched beside a tree stump, that a round of buckshot rings out, causing bark to splinter upon impact.
“The fuck?” Mickey reacts instinctively, turning and throwing a sloppy left-handed punch at some burly asshole who comes tearing out of the tree-line. Another emerges, shotgun in hand, reloading.
Mickey hauls a snarling Ian up by the collar, propelling him forward, even as his boots slosh through the fast-melting snow.
“Gallagher,” he roars at him. “Fuckin’ run.”
___________________________
The crash must’ve wrenched Ian’s shoulder badly, because every shove from Mickey is torture as they advance deeper into the woods.
“You’re just lucky I’m in cuffs.”
“Yeah, or what? What if I wander us around all night just to watch you die slow? What then?” Mickey says, making Ian seethe and push him aggressively.
Mickey grabs Ian on his way down, slamming them into a tree together. The air leaves Mickey’s lungs as rough bark digs into his spine.
“Been spoiling you up ’til now, Bitch,” he mutters darkly, eyes radiant and knifelike. “Try that again. See what happens.”
_________________________
They finally make it to a motel, the kind that looks like it’s seen better decades.
Mickey hovers uncomfortably over their bathroom sink, trying to wash the night’s grime off his skin. Eventually, he removes Ian’s cuffs followed by his own shirt. It’s decidedly unpleasant.
“Dude, what the fuck. You got shot?”
Mickey leans back, his eyes closing. “You got an amazing grasp of the obvious, Gallagher. Lemme tell you.”
Ian mutters under his breath—something about Mickey and where can stick it—as he delicately picks buckshot from the man’s ribcage, ignoring each noise of complaint as he works.
__________________________
“I don't do business like that.” Mickey clamps the room’s phone against his shoulder, frowning at the fresh blood trickling from the gash on Ian’s forehead.
Muffled voices rumble on the other end, until a guy finally comes back with authority. “Boss says Gallagher owes him.”
Mickey hums. So that’s it, huh? A trafficking ring just wanting its “product” back. The call ends and Mickey listens for the sound of a wiretap. Adrenaline punches him in the gut when he hears it, an extra pulse of static that blanks out in seconds, no louder than a click on the line.
________________________
Mickey slumps in the car he’d just stolen, browsing the comicbook he’d picked up when Ian stopped for cigarettes. He’d probably lifted the comic, too, but Ian knows better than to ask. 
“It’s like I keep telling you. We oughta lay low ’til the worst of the heat dies down on us.”
In response, Mickey sighs, casually folding the comic into his coat pocket, then refits the wiring under the steering wheel as the engine jerks to life.
“You worry too much, Gallagher,” Mickey turns to find Ian already looking at him. “That shit’ll shorten your lifespan sooner than anything.”
_____________________________
“Help me with this,” Mickey grinds his cigarette against the car’s bumper before tucking away the remaining half for later. At Ian’s hesitation, he sighs. “Want me to get a hernia? Move your ass.”
They unload the trunk and carry its contents to the riverbank. Nothing is weighted down—Mickey’s rationale being that the presence of cinderblocks would raise too many suspicions from the police.
“If you could turn back time… to before we got caught up in all this—would you?”
Mickey rubs his eye, avoiding where he’d been cold-cocked hours earlier. “Fuck off already with your stupid questions.”
________________________________
“Alright, easy,” Mickey keeps a steady grip on one rung, while bringing a hand up to support Ian’s hip again. “I won’t let you fall. Okay? Just keep moving.”
“You’re still a moody prick.”
“Noted. Can we move now?”
Once they climb the rickety fire escape, they enter through a broken window. “This what you call laying low?” Ian asks, watching Mickey unhook something that looks disturbingly like a tripwire. “You sure this fuckin’ place belongs to a friend of yours?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Mickey admits with a shrug, wincing as fresh blood begins seeping through his sweater.
______________________________
“Should I check around for first-aid or would you rather go into septic shock?” Ian asks dryly, tipping his head toward the bathroom.
He barely gets the door open when Mickey’s suddenly being grabbed from behind.
Without a second thought, Ian lets out a hail of curses before grabbing the toilet’s tank cover and cracking it over the stranger’s skull.  
Forcing himself to face the now-motionless body in the room, albeit with a healthy disbelief, Mickey’s stomach churns as reality hits him. “Well…” he breathes, “m’thinkin you may’ve just fucked our chances at scorin’ those fake IDs we discussed earlier.”
