#*casually plays Mickey your so fine* shut-

[awkwardnik0]

*clap* MORE FANART YOU AMAZING PPL! :'D

I legit took most of my school time- Making fanart for Boboi-

And I'm proud of how it turned out-

SCREW YOU GCMS! YOU CAN GO F*CK OFF! I DRAW WHAT I WANNA! HAR HAR HAR HAR

Stay in school kids... don't be like me and waste your time drawing and not doing anything- also 7th grade is bloodin' hard

So- I think it's Canon (and correct me if I'm wrong) that Hali is the Oldest Elemental/brother- (also Hali is a dark protogen from kaiju paradise-)

>----<

Boboi- But Border Collie boy♡

Gosh- I'm happy how dis turned out- :D

And yes- Boboi is drinking a Monsta- Shush- I thought it would suit him- ;3

>------<

and here's something I need to complete but didn't do it in time/didnt have the time to/Ran out of time- I'm also very proud of dis

I feel like he looks f*cking fine ngl-

Also yes- it's border collie boboi- and yes- I'm gonna draw him like this- and no- YOU CANT STOP MEH! >:D

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (i)

grumpy!matt sturniolo x sunshine!fem oc / reader

summary : matt is a grumpy tattoo artist and y/n books him for her first tattoo.

warnings : needles and pain (not very detailed tho)

mickey speaks : i don't have any tattoos so i actually know nothing ab the procedure lmaooo just guessing but i’ll be writing multiple parts for this. also i am very much self indulging bc i headcannon y/n as poc! but obvi anyone can read there's not much exclusivity ab how i write her, i js wanted to note that for any poc readers <3.

THIS IS PART 1 BTW!!!!

“SHITTT,” you draw out the last syllable at the rumble and screech of your car engine as you continue your attempt to start it.

eventually you throw your head backwards in defeat, annoyed by the unbudging car. this is the actual worst timing. you're supposed to be at the tattoo shop (that is a 12 minute drive from your apartment complex) for an appointment in less than twenty minutes.

you truly want to scream and border on throwing a tantrum but decide it would probably be better to find a solution than complain about the agony further.

you quickly find your roommate's contact, raising your phone to your ear and pinching your eyes shut as the vibrating ring hums through your skull.

"y/n? what's up?" andrea answers confused as you had only just walked out of the door five minutes ago.

"hi drea... so i know you have your own plans right now but is there any way you can give me a ride... please?"

you hear shuffling on the line, "mmm, where to?"

౨ৎ

“thank you again for driving me,” you smile at andrea and squeeze her hand before reaching for the door.

“yes, of course. you can call me when you’re done and i’ll head over here- m’sorry i can’t stay with you.” she replies and exaggerates a frown.

"i'll be fine, i think- i hope..."

"you will be fine. just don't stress or it'll hurt more."

౨ৎ

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you make your way into the shop (in its form of an oversized warehouse, fixed up to look stylish and comfortable- something you’d never really seen before). the rickety jingle of a small bell kindly indicates your presence to the rest of the shop.

a few people sitting in a waiting area look up before continuing their conversations (though some continued to stare as you walk by). you see a surprising amount of people crowding in a brightly decorated lounge area, housing many arcade games and a kitchenette.

you reach the receptionist desk and are greeted by a young man dressed casually, humming along to the music playing in the background of the space.

“um, hi. i’m here for my 1:30 appointment.” you state with a smile, you’re suddenly aware of how nervous you truly are.

the brunette looks over to a desktop screen with a soft scrunch of his face, “for y/n, right? huh, that’s crazy…” he rubs his chin, “1:30 was like nine minutes ago,” he looks up at you, almost like he was questioning you; who do you think you are? and why do you think you’re important enough to be late?

as soon as your face begins to morph into fear and embarrassment his own face splits into a large smile as he laughs softly. “i’m sorry- i’m such an ass but i had to- your file said you’re new clientele so i just had to fuck around.”

“you’re sick! i was fully prepared for a fucking lecture on timeliness or something,” you let out a soft laugh.

the boy comes from around the desk holding a paper and clipboard. “yeah, sorry, i’m chris,” he reaches a hand out to which you willingly return and restate your name to him, “‘m not usually up front so you probably talked to asha over the phone when booking.”

you nod and smile at the familiar name, “yeah, she was so helpful over the phone.”

“she’s awesome, i miss her,” he touches each of his shoulders then forehead before kissing his hand and pointing to the sky.

"oh my god? i'm sorry for your loss."

his eyes squint and lips pucker in confusion, "oh, she's not fired she's just on vacation right now."

"so why'd you...?"

chris cuts you off by handing you the clipboard and grabbing a pen from a cluttered mason jar on the desk as he explains, “okay, we’re just gonna have you fill out this quick consultation form; just so you and your artist will be on the same page about things.” you nod in understanding. “keep it brief, matt’s not big on reading large bodies of text,” chris laughs.

“got it,” you smile before turning to find a chair and begin writing. you truly were relieved that chris wasn’t hard on you about being late, for a second you thought you would be lectured and have to carry the guilt of dissapointing someone into a room where you'd be paying to lie in excruciating physical pain. (damn, double homecide)

the sheet had general information to fill before the questions specifically about the tattoo you’d be getting today came.

you go back up to chris once you’re finished.

“cool, follow me we’ll set you up with matt.” he leads the way and your nerves are suddenly back as it's feeling more and more real with each step. you pacify your thoughts by looking around at the many images and messages written in sharpie along the walls of the hallway. there's also plenty of hanging shelves around with vintage trinkets and succulents that compliment the space around.

chris reaches a curtain and dips his head past as if he were checking for something before giving you a chance to see. you notice the small "Matt" embroidered on the black curtain. chris then opens it wide enough for the both of you to walk into the surprisingly large space.

(who you can only assume to be) matt sits comfortably in a wheeled desk chair, legs spread. his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he holds his head up with two of his fingers, as his middle finger grazes his irritated mouth with a stern look on his face while he scrolls on his phone.

he doesn’t move his position when he looks up at the two of you.

“alright! matt this is y/n,” chris motions between you two. matt hums, placing his phone on the desk and placing his hand out expectantly for the clipboard. chris goes to hand it to him and whispers, “fix your face, jackass,” then turning around to leave you some reassuring words, “good luck y/n, the tat’s gonna look amazing.”

but chris doesn’t see matt exaggerating a large, sarcastic smile from behind him in defense of chris’ words (he immediately drops it though). something that would make you at least giggle if you weren’t so nervous.

“thanks,” your voice is a little hoarse as you haven’t used it in some time. matt watches the boy leave before looking over to you. he rolls the chair closer, reading over your short (as requested) responses.

“you can sit down.” he forms it almost as a question like are you going to sit down or do i have to direct you to do everything?

you sit on the black cushioned bench, lined with a disposable white cloth and begin to fidget with your fingernails as matt goes over your paperwork quietly.

“''kay, so you’re getting a small hello kitty on your lower hip?” he summarizes while checking and signing a few lines on a paper.

“yeah, um, i told asha over the phone that way you could have it sketched already- she told me that’s best and saves time for the both of us.”

his response is a slowed nod and a breathy, “yep,” as he rolls over to his desk and places the clipboard on the surface before opening a drawer and digging through it.

you gaze around the room and wonder if he decorated the space himself or if he wasn’t the type to be bothered enough to add personal things to his work area. almost all the posters are of music artists or tattoos, the most personal things you see are a small picture frame on his desk and a pokémon plushie sat on a chair in the corner of the room. all of which just pose more questions in your working brain.

you notice him switching to a different swivel chair that is lower to the ground and bringing himself (as well as a moving table with already prepared supplies) closer to you.

you’re nervous again. even after your roommate and older brother have both given you advice on first tattoos and the pain expected you’re still finding yourself scared of what to expect. your ear piercings would have nothing on this.

“first tattoo?” matt clarifies, as if he could read your mind. you nod and go to speak but stop when he gestures for you to lay back on the cushion.

you’re sure that he only was searching for a quick confirmation from you and is not too interested in your life or what brings you here but you’ve found that talking relieves your own stress and you absolutely cannot just lay there and only speak when spoken to.

