#<-still calling it tgat even though it took forever

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[endless-vall]

I’ll be there for you - Matt x MC fanfic

Summary: While Jey’s being bullied by Victor, Tad and the entire production of their film, Matt suffers too. He decides to ease his pain by paying a visit to Jey and spending a lovely evening with her.

Author’s note: Moments in-between are one of my favorites. 

I’ve written this before the latest chapter came out, but it still works. 

I sometimes forget how precious Matt is, and it’s sooo fun to write about them. 

Even if RCD 2 is really heavy-plotted, there’s still place for some feel-good content. I hope they resolve it soon, since Jey’s position... Well - Sucks.

Tagging: @writtenbycandy @mariamatsuo @asprankle @liam-rhys @dandeservestheworld. Comment on this post to let me know if you wanna be tagged as well.

Matt plopped down on the couch in his living room, after a long day of shooting.

He was feeling bad they were cutting out Jey's role in the movie, and his blood boiled when he thought on the other things Victor tried to do to her.

He didn't have a chance to chat with her today, so he took out his phone, shooting a message to her.

'How are you?' - Matt.

It was a stupid question. Obviously she wasn't doing OK.

But he couldn't think of anything better to write and she was his girlfriend after all. Even if they had to hide it in the moment.

Matt swallowed as he went through the news tabloids, that were trashing Jey's name once again. He knew all of it was a lie but it still infuriated him.

He bumped into a photo session of a 'date' of Charley and hers. He frowned at that, anger and jealousy forming in the pit of his stomach.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself once again it was all a lie. It wasn't real.

It wasn't like Matt wasn't familiar with the showbiz, he knew it well and even faked a relationship with Alissia Griffin himself.

But maybe the difference was tgat now he had something real and amazing in his hands. Something that he didn't want to be taken away from him. Something- SOMEONE he cared about dearly and didn't wanna see get hurt, even though it was inevitable, because Victor had already hurt her, and was set out for more.

Matt decided he'd do whatever he could, in the meantime, for her. Everything she'd need, everything their plan needed, in order to succeed.

Checking his chat window he sighed when Jey didn't respond to his message yet, deciding to call her instead.

He dialed her number and held the phone to his ear, waiting patiently for her to pick up.

"Uhh... Hello?" Her voice came out as some what of a yawn, and Matt immediately chuckled.

"Did I wake you up?" He asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"Mhm, yeah. But that's fine. It's a nice change of pace, hearing your voice as I wake up." Jey noted, her voice turning into a gentle tone.

Matt furrowed his eyebrows, realizing how hard it must've been for her lately. If the hell Victor was unleashing upon wasn't bad enough, she barely had her friends and him to support her.

Victoria, Seth, Teja and even Chazz were kind of busy lately, and he was instructed not to be seen with her in public.

He cherished the moments they shared in private, but he wanted more.

He couldn't wait for the moment they'll take Victor down and could determine their own fate.

He decided, once they're done with this film and this conflict they've fallen into, he'd ask Jey to go public with him. He was ready for it, and had a feeling she was feeling the same.

"It's really nice to hear your voice as well." He smiled at her, imagining her in bed, all sleepy and cuddled up in her blankets. He wished he could be the one cuddling her.

But actually, he could.

"Do you mind if I drop by?" He asked, suggesting.

"Please do."

Jey didn't waste any moment and her answer was immediate, tone eager and pleased.

"On my way." He promised, standing up and heading to the door.

A quick car ride later he was standing in front of her door. Knocking on it once, the door flew wide open and Jey attacked him with a hug.

"I missed you so much..." She murmured against his chest, as Matt's own hands wrapped around her tightly.

"I did too. You have no idea..." He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with Jey's natural smell. It might've been silly but he missed it too.

They stood there for a long moment, taking each other in.

After what seemed like forever, they pulled apart, grinning at each other despite their overall grim situation.

"Come in," Jey said, taking ahold of his hand and pulling him even before he got the chance to respond.

Matt didn't complain, though, and followed her willingly.