___________________________
Stitching Mickey up is a quiet affair, which is almost worse, because the longer the silence stretches, the more Ian has to think about what he’s done.
“Thought he was attacking you,” Ian says, dropping the needle into boiling water to sterilize it.
“He was. But… not how you think,” Mickey hisses, torso flexing as he twists to expose more of his wounded flesh.
It takes Ian a moment for the words to register and he frowns. “Oh.”
Someone’s gotta lose to watch them win, Mickey supposes, teeth clenched in lingering discomfort before he seems to forcibly shake it off.
____________________________
“You’re really doing this,” Ian shakes his head, watching as Mickey unlocks the dead man’s cellphone using facial recognition, to fire off a text.
“That’s the plan,” Mickey replies casually, before slouching back against an armchair.
Ian groans. He digs his palms into his eye-sockets, until he’s gotta blink away the explosion of color behind his lids. “So, we just… give our location up to the guys that’re after us and do what? Lie in wait?”
“Exactly,” Mickey yawns, tossing a blanket over himself, “’til then, try not to pace a hole in the floor. M’kind of a light sleeper.”
_____________________________
“Fuck,” Ian says, fighting the urge to lay on his back and possibly never get up again. Dimly aware of the corpses piled beside him, he realizes they may’ve been on the losing side, but he’s not entirely convinced it was the wrong one.
It’d been a blur of gunshots muffled by silencers, doors splintering, bodies dropping, possible dehydration, blood-loss, exhaustion. All of the above.
In the next moment, Mickey’s crouching over him, bleeding on him, eyes fixed on his arousal.
“This part of the plan, too?” Ian asks, to which Mickey only pushes his legs open a little further.
____________________________
It starts in the shower.
Ian looks down. Not so mean-and-scary from this angle, he thinks, watching Mickey on his knees. They’re both impatient and tired and frankly sick of each other, yet somehow unable to get enough.
Maybe it’s just sex. Or maybe it’s something more. An acknowledgement that however fucked the circumstances, they’re a team now.
Ian leans against the tiles and presses his fingertips to the curve of Mickey’s neck. He caresses hair and skin, then moves to the nubs of his vertebrae. Each man shivers, while blood and dirt swirl down the drain at their feet.
___________________________
“You’re not worried about karma?” Ian asks, seated naked at the kitchen table, arms crossed as Mickey scrubs the floor in front of him.
“What? The body count?” Mickey rubs his throat where a bruise, complete with teeth marks, had bloomed overnight. “Look, there’s a right and a wrong way to do the shit we did—it’s a choice, y’know? And we chose…”
His mouth tips into a faint smile, and then it’s quiet. Quiet enough that Mickey hears Ian breathing, even and steady.
 “Yeah,” Ian finally acknowledges, limping over and slipping into a pair of rubber gloves, “we chose.”
___________________________
They hit the road early. Mickey butchers the lyrics to Don’t Stop Believin’ and the sun, a sanguine pink-red, spreads overhead as they drive.
There’s a man in the backseat, rigid with pain, vice-grip on the doorhandle to help distract him from, well… to help distract him.
Mickey darts a drowsy glance at Ian, while drumming both hands against the wheel. “Nobody left to pay your bounty, so… can’t imagine who put this rank lump of nothin’ on our trail in the first place.”
The man’s teeth chatter in the terse silence, as Ian’s gaze continually drifts toward the rearview.
___________________________
Ian twists in his seat long enough to witness the injured man being dragged from the parked vehicle. He’s still breathing, but isn’t walking under his own power.  
“Let’s relax,” Ian pleads with Mickey, stepping out and taking inventory of their surroundings. The sky’s black and the backroads are desolate, even for this part of the country.
As the man lays there, whimpering, Mickey smiles down at him with just his eyes.
“We ain’t been using our real names, so… explain why I been hearing ‘Ian’ come out this hideous inbred disassembly of a face for the last twenty minutes.”
____________________________
“Fuck you, get away from him,” the man gurgles through the red-tinged foam spilling from his lips.
“Those’re some wishful wants, Kemosabe,” Mickey sighs dramatically, then in one smooth movement, goes from crouching over him, tire-iron raised, to standing upright with his weapon pointed away, in a loose grip. He faces Ian. “You maybe wanna shed some light this?”