“yeah, i guess m’nervous. i just hope i don’t, like, die from pain or hate the outcome or curse myself in a couple years for the placement- but it's not that i'm doubting that it'd be cute. younger me would be screaming at the fact that i'm even here..." you pause just for a second. "but then again i'm not sure how much forty year old me will appreciate it. so i guess i just don’t know. you know?”

you lean yourself up to get a look at matt, only to realize he has airpods in and simply has not been listening or interested in you (just as you expected). he’s moving his head the smallest amount to the beat as he works on his sketch.

he notices your movement though and takes a headphone out of his ear, “are you okay?” is all he asks.

a pretty broad question. and an anxiety inducing question to ask a girl who's been questioning her decisions as much as you have. you hope you’re okay. will you still be okay when this (mostly) permanent decision is etched into your skin forever? is he okay? will he give you any sense of encouragement or comfort during this process? are tattoo artists typically like this or are you just considered especially needy clientele?

“yeah, i just was- like, curious, i guess.” you mumble a little and internally hate that you feel so insecure in this situation. so out of control.

“was just adjusting my sketch to be a smaller. nothing crazy happening over here.” he shrugs. “you can go ahead and pull your shirt up, though. i’m just gonna clean the area and prep before inking.” he explains to you very straight and to the point.

you fall back into place and obey, inching your shirt up further to expose your lower stomach. you drape your arms over your face to gain composure as you hear matt rip some packaging.

the coolness of the cleaning pad sends your stomach butterflies and you try to not think too hard about the fact that matt’s hands will be on your lower stomach and hip for a good length of time.

eventually matt speaks to you again, “i’m starting so if you’re feeling the need to get the fuck out you gotta do it now or for forever hold your peace.”

you smile a little at his dry joke but when you turn your head to see him fully serious you blink, “no, i’ll be fine. thanks though.”

he just nods his head and goes to put his airpods back in before you’re interrupting again, “wait. whatcha listening to?”

he’s suprised by the question. his clients rarely get too involved in what he’s doing. mostly because he does a great fucking job no matter how few words he may utter over an entire session. there's a mutual understanding there that he's never had to speak up about to anyone. other artists use a strong bond or charisma to secure returning customers but matt finds there’s nothing better to display than his pure talent and passion for his craft. that’s how he keeps clients. they ask and he will always deliver; and that’s how he particularly likes it. no questions and minimal conversation.

the sound of the tattoo gun begins and just for your sake he decides to answer the question without malice, “just some frank ocean instrumental tracks." he places his hands back onto your skin, "don’t start moving.”

you pinch your eyes shut and squeeze your forearms as soon as the initial pain takes over. it’s a feeling you can only describe as a needle poking into you a trillion times at once. which is literally what's happening to you.

you’re not oblivious to matt’s disengagement with your attempts at conversation but you need him to continue to speak to you or else you’ll think too much about the needle actively puncturing you. “oh yeah? i’ve never listened to him before…”

“surprising. he’s pretty big.” matt mumbles slightly, focusing on his work far more than his slight interest in your knowledge of frank ocean.

“mhm. i’ve been meaning to give him a listen. could you share?”

matt’s eyes just move to look up at your face as he tries not to beg you to just be quiet and let him do this so that you both can leave within an hour. “i’m good on that.” he returns to tattooing.

“huh? you can’t share music?”

“i would prefer not to but-” he doesn’t even know why he’s continuing to fuel this anymore.

“what if i add a pretty,” you pause to wince a little as the needle moves lower, “pretty please?”

“i’m almost done,” he mumbles the lie.

“matt?”

he pauses for only a second to glance over to you. he’s met with a face scrunched in pain with an attempted smile that he thinks makes you look more like a doped up hippie than the cute effect you were going for. you plead after his glance, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes and sets his tattoo gun down, reluctantly swiveling over to his desk. before you even realize what exactly he’s doing there’s a airy beat of drums and piano playing from a small speaker in the room.

once he's back over to you he can tell you’re smiling even though your face is mostly covered by your arms. “thank you, i needed a distraction or something.”

he mumbles an “mhm” and returns to his work.

౨ৎ

there was generally no talking after that. only a few moments you observed (due to your need to cling on to literally anything going on besides the pinching at your lower side) that were any indication of matt's quiet presence. you noticed when matt would softly hum the lyrics to the instrumentals over the speaker and when you began to tap your fingers out of boredom and nerves, to which he simply placed his hand over them to force them flat while muttering a small “stop.”

when matt was completely finished he asked you if he could take a picture to add to his instagram and you agreed eagerly. he then added a strip of tattoo film over a layer of protective ointment. after he helped you to fully stand he explained how to care for it and how important cleaning is because “that shit will get gunky as fuck.” and you told him that you promise to do everything he said. he also gave you a detailed list on a card for you to follow just in case you forget.

you glance down at your tattoo one last time before you begin to leave the room you’d just spent a lengthy hour of your life in. you assume matt doesn’t want much else from you until he calls your name from his desk. you turn and see him still looking at his phone before glancing up, “uh, what’s your insta handle, so i can tag you in this?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised but you are.

you agree to exchange handles with him before deciding to compliment him once more, “my tattoo is perfect, by the way. i love it so much, thank you.” you want to tell him that you hope you didn’t annoy him too much but you don’t know if that will annoy him more. so you take his nod and hint of a smile as his way of showing appreciation, keeping your own smile bright to mask the crushing feeling of someone seeming so indifferent towards you.

after walking past the curtain and through the trinket-filled hallway you’re back to the main area of the warehouse. you see a different collection of people gathered playing pool and some more huddled on a couch looking at a girl’s phone in awe. chris is busy talking with what seems to be a close friend when you walk up to the reception desk.

when his eyes find your bright expression he’s bouncing back with energy, “hey! i’m assuming it went well?" he asks.

"very well. glad it's over though, i can't lie." you laugh while taking your debit card from your purse.

"yeah, definitely not the best feeling. especially when matt's ugly face is that close to you." chris jokes and takes your card to cash you out.

you laugh along with him but assure him that matt's looks weren't an issue. he raises his eyebrows and has a growing smirk that travels to his eyes when he gives you your card back. you try not the blush at the implication, "i didn't mean it like that."

"right," he nods and chuckles softly, "well hopefully you'll be back for another eventually?" he hands you a receipt.

"i mean how could i not with such a sweet receptionist asking me? i'm sure you get everyone to come back," you joke.

chris shrugs with a cocky grin, "somethin' like that."

౨ৎ

"oh my god it's fucking adorable, what?!" andrea exclaims with a spoonful of frozen yogurt still in her mouth.

she initally begged to see it as soon as she picked you up but you dramatically told her you had just experienced the worst pain of your life and you'd need a sweet treat if you were planning to not sleep the rest of the day away. so she just rolled her eyes and demanded you show her once you both arrive at your favorite frozen yogurt shop (conveniently down the street from your apartment complex).

"i knowww," you respond and quickly pull the lower part of your shirt down with a smile, taking a seat across from drea.

"how'd it go, though? i'm curious. i've only been to warehouse 79 like once, and it was for an event."

"it was good, they were all generally kind and my guy did exactly what i wanted. i'm pretty happy."

"'my guy,' oh okayy?" she takes a bite and smirks.

"not what i meant! i should have just said matt. like, the guy who did my tattoo-"

"mhmm."

"stop.” you smirk, “i mean he was not ugly by any means but he seemed to not care to get to know me at all. which is fine, he's not paid to care about me. but i doubt i'll ever see him again." you shrug taking another bite of frozen yogurt.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

[ange1sang]

deadline.

mickey x ian (gallavich) fic

wc: 1.8k / au where gallavich meet at college but everything else is the same / pining, flatmates, recreational drug use, fluff, references to uptown girls

part of the orange crush and nehi soda au

summary: back at their apartment mickey is struggling to write up a paper on conflict studies. ian helps take his mind off it.

They don't talk about the phone call they shared while Mickey was at his family's house. It seems to go unsaid that they won't address it - Mickey comes home to Ian sitting on the kitchen counter, shovelling off-brand cereal into his mouth while The Simpsons is playing on the TV. He looks tired, but no more tired than any other college kid with an assignment due at the end of the week. His hair looks like movie bedhead - sticking up at random spots and somehow still model-perfect - and he's swallowed up in a worn sweater Mickey knows belongs to his brother, having seen the washed out name tag sewn into the inside of the neckline when doing the laundry one day.