Once they were inside the house, Jey shut the door behind him and sighed. It was both a desperate and relived sigh.

Matt gave her a little shove, making her giggle. "Thanks for coming here." She told him, and it was visible that she was grateful for his presence. She looked a lot calmer even by just the fact he was there.

He planted a peck on her cheek. "Thanks for having me." He gave her another kiss, this time on her lips. He lingered there, caressing her softly and sweetly.

Jey rose to her tip-toes, kissing him back and burrying her hand in his hair.

His hair wasn't really long enough for her to run her fingers through it, but it was enough for her to tug at it lightly and earn a growl from him.

She giggled once again, against his lips just before they pulled apart again. Their hands remained wrapped around one another, their faces merely inches apart.

"What do you wanna do?" Jey asked him, cheered up.

"I thought we could watch a movie or something." He suggested. "Order some takeout, some snacks..." He went on, seeing sparkles in her eyes.

"You had me at snacks." She let him know, untangling herself from his embrace and walking over to her phone, to order the promised takeout.

"Really? At snacks? I thought I had you at 'Oh! It's you!' In your audition with Markus." Matt teased, settling beside her.

Jey burst into a good-natured laughter, dialing some fast-food restaurant's number.

"You're basically right, but you know this wasn't what I meant." She replies to him and then motions for him to be quiet, as she hears response from the other side of the line.

About twenty minutes later, everything they could think off was spread out before them, and they munched on some fries as the movie they chose began.

They chose to watch some light-hearted comedy, to ease off both their minds off other matters.

Seeing any one of Tommy's movies, or something reminding the blockbusters Matt appeared in, would be an annoyance they didn't want to deal with. And didn't have to, as well.

-- They made bad jokes as the movie started, making fun of even the non-comic aspects of the film. It was a good distraction and an easy way to let go of everything that was worrying them at the moment.

Jey threw a bunch of fries at Matt, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Oh no you didn't!" He fake-threatened her, tackling her into the couch and showering her with kisses.

"Gahhh!" Jey was caught off-guard, but she was enjoying the attention and kisses. Matt started tickling her and Jey couldn't control her laughter, rolling throughout her grand mansion.

"Fine! I give up! I give up, just spare me!!" She begged, eventually, and Matt ceased his doing.

"For you? Darling, always." He planted a kiss on her nose and turned back, to keep watching the movie.

Jey shook her head, chuckling to herself as she caught her breath. She positioned herself on her elbows, watching Matt intently.

He drank his soda, seeing her staring from the corner of his eyes.

Lowering his cup just a little, he questioned. "See something you like?".

"Definitely." She leaned in, placing one hand on his chin and making him turn his face towards her. "More than like, actually."

Matt could've sworn he saw blush forming on her cheeks. Then pink-ish color decorating her face somehow managing to make her look even more adorable and beautiful than the usual.

He hesitated, considaring his next move, before locking his eyes determinedly with hers. "Me too." He admitted.

They shared a long, meaningful look, before Jey rested their foreheads together. "Thank you for coming tonight, Matt, seriously." She smiled at him, her tone giving away how much it really meant to her.

Matt blinked his eyes close, caressing her face and holding her close. "Don't worry. I wanted to. Really." His tone was serious and deep.

Suddenly, a huge noise hit off from the TV's speakers, as something went off in the movie.

Jey and Matt bursted into laughter, both startled and amused by the movie they were watching.

The movie went on, and they finished their junk food. Matt laid back, motioning for Jey to lean over him.

She agreed momentarily and then rested her head over his chest, humming happily.

They was something incredibly pure and intimate in that moment, even though for the naked eye it would seem they simply cuddled up to watch a silly movie, nothing special or unnatural about that.

Matt pulled Jey closer, rubbing soothing circles over her back. He savored every second of that evening, having Jey all to himself.

He kissed her temple, as he felt her relax further into his embrace, drifting away into a blissful sleep.

He smiled to himself, seeing how peaceful she looked as she slept in his arms.

Soon, He promised himself. Soon, he'll be able to hold her every night, and chase away anything that could heavy her mind.