“Long story, or short?”
“Crissakes, Asshole. Short.”
“He’s… well, he was a client. A regular, actually. Guess you can say he developed… an attachment.”
Understanding rains down on Mickey as the smile returns to his eyes and he shakes his head.
____________________________
“All that blood looks good on him. Really brings out his eyes. ’Specially the one currently bulging outta its socket.” Mickey snickers, handing Ian the tire-iron. “Wanna do the honors?”
Ian winces. “Doesn’t feel right, Mick. Desperation’s an addiction, sometimes. Where’s his crime in that?”
“Alright. Whaddyu propose?”
“Getting him to a safehouse? Or a veterinarian on the take. A fixer, maybe?”
“A fixer,” Mickey repeats slowly for emphasis. “Best one in the game’s a great counterfeiter too… but he died. Of a head injury.” His voice hardens at the memory. “Dissolving in an acid bath as we speak.”
____________________________
Ian gestures toward the body prompting Mickey to pop the trunk. He swallows hard, looking away, and once it’s done, the trunk shuts heavily. With finality—the both of them, now free of any previous attachments.
“You’re bleedin’ again,” Mickey points out, gently lifting Ian’s chin to assess.
Something feels different between them, rebalanced. Ian smiles, breathing in, the cold night filling his lungs. “We’re not gonna make it. Y’know that, right?”
There’s the repeated spark of a butane lighter, and after giving a leery left-right look around, Mickey shrugs. “Life’s a gamble, Gallagher. Some just fold sooner than others.”
____________________________
Ian doesn’t wanna think about why his mind always makes the leap from sweat-and-blood to spit-and-come so easily. But it does. Fucking after killing might have something to do with it. Taking life, then giving it, mouths teased open and breathing into each other, no words necessary.
There’s a lot he doesn’t wanna think about. Why stopping in the middle of nowhere, dense landscape on either side, empty sky above, prompts such primal urges for kissing. Maybe he can be forgiven for finding it romantic. For not realizing that behind them, in the trees just beyond the road, something’s moved. 
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jomilky · 1 year
Note
Mickey making Ian wear a cock ring while he rides his dick
Mick’s a pro when it’s comes to riding his man’s cock and boy did he have a good time. He got to control the rhythm, teasing the hell outta the redhead and he got to cum all the times he wanted, painting Ian’s stomach and thighs white in different positions, while Ian was kept on the edge this whole time, with his cock hard and angry enough to rearrange Mickey’s inside.
But Mickey just can’t beat that cock-ring-stamina (which should also be the plan from the first place, tbh) and since he’s the one who initiated the game, all his complaints and begging were denied playfully when Ian flipped him over and continued to play with his spent hole. Ian even took a picture after he finally took that ring off and cum inside that gaping hole cuz “oh Mick this’s so fun we gotta capture the moment” while Mickey literally had tears on his face.
Mickey had his breakfast in bed the next morning.
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takeyourpillsbitchh · 2 years
Text
Day 1 - Prompt: Cuddling by the fire on a snowy day
words: 796
**
Mickey curled into Ian’s side, tired and content. Humming to himself as the fire finally started to warm his chilled skin, though he could still feel the rosiness of his cheeks from the frosty wind outside.
His eyes fluttered open momentarily when Ian leaned forward to push around the burning logs with the fire poker.
“Want to watch a movie?” His husband asked, pressing a kiss to his head. “I’m sure Hallmark is playing all their cheesy rom-com Christmas movies already.”
“That sounds nice, hot chocolate?” Mickey asked, looking up into green eyes sleepy and content.
Ian grinned and nodded, leaning in for another kiss, this one landing on Mickey’s lips. Just a soft, loving kiss before he was pulling away and wrapping their shared cover around Mickey's shoulders.
Mickey sat there for a moment, content to just have the heat on his skin with the sound of the crackling fireplace and Ian bustling around in the kitchen mixing together. Eventually though he did move, scooting so he could press his back to the front of the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and flipping the TV on.
As the TV flipped on he had an odd feeling rush over him, almost like dejavu, but a surreal feeling. He looked around the room, taking in their Christmas decorations, minimal but just enough. Their skinny tree with blue and white lights and decorated with various colorful ornaments and a few presents underneath, even though Christmas wasn’t for another few weeks. He looked towards the kitchen, at Ian making their hot chocolate and tossing a popcorn bag into the microwave.