"Hey," he greets Ian from the kitchen doorway, putting on nonchalance to the best of his ability. Ian looks up from his cereal and smiles, soft and teasing all at once. 

"Hey," Ian answers, eyes lingering on Mickey as he shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"You doin' okay?" Mickey asks, his nonchalance failing when the words come out choked up and forced. He's still so unused to these small pleasantries, the casual care he's supposed to show to his flatmate, that every interaction makes him sweat. What he's even more unused to is that more and more often they aren't small pleasantries or casual at all - he cares about what Ian's answer will be.

"Mhm," Ian replies. He wipes milk from his mouth with the back of his hand and clears his throat. "Your family okay?"

Mickey scoffs.

"Dad's in prison. They needed help with some guns," he says. Ian smiles.

"Your sister?" he asks.

"Yeah, she's fine," Mickey nods. "I gotta study and shit, we need anything from the store?"

"Pizza in the freezer, we're fine," Ian mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. Mickey stays in the doorway for another beat, just long enough for Ian's eyes to catch on his again, before he nods and turns to go to his room. It isn't until he's sitting in bed that he feels his heartbeat thrumming in his neck, fluttery and anxious. He inhales sharply and exhales long and hard. The sound of Ian living and breathing just two rooms over is all it takes to ease the anxiety that's been gnawing at his chest all weekend.

.

The digital clock on the TV stand reads 00:14 in bright red. Rain is pitter-pattering outside, a sound that's been echoing through the apartment all day, and a tacky true crime documentary is playing on the muted TV, illuminating the living room and Mickey's laptop keyboard. The keys are greasy from the two bags of chips he's finished over the course of working on just four paragraphs of a conflict studies paper that's due in two days.

His brain feels fried, an ache throbbing between his brows that's been steadily building since he put down the first sentence of his introduction paragraph. His veins are pumping more caffeine and nicotine than blood at this point and every thought he forms ties itself into knots before he can type it up into the document. 

"Fuck," he mutters, and before he can remember that Ian's sleeping just one door away he shouts at his laptop screen. "Shit, fuck!"

He checks that the document is saved before slamming his laptop shut, cringing at the noise. Another day he would've checked to see that the screen was still functional but right now it's all he can do not to throw the laptop across the room.

"Stupid fuckin' paper, fuck this shit," he mutters, glaring at the detective on the TV screen no doubt describing some gruesome crime that would've just been another weekday when he was growing up. He can't help but think that he'd much rather be dealing with that shit than writing about onscreen conflict. The sound, soft and drawn out, of a door being pushed open pulls him out of his thoughts.

Hesitantly, Ian smiles at him from his bedroom doorway. 

"What're you watching?" he asks, approaching Mickey like he's approaching a rundown animal on the edge of a highway.

"True crime shit," Mickey mutters. Ian rolls his eyes and throws himself down onto the sofa beside him. 

"You're gonna make yourself paranoid," he chides, like growing up in their neighbourhood wasn't enough for a lifetime of paranoia. Mickey grunts back and watches Ian pick up the remote to start flipping through the channels. He stops after passing the same shows three or four times, landing on a curly-haired actress in bright clothes with big eyes. He turns the volume up straight away and when Mickey turns to look at him he's smiling at the screen, eyes wide like a kid watching their favourite cartoon.

"You gonna tell me what this is?" he asks gruffly. Ian's smile gets wider.

"Uptown Girls. My big sister, Fiona, used to love this movie when we were kids," he says, voice soft even through the remnants of sleep. "I think it reminded her a little of what she was like as a kid."

All Mickey manages to reply is a quiet 'shit' under his breath, not wanting to break the spell Ian's under. The bright colours on screen light up his freckled cheeks, pinks and blues moving back and forth against his skin like fairground lights. Slowly, the knots in Mickey's brain begin to loosen, untying and leaving behind only gentle, mushy feelings that make his face burn and his hands jittery. He rips his eyes away from Ian before he can be caught staring, slumping back into the sofa to watch the movie with him.

He reaches for the pack of cigarettes stuffed into the gap between the sofa cushions but before he can pull it out Ian's slapping his hand away.

"The fuck-"

"Here," Ian interrupts him, pulling a joint and lighter out of his hoodie pocket. Mickey raises an eyebrow, hesitantly taking the joint from Ian as the redhead flicks the lighter a few times until the flame is steady. "If you're gonna cook your brain in the middle of the night might as well be with this."

Mickey can't argue with that, and he mumbles as much as Ian lights the joint for him. The sickly sweet smell of weed curls around them almost instantly as Mickey pulls smoke deep into his lungs, handing the joint back to Ian.

"We gotta get a bong," Ian says, every word coming out as a puff of smoke from between his lips.

"Mandy probably has one we could have," Mickey mumbles. "Or we just make one out of a fuckin' water bottle or somethin'."

Ian laughs, soft and airy, and Mickey's heart flutters in an embarrassing way that he blames on the weed.

They pass the joint back and forth until it's all smoked up, the high humming beneath Mickey's skin like the grain that buzzes over the movie on the TV. A comfortable silence falls over them as they watch the movie, the main actress in girly, unruly clothes chasing after a little blonde girl, their interactions strange but endearing. The colours and style of the early 2000s are charming and just as sweet as the high, the imagery honeyed and saccharine like the heaviness that sinks into Mickey's limbs and eyelids. 

He turns to look at Ian, who doesn't seem to register him at all, and he can easily imagine Ian when he was a kid, watching his big sister's favourite movie and picking out all the details he loved the most. The actress grins, all teeth and sunshine, and Mickey is reminded of the smiles Ian lets slip when he isn't worried about anybody watching him. He can picture him, ginger hair and freckled shoulders, wearing those same bright clothes and running around a big city with his head in the clouds. He doesn't realise he's smiling until Ian's head lolls to the side and his eyes shift from the screen to look at Mickey.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asks, voice slow and thick like molasses. If he was anymore sober Mickey would have looked back at the TV but right now he feels like he's stepped in quicksand, stuck knee-deep in the green of Ian's eyes. Ian doesn't seem to mind, smiling crookedly and leaning his face against the sofa. His cheek squishes up against the sofa cushion but his eyes stay fixed on Mickey's, watching him with the same focus he was watching the movie with.

"What?" Mickey asks this time, only just biting back a laugh. 

"Nothin'," Ian replies, a barely-there lilt to his voice. 

"Same here," Mickey says, his smile growing when Ian giggles. He finally manages to tear his eyes away from the freckled face staring at him, looking back at the TV where the main actress is fighting over a fairground ride with the blonde kid. Mickey doesn't know if it's the weed or the movie or just how fucked his brain is from his godforsaken assignment, but he works up the courage to voice what's been on his mind for days now, and blurts it out before he has the common sense to change his mind. "Missed you when I was back home."

There's a soft little huff of breath, and he doesn't have to see Ian's face to know that his flatmate is smiling. 

"It was nice, when you called," he murmurs. "It was weird being alone here."

"Yeah, well…" Mickey starts, and then pauses, struggling to get his head on straight as warmth prickles up his arms. He looks at Ian again and finds that he's still smiling, just less amused and more sincere now. Any words Mickey had come up with die on his tongue, and he turns back to the movie before he says what's on his mind without thinking again. That thought makes his cheeks burn furiously, because there isn't anything else on his mind. He isn't thinking about the warmth of Ian's neck when he touched it and he isn't picturing Ian as the lead in a cheesy 2000s romcom. He isn't thinking about anything like that at all. He isn't. 

"Alright," Ian breathes, pulling his legs up so he can sit cross-legged. His bare knee rests against Mickey's thigh, and even though his heart is still hammering away in his chest, Mickey makes no move to pull away. He sinks into the sofa and Ian seems to do the same, still facing Mickey instead of the TV screen. "I can help you with your paper tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it, carrot top, I'll figure it out," he mumbles. When Ian doesn't reply, he chances a quick glance at him and sees that his eyes are closed and his lips parted, chest rising and falling slow and steady. Mickey breathes a soft sigh of relief. 

Gingerly, he reaches out and rests his fingertips against Ian's kneecap, a shaky sigh escaping him. He traces a small circle against his skin but isn't brave enough to trace anything else. He goes back to watching the TV, where the movie has paused for an ad break. He falls asleep before he can find out what happens at the end of the movie.

[crimsun-n-clover]

dalia chronicles

i need her so bad dude

like. i don’t. i’m just being weird because i’m bored and she’s my type.

BUT—

i’ve hit rock fucking bottom. i took all the screenshots of her stuff and all the songs off of them and put them in a playlist. because if i was posting “me <3” to thee most obscure song ever?? i’d want people to go check that shit out. and like. understand me or whatever. but that’s what i would want. i’m being fucking weird about this. i think she’d like the attention but i’d actually rather die than give it to her in this dumbass unstable institutionalized way

i just need her to dm me first ONE TIME. not replying to me posting her stuff on my story. like. replying to literally anything else. to justify my behavior.

BECAUSE

HERES THE FUCKING T H I N G MAN

i took mickey to a concert a few days back. twas rad. we saw idkhow. i posted about it a little. when i get home and check my instagram?? i see that i posted us at the concert waiting for it to start 5 hours ago. and dalia posted a question submission box to an idkhow song. 5 hours ago.

WHAT ARE THE ODDS. she’s fucking with me. she’s SO fucking with me. just dm me for the love of GOD and stop baiting me with things. even though it’s kinda why im into you in the first place. fuckin whatever man.

this is literal torture but i’m kinda having a good time ngl

today she posted two stories to the song casual by chappell roan and holy. fuck. dude. that song is SO real.

i’ve felt used so much for my looks and reputation and i was fucking fine with it at the time because if that was all i was gonna get then i should just shut up and be grateful. i was so stupid but i was almost happy. it made everything hurt so much more when it was over because honestly? i was fucking bitter. i wanted nothing more than revenge and numbness. i wanted to hurt her back and keep her down before she can try that shit again. teach her a thing or two about what loss means. it’s horrible to be like that, i know. but it was horrible of her to be showing me apartment listings for us while talking to a guy who was actively homophobic toward me. i’m not proud of what i did or who i am, but fuck being the bigger person. i’m three fuckin inches tall and gonna get in your stupid double standard holding brain until you pry me out yourself and admit what you did.

anyway

dalia posted herself to that song twice in a thirst trappy way. i want to pick her brain so bad. what happened? are you okay?? you deserve better. you’re interesting and talented and deserve every ounce of attention you crave. i’d be happy to give you some if you’d give me permission. i don’t want to be the problem here. the bits of your personality that i’ve seen have been so intriguing to me. i’m enraptured and i want to know more. it’s not purely physical, but it could be if you want it to.

also. why are you so hot it’s not FAIR and how have the last two girls i’ve been dangerously into posted themselves with a star drawn on their collarbone and made my poor gay brain short circuit?? i’m actually in shock about that one ngl. while the lyric “knee deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?” plays in the background. i hope i die

moving on. ish.

i want to save it but they’re videos and i can’t just paste videos into a notes file like i would with a photo i didn’t want laying around. i didn’t even like the more thirst trappy one because i’m RESPECTFUL. she’s so pretty and i want to drool over her a little. i’m obviously fucking ashamed but if a straight guy did it it would be normal so. whatever. i feel like saving it would be hitting some kind of barrier. dunno what it is but there’s gotta be a limit around here somewhere. or maybe it’s admitting something to myself. that this is a genuine interest but it’s not if i don’t save the video. GOD i hate it here

i feel like i’m objectifying her? like. i’d love for her to objectify me honestly. lick my fucking tongue and get it over with so i can think about it for the rest of my life. she seems to be looking for attention in any way she can get it and that makes me think she would be cool with it. but i don’t want to be that you know? i know how that feels. but i also wouldn’t mind something unserious with her. but i would want more if she wanted more. that’s a fucking LIE i’d want more regardless but i’d take more if i got permission.

i’m kinda sorta maybe the type of person with an avoidant attachment style. something good happens? cool! sounds like bullshit. cash out while i’m high and tuck tail n fucking bolt. i’ll feel like shit about it but if i stick around something bad always happens.

i’m getting. a vibe. that maybe she’s similar. i’m probably just projecting. i don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like everything she does is a wild fucking shot in the dark and then she runs off for a bit until she builds up the courage to do it again. she’ll drop a hint or say something important and then post art and her outfit for a week and do it all over again.

it feels like we’re both testing the water at different times. just “wouldn’t it be cool if. girlfriend? GOODBYE GUYS NICE KNOWING YOU” eventually there’s gonna be an intersection and shit is gonna go DOWN bro. like. added to my lore kind of down. but i think i’m gonna be the one to have to actually make the first move that isn’t liking her stories and i’m gonna blow my fucking brains out. and like five other people will die because of all the suicide pacts i’m a part of.

and then immediately after i get even a DROP of reciprocation i’ll go “damn that’s crazy. fuckin ditto or whatever. i’m leaving the country don’t wait up” OR immediately propose. no in between. i hate it here

[mmmichyyy]

i knew you were trouble

The first time Ian meets Mickey, the dark-haired man is clutching his leg on the floor of a garage, blood seeping out profusely through the canvas material of his mechanic jumpsuit.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ, I told them I was fine,” the man seethes, staring daggers at the other mechanics who quickly scurry away at the sound of his voice. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Sir, what’s your name?” Ian calmly asks. He has dealt with many annoying, uncooperative assholes in his life, given his profession as an EMT and as someone who has grown up in the Southside his whole life, so this little gremlin really is just one minor obstacle before he’s done with his shift. In his mind, he’s already on his couch, feet up on the coffee table, gorging on Chinese takeout and bingeing episodes of Criminal Minds until he falls asleep.

“Fuck you, that’s what my name is.”

Ian sighs. “Sir, I just want to make sure you know what your name is.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” the man stares at Ian like he’s an idiot. “Maybe you can’t tell from the blood pouring out of my fuckin’ leg, but that’s where the fuckin’ hacksaw fell.”

Ian’s stomach starts to rumble and this garden gnome is in the way of him stuffing himself with orange chicken and greasy chow mein. Fucking asshole.

Well. Two can play that game.

“Do you know what day of the week it is?” Ian says with a straight face, as he attempts to push the bloody pant leg up the man’s calf to assess the damage. The cut is just a surface wound, he assesses - nothing serious. Ian then notices how tiny the gremlin’s feet are and then unsubtly checks out the rest of his body. He realizes the man is fairly short for having such an abrasive personality and figures maybe that’s why he’s so fucking loud - to make up for his lack of height. Ian thinks he’s at least a foot taller than the guy and could overpower him if he wants to, just to shut him up.

Not for other reasons.

The man catches Ian blatantly checking him out and raises his brow but doesn’t comment.

“Fuck you.”

Ian crouches over the man’s leg and proceeds to clean the wound. “Who’s the president?”

“Some fuckin’ idiot.”

“What city are we in?”

“What is this, twenty fuckin’ questions?”

Ian can’t really contain his amusement and wonders how far he can push this man until he really flips him off. But what can the guy even do? The wannabe thug is so small he can literally pick the guy up and put him on his shoulders if he wanted to.

“Are you single?” Ian asks casually, wrapping the wound in gauze now.

The way the goblin’s eyes widen comically makes Ian want to burst out laughing.

“I’m messing with you,” Ian chuckles lightly. “Just wanted to distract you.” He looks down pointedly at his bandage handiwork, wrapped tight and snug around the guy’s calf, attached to his taut and muscular legs…

“Oh.” The gnome bites his lips as if he’s suddenly shy and brushes his fingers against the gauze. There’s faded tattoos of letters on his knuckles which Ian can’t make out from his position. Ian thinks the man is kind of cute with his face all scrunched up and his messy hedgehog-like hair and he has to force himself to not stare at the weird little man like a creep.

“Mickey,” the man says quietly, so quiet Ian thinks he might have imagined it.

“Hmm?” Ian says as absent-mindedly as he can, wanting to see how far he can push this Mickey. He pretends to act busy as he packs all the supplies away.

“You heard me,” Mickey scowls, though Ian can tell he’s not really angry.

“I didn’t know we were in Disneyland,” Ian jokes and immediately cringes at his attempt at humour.

Mickey gives Ian his version of a death stare but all Ian can see is how blue his eyes are.

Ian pushes himself up and slings his supplies bag over his shoulder. Without thinking, he stretches out his arm and offers it to Mickey, bracing himself to be slapped away and yelled at for thinking the mouse needed help getting up.