His eyebrows drew together and he slumped back against the couch. Thinking about why this felt so weird and it dawned on him. He had everything in his life that he was never allowed to have before. Things he was scared to have because of Terry.
“Weird,” He mumbled to himself.
“You say something, Mick?” Ian called from the kitchen.
“Just thinking,” He answered just loud enough for Ian to hear him, the sound of sock covered feet could be heard crossing the room before sitting on the couch, his knees next to Mickey’s shoulders.
“Thinking about what?” Ian asked, green eyes soft and curious and so fucking genuine.
“‘Bout Terry,” Ian’s eyebrows drew together but before he could question anything Mickey continued. “I was never allowed to make snowmen or snow angels or play in the snow like we did today,” he paused and Ian waited patiently.
“Of course if he was locked up my brothers and I would have the occasional snowball fight. And one time Mandy and I made a snowman. But usually we didn’t have warm enough clothes to go out in the snow or Terry would be pissed because we tracked snow into the house. So we just never did,” The microwave beeped in the background and Ian looked at Mickey silently before leaning down to kiss his lips.
“Did you enjoy today?” He asked, running his fingers through Mickey's hair.
“I did,” Mickey nodded, tilting his chin up in a silent request for another kiss that Ian happily obliged.
“Good,” Ian nodded his head, “Because there will be many more days where we make snow angels and snowmen and wrestle in the snow. Any time you want.”
A smile slowly pulled at Mickey's lips and he felt his cheeks flush. A mixture of shyness and happiness. God, if Terry could see him now, huh? He’s killed over if he wasn’t already dead.
“Thank you,” Mickey breathed, reaching his hand up to rest it on Ian's thigh.
“You never have to thank me, Mick. You deserve to have memories that make you happy,” Ian promised, his larger hand resting on top of Mickey’s, their wedding rings sitting side by side.
“I’m happy,” Mickey added, almost like a confession, but it was true. He was happier than he had ever been.
“I’m happy, too,” Ian said, a goofy smile stretching his lips, kissing Mickey once again before standing up.
Mickey watched him walk away before turning back to the TV, already on the Hallmark channel and previewing the next movie to come on. He snuggled into his blanket, the warmth of the fire to his left and Ian walking over with popcorn and hot chocolate to his right, content that he’d never have to worry about what Terry thought ever again.
No. He could sit here in his nice apartment with his Christmas tree, watch cheesy holiday movies and sip hot chocolate with his husband while they cuddled by the fireplace under a fluffy soft blanket and not have a single worry or fear about what any of those things would lead to.
He was happy.
He was allowed to be happy.
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Text
Chapter 4 Let’s See Where This Goes
Ian quickly ordered an uber to drive him to Mickey's house and frantically waited for it to get there, bouncing on his feet his hands fisted and hitting his thigh again and again. "Fuck!" He shouted in frustration as he waited what felt like an eternity for the uber.
He took his phone out again and tried to call Mickey's cell but after ringing once it sent him to voicemail.
"Mickey I don't know what you heard, but it's not what you think I promise. I'm gonna go to your house and straighten this all out."
The uber arrived a few minutes later while Ian tried calling Mickey a couple more times and texted him several, but he wasn't getting any read receipts and Ian figured he turned his cell off.
The uber barely put the car into park before Ian threw himself out of it, he ran up to the front door and knocked frantically on the door.
He waited a moment and with Mickey not answering he knocked louder, "Mickey!" He shouted, his face looming at the crack of the door trying to get his voice to carry better.
He was becoming more frantic as he pounded harder on the door with his fist, "Mickey open the door!" His voice cracked as he pleaded for Mickey to let him inside.
Mickey was barely past the threshold of his house when he had seen another car come up and he quickly shut and locked the door behind him. Ian had run up and started pounding on the door like a madman.
"Mickey please let me in!" He shouted, his knocking thundering in Mickey's small duplex.
Mickey snorted, "Leave me alone Gallagher!"
The pounding stopped and Mickey heaved a sigh, he needed a drink if he was gonna make the evening any better. He headed to the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, he was starting to twist the top off when the window over his kitchen sink flew open.
"What the fuck!" He snapped as he saw the pair of freckled hands grip the windowsill and pull the long body they were attached to inside.