What he doesn’t expect is Mickey grasping his palms tightly and heaving himself up. Their sweaty palms linger for a second too long before Mickey quickly unattaches himself and Ian thinks he might want to see this man again. And again. In his apartment. Just hanging out. Spending time together. In bed. Naked.

What?

Ian is suddenly very aware of where he is and attempts to maintain some degree of professionalism.

“Uh, you might want to go to the hospital to get it checked out, make sure it doesn’t get infected or whatever,” Ian manages to utter out.

“Right, so they can fuckin’ bill me for hundreds of dollars. No fuckin’ way,” Mickey scoffs.

Ian shrugs. “Your funeral.”

An awkward silence. Ian shuffles his feet nervously and notices Mickey swaying from side-to-side to maintain his balance on his one good leg, biting his lips again like he wants to say something but remains silent. Just as Ian gulps down his nerves to say something, anything, he then catches Mickey eyeing him up and down and lingering on his crotch area for just a second before quickly playing it off. Judging from Mickey’s reddening cheeks though, he definitely likes what he sees. Ian can’t help but feel smug and tries to hold back from laughing at how ridiculous it is for two grown men to stare at each other like wallpaper, just waiting for the other person to make a move.

“Gimme your phone, Firecrotch.”

Ian’s jaw must’ve dropped to the ground as he is literally too stunned to come up with coherent sentences, so he wordlessly reaches into his pocket and hands his phone over to Mickey. He holds his breath and doesn’t dare to move an inch just in case sudden movements may scare the elusive gremlin away.

Mickey types something in his phone and clicks off the screen. Ian hears a ping! coming from Mickey’s own jumpsuit pocket and he figures Mickey texted himself to get Ian’s number.

Before Ian can fully comprehend what’s happening, Mickey limps a step closer to Ian, their chests practically touching and heaving in sync while their eyes never break contact with each other. Mickey smirks as he slips the device into Ian’s pants pocket without warning and Ian thinks he may just pass out from the heat he feels from Mickey’s palm crawling up his spine, causing his head to spin.

“Maybe you can check up on my wound later,” Mickey says calmly, knowing fully well his affect on the redhead. "Finish what you started."

Ian nods slowly and breathes out, “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay, Red.” With that, Mickey turns and limps slowly towards the back of the garage.

Gathering his last few braincells, Ian manages to blurt out, “I’m Ian.”

Mickey turns around and salutes Ian with a grin before walking off again, leaving Ian standing there like a clueless idiot.

Ian wonders what trouble he has gotten himself into and honestly, he can’t wait to find out.

[arrowflier]

Oh! I have a prompt. Post-series, Mickey and Carl: destructive due, but like juuuust this side of legal and definitely morally ambiguous. Extra points if Mickey is protective because family's family

Okay this is definitely not what you were expecting but I was having such a hard time thinking of something for them to do lol. Of course now that I've done it I have more logical ideas but too late.😅

“Fuck, get the fucking—”

“I’m gettin it, I’m gettin it!”

“Well get it faster, I’m bleeding the fuck out over here!”

Ian groaned at the loud voices coming from the kitchen, stirring awake from where he had been napping on the living room sofa.

“The fuck is going on?” he muttered, sitting up and wiping at his dry eyes. The voices in the other room had stopped, but were replaced by loud crashes and slamming drawers as someone searched for something and, apparently, didn’t find it quickly enough.

Ian pushed himself to his feet, letting the scratchy hand-made blanket slide to the floor, and wandered on stiff legs toward the noise.

When he got far enough to see into the kitchen, he stopped and rubbed his eyes again, just to make sure he wasn’t having some kind of weird dream.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and his husband started, looking both surprised and guilty. Mickey sat at the kitchen table, clutching a raggedy old towel around one hand, a towel that was slowly turning red with seeping blood.

“Mickey, what happened?” Ian prodded, waking up enough to realize that this was not a normal thing for a Sunday evening. They had come by the house for a late lunch and stayed to hang out and play with Franny—how had Mickey ended up bleeding in the kitchen when Ian had left him just 30 minutes ago to shut his eyes for a spell?

“Nothin’, man, everything’s fine,” Mickey answered gruffly, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “Just had a little incident, it’s all good.”

“All good?” Ian repeated, voice rising. “Mickey, you’re bleeding!”

His husband just shrugged.

“I mean, yeah, but not that bad.”

Before Ian could tear into his husband for playing down his apparent injury, Carl was returning from the bathroom off the kitchen, first aid kit in one hand.

“Found it!” he cried, waving the thing around like a victory flag. “Let’s get you patched up before Ian…”

Carl trailed off, seeing that Ian was, in fact, already awake and aware.

“Before Ian what?” Ian himself asked lowly, and Carl glanced at Mickey before offering a too-casual shrug.

Ian sighed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, and gestured to Carl.

“Give it here,” he ordered. “I don’t know what you two got up to, but at least let me fix it.”

Carl passed the first aid kit over without a word, throwing Mickey an apologetic glance. Ian just opened the box and set it on the table, digging through it for alcohol wipes and gauze, and sat in front of Mickey to unwind the towel from his hand.

“You promised me you’d stop doing stupid shit, you know,” Ian reminded his husband, and Mickey scowled.

“No, I promised I’d do less stupid shit,” he corrected, “and this wasn’t fuckin’ stupid.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at that claim, but Carl was ready to back Mickey up.

“It was so badass, Ian,” he gushed immediately. “You should’ve seen him!”

“Seen him do what?” Ian asked cautiously as Mickey avoided his gaze some more. Finally removing the last layer of the towel, Ian winced when he saw the cuts on Mickey’s hand. “Seen him slice himself up?” he added, but Carl shook his head.

“Nah, that happened after,” he said, then frowned. “Or during, I guess? But it wasn’t his fault, that thing had it out for him!”

Dare he ask? Ian wondered. Or, knowing his husband and his brother, perhaps the question should be dare he not?

Thing?” he made himself question, and Carl pounced on the opportunity to tell the full story. Or at least, the Carl version.

“Yeah, so there was this drone, right?” he started, and Ian was already feeling a groan coming on.

“A drone,” he said flatly, ignoring Mickey’s hiss as he wiped his hand clean.

“Yeah,” Carl went on, oblivious to Ian’s tone. “It’s been flying around here for days, always sneaking up on Debbie and Fran.”

“And did you report it?” Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

“The fuck would we do that for?” Mickey chimed in, and Ian rolled his eyes when Carl nodded his agreement.

“Carl, you’re a cop,” Ian said, exasperated.

“Yeah, but they don’t take shit like that seriously,” Carl defended, and well, Ian had to give him that. “But anyway, it showed up again just now, hovering around the pool while Franny was swimming, so we took it down.”

Ian let out a heavy breath, and closed his eyes.

“You took it down,” he said slowly. “Meaning you shot an unlicensed firearm, in the middle of the neighborhood, to destroy someone else’s personal property. And there’s probably video footage of you doing it.”

He reached for the gauze and started wrapping Mickey’s hand, tugging it just this side of too tight.

“Geez, fuckin’ relax, okay?” Mickey urged. “I didn’t use a gun, and I got it from behind. Besides, they were fuckin’ trespassing.”

“He’s right,” Carl agreed. “He got up on the roof outside our window, took it down with his knife once it was close enough.” Then Carl winced, and scratched at his head. “It just, uh, kind of caught his hand in the rotor when it went down?”

That explained the injuries, at least.

“Fine,” Ian relented, stroking a hand softly over the finished bandage and raising it to his lips for a brief kiss. “But if you ever do something like that again—”

The doorbell rang.

All three of them looked toward the front of the house, then at each other.

“Uh..” Carl voiced, and then they were all moving. Carl to throw the bloody rag in the bathroom and shut the door, Mickey to grab the knife that Ian now saw was sitting right there at the edge of the table, and Ian into the living room to answer the door.

Ian looked back once he got there, making sure Carl and Mickey were ready, and then opened the door with as casual an air as he could muster.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see on the other side, but it wasn’t a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a thin-lipped expression.

“Uh, hi,” Ian greeted. “Can we help you?”

“You can,” the man said huffily. “I’m looking for—”

Mickey came up behind Ian, laying a steadying hand on his hip, and the man’s eyes went wide.

“You!” he hollered, pointing a shaking finger right in Mickey’s face.

“Me what?” Mickey grouched. “You got a problem, grandpa?”

“You killed my drone!” the man continued. Ian tensed, but Mickey just shrugged, unconcerned.

“So what?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“So I could have you arrested for destruction of property!” the man spit out, and Mickey laughed right in his face.

“Yeah right, man, try again,” he goaded. “You got no evidence.”

“I have footage,” the stranger hissed. “Of your face, when it fell.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What else you got footage of, huh? My sister?” He stepped around Ian, halfway through the door, and added lowly, “my underage niece?”

The man went white. “That footage is…it’s purely academic…I…I could…”

“What, you could what?” Mickey countered. “Get lost, man, and find a new hobby.”

He started to close the door, but the man shoved his foot in, wincing when the heavy wood hit it and bounced back.

“I saw your knife,” the man tried in a last ditch attempt. “You can’t have things like that in public, I could have you arrested for carrying a blade!”

“What, this one?” Mickey asked, taking the aforementioned knife out of his waistband and holding it out. The stranger shrank away from it, but Mickey held it out further.

“Go on, take it,” he urged. “And get out your ruler, asshole, ‘cause even if this weren’t private property, that thing’s within legal requirements for concealed carry.”

Ian finally interrupted, pulling Mickey back and taking his place in the doorway again.

“You heard the man,” he said to the stranger’s shocked face. “Sorry about your drone, but we have other things to worry about here.”

Then he slammed the door shut.

Ian stayed facing it for a moment, just breathing, before turning to look at his smug husband.

“That was the stupidest,” he started, stepping forward, “most harebrained—”

“Hottest?” Mickey suggested.

“Hottest,” Ian continued, then shook his head when he realized the trick. “How did you know you’d get away with all that, anyway?” he asked instead, and Carl spoke up from further in the house.

“Like you said, I’m a cop,” he cut in with a smirk. “And I don’t think that guy’ll bother us again, since he basically just admitted to spying on Fran.”

Ian blinked. “But we’re the only ones who heard that,” he pointed out, and Carl grinned wider as he showed them both his phone screen, where a recording app was paused.

“Single-party consent, bitch,” he said, and met Mickey’s high five easily.

Ian sighed again, and Mickey patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Mickey said. “If I do stupid shit with your brother, I won’t go down for it.”

“Because he’s a cop?” Ian asked, and Mickey snorted, shaking his head.

“Nah,” he replied in an overdone stage-whisper. “Because he’d be easy to pin it on.”

Ian thought for a moment, watching Carl trip over the coffee table on his way back to the kitchen, then shrugged.

He couldn’t really argue with that either.

[unbridgeabledistances]

i love ur new fic! only a couple of requests - more parts to it! and...more softness between the two of them 🥺 we hardly get given any in the show </3

:)) ty so so much, anon!!! as requested, here’s another installment of the alternate POV fic (this time from tami’s perspective) and a whooole lot of domestic gallavich softness (featuring very sappy kitchen slow dancing)

--

Tami knew that the pandemic had taken a toll on its fair share of relationships— hell, hers and Lip’s included. But as much as she and Lip bickered and miscommunicated and regularly put up solid walls of lies between each other, at least, the very least—

At least they weren’t like Ian and Mickey.

At some point between being head-over-heels, fuck-all-night crazy for each other and getting married, something between Lip’s brother and his stellar choice of a Southside boyfriend had definitely changed. Tami wasn’t really close to either of them, other than Ian’s borderline obsession with Fred and her gratefulness for the cooing baby voice that came over him every time Tami thrust her tired arms out for him to take the screaming toddler in her arms, and she barely crossed paths with Mickey in a situation that wasn’t coordinating frozen waffles for breakfast or sitting across from him in the living room during Gallagher family movie nights that always inevitably turned into a passionate thirty minute screaming match about which movie to pick— but ever since the first time she set foot into the slumped and sagging Gallagher house, Tami knew that Ian and his choice of a prison-break boyfriend were something special, at least at the beginning.

She’d seen it the first time she met the two of them, when these two grown men were willingly crashing in that shitty single bed in the boys’ room while she and Lip were slumming it in the ever-so-spacious privacy of the cramped room with the accordion door, back when the halls were crawling with strangers making tamales and Fred was barely weeks old and Tami was inches away from losing her shit; Tami couldn’t imagine being in a smaller and more confined space than the one that she was in, locking herself in the bathroom behind an actual fucking door every chance for some peace and quiet, distancing herself from Lip every chance she got— and then there was Ian and Mickey down the hall, sleeping pressed together on a concave mattress meant for a single teenager, pouring each other coffee and trading glances as they sat next to each other at the breakfast table, and pulling each other closer every second they had the chance despite the fact that they’d just gotten out of a months-long prison stay together. There was something so earnest, and so weirdly romantic, about seeing a hardass like Mickey Milkovich, someone with “Fuck U Up” tattoos on his knuckles and more of a sailor’s vocabulary than Tami had, turn to putty whenever he was in proximity to Lip’s little brother. Tami had to be honest—she was kind of impressed. These guys clearly had the teenager, puppy-dog kind of love for each other that hadn’t really gone away, something that she didn’t think that she and Lip ever really had, or ever really would— so as much as she felt like her life and her relationship with Lip was spiraling towards a series of cascading failures, it was nice to know that at least someone in the Gallagher house had a sturdy, stable relationship.

And then, of course, the pandemic hit.

When all this COVID shit started, Tami had counted her infinite blessings that she and Lip had gotten a place of their own outside the Gallagher house before all the sprawling weeks of lockdowns; Tami couldn’t imagine the kind of unforgiving hell on earth it would be to quarantine in that tiny slumped house, in a tiny cramped room, for months on end until the U.S. tangentially got its shit together. So it made sense, really, that everything between Ian and Mickey had changed.

She’d noticed it that first morning, when she and Lip finally dropped by the house after weeks of hunkering down to have breakfast with everyone, carrying a box of cheap pastries they’d gotten on the walk over— and the first thing she’d noticed when she walked into the kitchen was how far apart Mickey and Ian were sitting, on opposite ends of the rickety kitchen table, any scarce dialogue between the two of them turned brittle and stale.

There were spats, now, and gentle shoves that turned less gentle; she and Lip weren’t around the house much anymore, thank fucking god, but what few conversations she did see between Ian and Mickey always ended with raised voices and them both practically having steam coming out of their ears, or with some stray bystander needing to plant themselves in the middle of the married couple to tell them to calm the fuck down. Tami would lock eyes with Lip as they scuffled in the kitchen, her eyebrows raised in a message that she knew Lip understood: “See, this is why I never want to get married.”

So that was pretty much the situation Tami expected to be walking into, late one afternoon when Lip was presumably off doing some shady shit with those stolen bikes and Tami was stuck at the Gallagher house waiting to meet up with him so they could keep working through “Operation Sell the Gallagher House to Gentrifiers.” Tami had expected Lip to be here a couple of hours ago, and was honestly debating just saying fuck it and going home— but Fred had passed out in Tami’s lap as they were sitting on the couch a couple of minutes ago and Tami was not going to wake this monster child up before he was ready and took another hour of crying and writhing to settle down again. Tami was leaning back, closing her eyes and enjoying a rare moment of peace in this godforsaken house… when she was snapped back into reality by the sound of a kitchen cupboard slamming shut.

Huh. Tami had apparently drifted off, but Freddie was still sound asleep in her lap, pinning her down. It was definitely the early evening by now— the sun had started to set, glowing purple from behind the thin curtains.

A clang came from the kitchen again, and Tami craned her neck as much as she could without stirring the sleeping toddler in her lap to peer into the kitchen from the open doorway to see if Lip was home— and instead, she saw Ian standing by the counter opening something with a can opener, and Mickey beside him.

It looked like they’d been in the kitchen a while—from the corner of her eye she could see Mickey perched on the countertop sipping a beer, his legs swinging while Ian milled around him pulling things from the cabinets and manning the stovetop. She knew both of the boys weren’t much of a cook, and from what she’d seen Ian’s culinary abilities didn’t exceed heating up canned soup or spreading butter on toast— but it looked like he was chopping onions and opening a can of black beans for something, which struck her by surprise. There was music playing low from a little portable speaker in the kitchen, presumably something Ian had brought down from the bedroom— right now there was some 80s hit playing that reminded Tami of the music her dad used to listen to while he was putzing around in the garage when she was little, if she was bring totally honest. But Mickey seemed to be enjoying it, his head bobbing slightly to the beat while he scrolled through what she recognized as Ian’s phone.