"Shit!" Ian huffed as he slipped and his hand went into a pan of burnt casserole that had been soaking for two days.
"Gross." He huffed slipping himself like a snake through the window.
Mickey watched in astonishment as Ian pulled a leg inside and tried to gracefully reach to stand up, but slipped and losing his grip and his footing summersaulted out of the window and flat on his back onto the kitchen floor. Ian wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him looking up at the ceiling while Mickey stood there gaping at him.
"What the fuck Gallagher?!" Mickey shouted as he thundered over to Ian looking down on him as he was still lying on his back.
"Mick." Ian wheezed looking up at him with wide eyes.
More HERE
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rayrayor · 4 months
Text
WIP Wednesday, kinda…..
@sam-loves-seb Thank you for the WIP Wednesday, as I am a slacker it’s WIP I spaced it Friday
So this is my story on AO3 , Poptarts for Papa. One chapter to be wrote . It’s Galladads , the early years
Like tonight there was a chill but the house warm. Something rich and savory was coming from the kitchen . The chatter and laughter drug him like a magnet down the hall. He leaned in the doorway taking in the scene. These three were at the best of time up to what could only be called antics or shenanigans. Ian and Liam were cutting on the well oiled boards and Lily sat chewing on a spoon on the counter. Now that was not unusual. What was unusual is the mound of chopped pieces , all onions. All three Gallagher’s were also donning pool eye goggles and pink dish gloves , with flamingos . Lily being so small the gloves were almost to her shoulders. Ian they were super tight.
“ Aye Do I want to even guess what’s happening here? Cause I think this time I actually may need some more hints. Also any good snacks around here.?”
” Mick dinner is happening soon, your gonna love it , can you wait ?”
” Pop doing an experiment. If we don’t get the onion on our skin or in our eyes no tears. Here if you’re gonna be in here put these on please. 9 onions no tears .”
” Umm yeah pops does not even swim , you want me all bug eyed and Alien looking like dad?”
” Papa Liam says googly glasses are safety and uncle Iggy says safety third. “
And who could argue with that three year old logic . So Mickey former prince of the Southside hood rat with knuckle tats and cartel connections strapped on the glasses, gloves and took a selfie with his family. Domesticated shit talking trash just loving his life. He got an approving pat from Lily as he hopped up next to her.
” so what smells good and what’s happening with all the onions after this , it’s a lot of onion rings.”
“ Mick you know that French onion soup you love “
” um cheesy shit and bread, ya man “
” well we can make it in the instant pot in like an hour. We broil the cheese and bread over it after it’s done.”
“Doing that with salad . Made a big chocolate tart while little miss was pretending to nap .”
Liam and Ian chatted about how Liam could write up his assignment when Mickey noticed a crumpled bag of chips next to him. Ian and Liam were now sautéing onions before they started the instant pot. He could sneak a few chips without Ian….
“ Holy hell Ian what is wrong with these chips , they are like soggy as.. butt. This is why we don’t need at fancy chips from Whole Foods. And I can’t see with these fogged up glasses. Are they quinoa, chickpea, recycled newspaper , what Red what?”
” Lily spit”
Liam began laughing as Mickeys brows arched out of the eye ware. Lily reached for the bag which Ian quickly took and gave her a very stern
“ Lily daddy said no “
” papa ate a chip “
” papa ate your spit , a bucket full. Really Mick gagging in the sink , are you three too?”
Mickey spit. “ punk I love you but why.”
Her face scrunched up and her brow matched Mickeys to the inch .
“ Daddy said could have cheese snack or banana snack cause we gets cake tonight . Wanna the chips papa, said please . Daddy’s says no Lily even tho I saids please.”
” E what happened then.?”
”Like I said your daughter pretended to nap . Snuck the bag in . Did not eat said chips but licked all the flavoring.”
He punctuated each word with the slap of the knife on garlic.
” EVERY. DARN. CHIP “
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stagefoureds · 3 years
Note
What are your thoughts on the ring Mickey is wearing when he’s upset that Ian has gone for the army (sorry for spying your tags)
Hey anon. So guess I'll just rant lmao.