“Okay, the recipe website says you’ve gotta add cumin now. What the fuck is cumin?”

She could hear Ian’s dry laugh. “A spice? I think? We probably don’t even have it, I’ll just add a shit ton of chili powder and it’ll taste fine.”

“Whatever you say, Rachel Ray.”

Tami could see Ian lean to flip Mickey off, then turn to poke through the cabinets. Weird. Ian had flipped Mickey off, sure, but there wasn’t any malice in it; for the first time in a while, it seemed like the two of them were actually coexisting peacefully for once— which, thank god for that, at the very least because it meant Fred would stay sleeping on her lap for a while until Lip got home.

Now that she thought back on it, Ian and Mickey had seemed a bit more settled lately— she’d heard bits and pieces about all the stuff with Mickey’s abusive asshole of a dad moving in next door, and about the two of them starting a security business together in that random ambulance that was always parked in the street now (Tami wasn’t even going to ask)— she could imagine that running errands around Chicago together all day long in matching jumpsuits would bring anyone closer together. This was the first time she’d really seen them enjoy being in each other’s space since the pandemic started, just casually hanging out around the house without something fiery about to erupt between them, whether from anger or passion— and honestly, it was kind of nice to by in proximity to, just listening to their chatter floating back and forth and the sizzling of onions and chili flakes in a pan while the music drifted between them.

Tami sat there for a while, closing her eyes again as the shadows in the room grew deeper, listening to some Bon Jovi song play low in the background and feeling the solid weight of Fred breathing evenly pressed against her chest.

A couple minutes of minutes later, she heard the stove being turned off, and the clanking of plates being taken out of the cabinets as the song ended.

“Hey, can I pick a song?” Ian asked, over the sound of him putting the sizzling pan into the sink.

Mickey burped loudly, and Tami could see that he was still perched on the edge of the kitchen counter by the stovetop.

“Yeah, but put on something good, man. None of your techno bullshit.”

“Pass me my phone.”

Ian fidgeted with the phone for a moment—and then a familiar song, a lot softer than the cheerful drumbeats of the melodies before, came streaming through the speaker.

“I found a love, for me…”

Immediately, she heard Mickey chuckle loudly, like he was surprised.

“Fuuuucking softie,” Mickey groaned, but when Tami craned her neck again to slyly peer at the two of them in the kitchen she could see that he was grinning. At first Tami was confused, but then a memory started to stir— this was their wedding song, wasn’t it? She remembered hearing it waft through the front hallways of the dingy polka house while she and Lip were having their screaming match over Fred. Ah, good memories.

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, and Tami promptly heard the pad of Mickey’s feet hitting the ground as he slid off of the kitchen countertop.

“Dance with me?”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Mickey breathed, and then they were silent. From where she was sitting, Tami could see Ian’s broad shoulders standing in front of where Mickey had been seated— his head was curled downward slightly, and Mickey was pinned close against him, his face pressed into the upper half of Ian’s shoulder.

Well, damn. Tami smirked to herself. I guess that security business has worked some magic after all.

Out of nowhere, Fred started to stir and wriggle in Tami’s lap.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t really want to break up the sappy moment, but Freddie was definitely due for a diaper change and was going to be a fussy mess in about five seconds if she didn’t scoop him up right now.

She quickly rose from the lumpy couch, cradling the back of Fred’s head in her hands and beelining through kitchen doorway.

Instantly, Mickey nearly jumped out his skin when he saw Tami— he immediately detached himself from Ian’s shoulder and detangled himself from Ian’s arms. Ian just grinned sheepishly and leaned against the counter, letting Mickey ever-so-slightly slump against him.

Tami paused, taking the scene in and trying to hold back a knowing smile as Freddie fussed on her shoulder.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

Mickey’s neck turned blotchy and flushed, and he darted his eyes to Freddie and then back to Tami.

Tami knew she had a sloped, sappy smile on her face. “Nothing. Just good to see you guys not ripping each other’s throats out for once.”

Mickey let out a slight breath, slumping back towards Ian’s chest even more— then he rolled his eyes, but the gesture was light and fond.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. Ian was still practically beaming, and draped a hand across Mickey’s waist— and Tami watched as he slowly, slowly pressed a kiss to Mickey’s temple and Mickey’s posture immediately softened, like the air was being let out of him.

Wow. Okay. Guess the old Ian and Mickey are back.

Tami raised Freddie slightly onto her shoulder, then pushed past the two of them towards the back stairs, where Tami could hopefully go up and change her son’s shitty diaper in peace— and as she started to climb the stairs, she heard one final quip from Mickey:

“Your brother can’t sell this house fast enough, man.”

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when he becomes tiny

This work, 当他变小了, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ] 

“It’s time to get up.”

In response to the voice, you open your eyes blearily to the familiar morning sunlight, the familiar temperature of the room, the familiar decor of the bedroom, and the familiar...

“Who the hell are you? Victor’s illegitimate son?”

You’re alarmed at the sight of a child at Victor’s designated spot next to you.

The innocent-looking, tiny version of Victor wears a blank expression on his face.

Your brain gradually starts functioning again. “You’re... Victor?”

“Idiot.”

It’s him, it’s definitely him! Apart from him, who else would call you an idiot? Evol fluctuations probably caused his body to shrink.

Curious, you give him a pat on the head, then pinch his chubby cheeks, finding this experience incredibly novel. “Victor, you actually look... strangely cute like this.”

He swats your hand away, shifting his tiny body off the bed.

“Where are you going?” No longer feeling the soft touch, you feel slightly disappointed. You stare at his fuzzy hair, and your fingers itch to ruffle it.

“Making breakfast for a certain dummy.” 

Without turning his head, Victor leaves the bedroom, his short legs striding forward clumsily, like a kitten learning how to walk. 

Your maternal instincts are set aflame.

Something occurs to you, and you quickly hop out of bed and run into the kitchen. How’s he going to cook with his current height?

As expected, Little Victor, with his short limbs, is standing in front of the counter wondering how he can reach the knife and chopping board.

“Little Vic, since it’s inconvenient for you, why not go outside and play. Let this big sister take care of the meals today~ I promise to bring you up well!” You hoist him up by the armpits and bring him out of the kitchen, using this opportunity to squish his tiny face.

Considering how long you’ve known him, you can instantly tell from his expression what he’s about to say next. Before he has time to conjure a venomous remark, you hide in the kitchen and shut the door.

The door slams in front of him, and he shakes his head laughably. “Pretty bold.”

After some twists and turns, you finally churn out an edible “breakfast”. When you lay it on the table, Victor is looking through company documents while wearing glasses that are evidently too large for him.

He shifts the laptop to the side. Furrowing his brows, he uses a knife to slice open a slightly blackened poached egg. “Your skills could see an improvement.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yes yes yes, I can’t possibly compare myself to the skills of the great chef Victor. So I’ll have to trouble Little Vic to bear with it.”

“I’ve taken leave today. After breakfast, there’s an e-meeting I have to attend. When the time comes, attend to it for me.” Finding the food a little salty, Victor holds up the coffee in his hand. Before he even takes a sip, you exchange it with a cup of milk.

“Little children can’t drink adult coffee. You can only grow tall if you drink milk~” You grin while explaining.

His sharp eyebrows furrow slightly. “I’m 28 this year.”

Sizing him up, you click your tongue and sigh. “No matter how fast you grow, this body looks like a six-year-old's.”

“...” Not knowing how to rebut, Victor’s face blackens. When his immature-looking face accompanies this serious expression, he resembles a child who’s throwing a fuss - it’s cute.

After breakfast, you enter the e-meeting. The other high-ranking members of the company notice that CEO Victor isn’t around, and is instead substituted by you. Someone curiously asks, “Did CEO Victor go somewhere?”

Donning an official business-like expression on your face, you respond. “CEO Victor is feeling unwell today. I will be representing him in the meeting, and will convey the contents of the meeting with him in its entirety.”