Mickey agreed to marry Svet just to protect Ian. He didn't care about the marriage or Svet, it was nothing but a piece of paper to him. Mickey knew it was so much more than just a paper. At the time, it was maybe the only way to protect Ian. However, he never just said this to Ian. Instead he put on an act, married Svet, get rid of WWII stuff because she wanted to, and he wore that ring. So that he can keep Terry away from Ian.
Then one day, out of blue Ian said he is leaving. Why would Mickey continue to pretend when the person he is protecting is away? After Ian left, Mickey probably thought that was the end for them and there was no way they would be with one another again.
So he just took the ring off. He didn't have to fool anyone into believing he is in a commited marriage. He probably didn't care about Terry. Ian was already away and safe and that was the only important thing.
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sluttymickey · 2 years
Note
Writing from Drish?? Sign me up!! Maybe 36 please? 💖☺️
Hiiii Mikayla!! 💓💓
37. Unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping (from this prompt list)
(I kinda imagine them as s10 fiancés here ❤️)
Debbie laughed at a hilarious meme her friend had sent her and immediately heard a sharp, “Shut the fuck up!” coming from the couch. She looked up and saw Mickey glaring daggers at her. Ian was slouching against Mickey’s side, resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder.
“Ian’s fuckin’ sleeping.” he grumbled at her.
She whispered, “Sorry!” at him and went back to texting her friend. Looked up again when she heard Ian mumble a soft, “Mick.” in his sleep and nestle further against Mickey. Sees Mickey looking down at him with a soft smile before burying his face in Ian’s hair and pressing a soft kiss.
And she looks at them. At Mickey laying there in a clearly uncomfortable position but still refusing to move even a little bit because he doesn’t want to wake Ian up; instead, resting his head against Ian's and falling asleep too. At Ian’s soft smile as he snuggles his soon to be husband.
And wonders if she’ll ever be able to have that. The intimacy and comfort of leaning against someone you love and sleeping with a smile on your face. Someone who’ll sit perfectly still and grumble at people to shut the fuck up because they don’t want you to be disturbed. Someone who’ll smile and press a soft kiss to your head while you sleep.
She watches Ian’s hand shift and rest on top of Mickey’s tummy. Watches Ian’s face scrunch a bit as he moves it around. Watches Mickey instinctively putting his hand on top of Ian's and intertwining their fingers together; their rings shining.
Soft bitches, she thinks, as she takes a picture of them. She knows they’ll want to see this.
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breedxblemickey · 2 years
Note
“if you cry, i’ll cry ─ and that won’t be fun for anyone.” 😬😍
hi evie i love you 😚 thank you for sending this! it gave more another excuse to write wedding fluff. hope you like!!
mickey never thought he would get married.
not when he was young and first discovering who he was. certainly not when he was a teenager hiding one of the most shameful things about himself. and definitely not when he first busted into the kash and grab screaming ian’s name.
it was just never on the cards for him. “fucked for life” he always used to say. and he meant it. every time those words left his lips, he fucking meant it.
but here he is, standing in the gallagher boy’s bedroom, ian’s hand wrapped over the nape of his neck. he's dressed in a rented tux, an engagement ring wrapped around his finger. long fingers trace across his skin, over his ear and up into his hair.
mickey never thought he'd get married. but he's getting married today. and it's not tinged with pain, or suffering, or terror, like last time. no. this time, mickey's marrying the one he loves.
ian leans forward, his eyes slipping closed as he presses their foreheads together. they’re both breathing a little hard, air stuttering between their teeth as they consider what will be happening only a few hours from now.
ian’s already hit him with his words of the future, words about kids and raising them and making that commitment when they’re ready. when mickey’s hands no longer shake as they pick up franny from the floor, when ian isn’t reminded of a bad time and a long car ride.
mickey doesn't know if he'll ever be ready. but that doesn't matter, not right now, not when ian's leaning into him, dressed in his own tux that mickey picked out because he wanted everything to be perfect. he wanted this time to be perfect. and with ian standing before him, hand holding him close as they breathe, mickey doesn't think there has ever been anything more perfect than him. than them.
“i’ve always known it would be you,” ian says, soft and sure. “even when i didn’t know who i was, i knew i couldn’t be me without you.”
it feels like a punch to the chest, but in a good way, a way that leaves goosebumps rippling across his skin. nothing like any of the hits mickey’s experienced in his life. it fills him with warmth, makes his lips twitch into a smile and his eyes burn with probably the first happy tears he’s ever cried in his life.
“you remember when we went to that sox game?” ian continues, his eyes still shut as he whispers words into the miniscule space between them. “when we first started seeing each other? i remember watching you jump the turnstiles, and you turned back with this fucking smile and i swear, mick, my heart stopped fucking beating.”
mickey’s breath hitches, the tears on his lashes building as he stares at ian’s face.
“you… i never saw that smile with anyone else. and i remember thinking, fuck, if i can make him smile like that for the rest of my life, i can die happy.”
that’s when the dam breaks. mickey clamps his lips shut against a tiny sob, a tear dropping from his eyes onto his cheek. ian’s eyes fly open, his face morphing into pure panic.
“mick- no, oh, mickey,” he fumbles, his other hand lifting to mickey’s cheek, thumbs brushing away the tears. “please don’t cry. you can’t cry on our wedding day.”
a wet laugh bubbles from mickey’s throat. “why not, gallagher?”
“because if you cry, i’ll cry and that won’t be fun for anyone.” as if to prove his point, ian sniffs, his eyes suddenly bright. “we’ll look like a couple of idiots at the alter.”
mickey shakes his head fondly, reeling ian in to press a kiss to his lips. when he pulls away, he whispers, “i don’t care. as long as it ends with us married, i couldn’t care less what we fucking look like.”
ian does start crying then, but it’s okay. because mickey isn’t fucked for life anymore, he’s ready for it. as long as he has ian by his side, he’s ready for anything.
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doodlevich · 2 years
Text
if the shoe fits
This one was very fun, and I enjoyed including mentions of my oc baby Moni. To read more about Moni, check out this ao3 series!
This is the prompt generator I used!
Prompt 5: Mickey gets into a heated argument with someone. Mickey begins threatening them, so Ian picks up Mickey and carries/drags them out of the room before anyone gets hurt.
Word Count: 613
Rated: T
Ian knows the lady thinks she’s paying them a compliment. 
After all she is a middle aged white woman with a classic Karen slanted bob and huge fucking diamond on her ring finger.
She also happens to be Moni’s third grade teacher. 
So when Mrs. Lockport says: “Monica is exceeding expectations for her grade level! You must be so proud. You’re doing a wonderful job of raising her… considering…” Ian figures the rest of the sentence would have not been so flattering if she had the guts to finish it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mickey processing what the woman had just said to them. It’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose. 
“Well! Thanks for everything ma’am! I think we’ll head home now!” Ian wraps his arm around Mickey and attempts to turn him towards the door of the classroom, but Mickey’s body’s gone ridged and he’s focused squarely on Mrs. Lockport.
“I’m sorry,” Mickey lets out a caustic chuckle, and it would probably seem harmless and pleasant if Ian didn’t know exactly what’s coming next. “What was that? Considering what?”
Mrs. Lockport begins to backpedal. “Listen, Mr. Milkovich, I only meant-” 
“I know what you fuckin’ meant.” Mickey snaps, and Ian’s fingers tighten on his shoulder.
“Mick.” Ian hisses in his ear, but there’s no stopping a tantrum in the works.
“You meant, ‘considering she was adopted by two gay-ass ex-cons with anger issues and bad fuckin’ attitudes’. That’s what you were gonna say, wasn’t it?” Mickey is seething now and Ian places his other hand on the opposite shoulder, getting ready to intervene. He wants to point out to Mickey that he’s not exactly proving her wrong.
Mrs. Lockport initially looks horrified, but suddenly there’s a hard edge in her eyes and her jaw squares. She leans across her desk and narrows her gaze at Mickey. 
“I wasn’t going to say any such thing, actually…” She grins smugly “... but if the shoe fits.” 
That’s the last straw apparently. Mickey tries to lunge forward and Ian’s reflexes kick in, holding him back from yet another physical assault charge. In a lot of ways, Mickey’s calmed down a lot over the years, but one of the things that still never fails to get him spitting fire is anything related to his kids. 
The only thing Ian can do is get his husband out of there before things go even further south.
“Okay, enough.” Ian grunts, spinning Mickey towards the door and hauling the smaller man away. “Time to go, Mickey.” 
All the while Mickey is throwing insults and struggling to break free, but this isn’t Ian's first rodeo. He’s got a firm grip on Mickey’s wriggling frame, and Ian manages to successfully herd him out the door in record time. 
Ian pulls the door closed until there's a gap small enough to poke his head back through.
“Sorry for the disruption ma’am. Like I said, Moni loves being in your class.” Ian placates the woman, although it kills him to do it. Mickey is clawing at him, trying to get back in the door, but Ian’s a solid blockade in his path. 
Mrs. Lockport clears her throat and smooths down a few blonde flyaways. “Mr. Gallagher, I think it would be best if Mr. Milkovich stays home next time we have a parent-teacher conference, don’t you think?”
Now it’s Ian’s turn to fume, although he’s not as loud about it. “I can’t promise that’s going to happen. Maybe next time don’t be so condescending and we won’t have this issue. Have a great night.” 
It feels good to slam the door closed behind him.
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iansw0rld · 2 years
Text
A little drabble that's been sitting in the drafts for far too long, and I'm finally sharing it with you all! This may or may not have been taken out from said drafts because of @xninetiestrendx 's recent hand prompt stories!!!! (go read them!!! they're so good Mikayla!!!!!! <3 I love them!!!!!) Also thankyou to Aly for reading this first, ily @ascensionaly <3
Hope sleepy and soft Mickey wanting to hold his husband's hand despite the heat gives you all some joy 🥰
Read below, or here on Ao3!
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Their little box fan crapped out on the worst night of the year, Mickey thinks. Their westside apartment might be nice and new, but that doesn't stop the summer heat wave Chicago's got going on from seeping through the walls or the ridiculous amount of money it costs to leave the air con running all night. Fuckin' cheap ass box fans.
It's not like he can't deal with the heat - the sticky skin and the hot sheets - he can deal with that shit, no problem. But what he doesn't think he can quite go without right now is some kind of body contact with his husband.
Ian's been groaning the past half an hour about said heat, swatted Mickey's hand when it stretched over his stomach.
"No way, we're gonna get even more fuckin' sweaty and clammy and gross, Mick." he had muttered, brows furrowing in the darkness, body shifting further away from the other.
And so Mickey left it, much to his own distaste. Until now, barely five minutes later. He brushes a few fingers against Ian's hand that lay between them, a single eye cracked open looking for a reaction. And he doesn't get one, so he brushes them a little more, pinky locking with pinky.
"Mickey," Ian starts, voice low and sleepy. "Come on, sweaty skin on sweaty skin sounds like hell right now, sorry. We're getting a new fan tomorrow, then we can get all soft and shit."
Mickey's vision narrows, where one side of his face is pushed into his pillow. And he stares, eyes peeled on Ian's face hoping somehow Ian will suddenly change his mind like some miracle.
To his surprise, it kinda works.
He watches Ian subtlety side-eye him, followed by a lazy eye roll, "Fuck, fine. Hand only." Ian sighs, throwing his head back into the pillow.
Mickey scoffs, "That ain't enough man, I wanna feel you." he mumbkes, and if it weren't for the heat affecting his husband's mood he'd probably get teased for saying it - either that or pulled in by the hips and granted a sappy kiss. He risks looping his hand across Ian's stomach again, wanting nothing more but to place his nose to Ian's neck, to rest his sleepy head over his broad chest. A few seconds pass, he watches Ian sigh, feels it too, long and probably growing frustrated.
"It's gonna have to do. I'm not dealing with this heat well right now."
"Like you ever do, ginger motherfucker." Mickey retorts, a smile on his lips, and he's met with a glare. Across the mattress Ian's eyes look tired but are still as sharp as ever, especially with the subtle chin he's giving, so Mickey takes a breath, allows a few seconds to pass. "Fine. Hand it is. Give it over, asswipe."
Reluctantly, Mickey's sure, Ian shifts his hand a little closer between them. Mickey's quick to grab onto it, pulling it up the bed a little and lacing their fingers together, feeling the cold of Ian's ring against his hot skin.
They'll get sweaty in no time, hot and sticky and clammy and gross, exactly how Ian described. But he doesn't care. Couldn't give less of a shit, actually. It might not be Ian's heart under his ear, or his arms wrapped around him, but it's the next best thing, maybe. To just hold his husbands hand while they drift to sleep, s'nice, Chicago's stupid weather isn't going to stop that. And no, wanting to hold his husband's hand despite the weather circumstances does not make him a soft bitch, fuck you very much.
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