Following a few concerned pleasantries, the meeting delves into the main topic. You take down notes seriously, posing questions according to the slips of paper Victor hands you. The meeting goes by smoothly.

“Your performance during the meeting wasn’t bad.” Victor flips through your meeting notes, satisfied.

Even though you didn’t understand the purpose of you recording notes when he was right there listening alongside you, you’re thoroughly welcoming of his compliment. Puffing up your chest with pride, you lift your head and say, “Of course. I’m the boss of a production company. Meetings are naturally not a cinch.”

“You’re off in the clouds just after a compliment?” The disjunct between his adorable features and the expression that doesn’t suit his age causes you to burst into laughter. “Victor, stop speaking like that, it’s too unsuitable.”

Victor immediately reverts back to his blank expression, which tickles you even more.

Both of you have taken leave and are staying at home doing nothing, apart from the moments you can’t control your fingers and they knead his cheeks or tousle his hair. Each and every time, he would either swat away or evade your claws. Apart from that, everything has been very peaceful, until...

“Since you’re so small that you’d probably drown if you fall into the bathtub, should I help you bathe?” You suggest earnestly.

Knowing that he can’t convince you otherwise, Victor reluctantly agrees to your request to wash him up.

Standing stark naked in the bathtub, the clear water covers nothing.

You glance at it casually. “When Little Vic becomes smaller, everything else becomes smaller too...”

“...dummy, don’t look.” 

The child’s cheeks are pinkish and tender, and it seems to redden even more after hearing your words.

“Stand here and don’t move. I’ll get the shampoo.” You pat his wet hair and turn around, heading to the shelf to retrieve the bottle of shampoo he uses frequently. 

However, the bathroom floor is too slippery. Accidentally stepping on a puddle of water, your body lunges forwards.

“Be careful!” 

The pain you anticipated doesn’t arrive. Instead, you’re greeted by a warm touch. You flick open an eye.

Victor frowns in pain, his hair dripping with water, sticking to his forehead. There is obvious worry in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Your brain is stunned by the depth in his eyes, and you can only nod in a daze. 

Sensing this, Victor’s large hand, which was originally on your waist, travels up your spine slowly. His searing eyes causes your breathing to hitch and your mouth to feel dry.

Satisfied by the effect he has on you, the corners of Victor’s lips twitch slightly.

“A dummy said something she shouldn’t have. Now, are you ready to accept your punishment?”

[ GAVIN ]

“Yes, so sorry to trouble you, Captain Eli. And no, it’s not that serious, you don’t have to specially visit. Thank you for the hard work.” You sit on the sofa while making a call to Eli, asking him to help Gavin apply for leave.

Gavin sits beside you quietly, looking at his tiny hands in a trace-like state. He clenches them, but doesn’t feel the strength he’s familiar with.

“All right, let’s just treat today as a rest day. How long will this last?” Your maternal instincts are set alight when facing this tiny Gavin. Carrying him onto your lap, you can’t help but knead his cheeks.

Gavin doesn’t struggle, letting you do whatever you want. “It won’t be long, but it does feel a little strange...”

“I think it’s very cute. Like this, I really can’t bear to let you go~” You place your right hand on the top of his head, patting his soft hair. He probably said it wouldn’t last long so you wouldn’t worry.

“Ahem... it’s fine as long as you like it.” That’s right - Gavin has always been pampering you, and this remains the same even if he turns tiny.

“Gavin, shall we have KFC for lunch? It’s been such a long time since we’ve eaten it.” You rub your hands together, yearning for the KFC New Orleans chicken wings, chicken popcorn and...

Gavin smiles when he sees how eager you are. “I heard the kid’s meal comes with a Conan toy.”

You’re brought out of your thoughts, and there are almost stars in your eyes. “You really know me too well! Thank you, Little Gavin~” 

Gavin subconsciously reaches out to tousle your hair, but since his short arm can’t reach the top of your head, he lowers his arm and holds your hand instead.

Leading him out of the house, you suddenly feel as though you’re holding onto your son. Your eyes crinkle as you tug on his hand. “Today, Little Gav has to follow his mother closely.”

“Cough cough cough cough...” As though you gave him a shock, Gavin chokes violently. With a slight redness in his cheeks, he says your name softly. You laugh, carrying him to the backseat of the car and fastening his seat belt before settling yourself into the driver’s seat.

“Drive more-”

“Drive more slowly - I’ve heard these three words so many times already.” You cut him off before he can finish. Somehow, causing Little Gavin to blush is even more interesting than usual. 

Gavin furrows his brows and changes his words.

“Then, be careful.”

Considering how there’s a ‘child’ in the car, you drive as smoothly as possible, reaching the nearest KFC in the shopping mall only after half an hour. 

“A kid’s meal, a Beijing chicken roll, and a 10-piece chicken bucket. Little Gav, do you want popcorn chicken?” You turn your head to Little Gavin, who is behind you.

He retrieves a mobile phone from the Mickey Mouse backpack you forced him to carry, and hands it to you. “If you want it, just order it.”

"I’ll have the big portion then.” You unlock the phone with your fingerprint, showing the payment code to the clerk. After scanning the code, the clerk takes out a Conan toy and gives it to Gavin.

“Little boy, this is a toy which comes with the kid’s meal.”

Gavin takes the toy from her hand and stores it into the bag. 

There aren’t many people, and most of the patrons are parents with their children. Originally, the two of you planned to pretend to be a mother-son duo and leave quietly after eating. However, a girl around the same height as Little Gavin walks over.

“Little brother, would you like to play in the children’s playground?” The girl’s face is red, her cheeks plump, and the pigtails on her head sway with her movements adorably.

“No he can’t.” You refuse the little girl’s request even before Gavin speaks. 

The girl turns her pleading gaze towards Gavin, who’s helping you get ketchup. He frowns. “I’m not going.”

Perhaps never experiencing such treatment before, the little girl’s eyes immediately turn misty, and it looks as though tears are about to spill from them. Feeling as though you’ve bullied her, you soften your voice and comfort her.

“Little girl, this brother isn’t feeling well today, so he can’t play with you, sorry about that.” 

The child’s mother quickly comes over to apologise, takes the girl away, and compliments your “son” for being both cute and handsome.

After seeing that they’ve walked a distance away, you rub your chin thoughtfully and lower your voice, teasingly saying, “Even as a kid, Senior attracts the eyes of the opposite sex.”

Gavin takes out the Conan toy and hands it to you. “I didn’t expect my girl to feel jealous over a child.”

You dip a fry into ketchup and feed it to him. “I’m not the sour one - it’s the ketchup!”

[Note] In Chinese, jealousy is 吃醋 (”chi cu” - loosely translated to “eating vinegar”. So when MC says she’s “not the sour one”, it’s a pun!

After lunch, the both of you decide to head home to rest since the weather is too hot to remain outside. 

Travelling at noon on a hot summer day causes a sheen of sweat to appear on both of your bodies. 

After returning home, you head to separate bathrooms to have a shower. When Little Gavin steps out, wrapped in a bath towel that is usually only enough to cover his lower body, you can’t help but laugh.

“Gavin, are you wearing a tube top?”

He frowns, lifting the bath towel which is threatening to fall. “The only thing I have is that set of clothes which turned small along with me. I can’t wear anything else.”

You poke his tummy and hug him close to your chest. “Good boy, it’s time to go to sleep~”

The air-conditioning makes the room temperature just right, and you fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing. 

When you awake, the little person in your arms is gone. Instead, you’re resting on a firm arm. A naked man props his head on his palm next to you, smiling and gazing at you tenderly as if he wants to engrave your appearance, the intoxicating sunset, and the beautiful scene of summer on his heart forever. 

You can’t help but stare at his tender and clear face. In the cramped space, the sound of your breathing is amplified.

“Slept too much?” he breaks the silence.

Something occurs to you and you ask in surprise, “Did you know when you’d change back?”

“Mm.” Gavin lowers the arm supporting his upper body and lays down again, reaching out to hug you into his arms. His chin rests on top of your head, and the familiar touch sends tingles down your spine. 

The arms around your waist tighten, and his voice is low and hoarse. 

“Don’t move. I've been holding back for a long time.”

[ LUCIEN ]

You’re pretty sure you’re either still asleep, or having a hallucination. After shaking your head a few more times, the scene in front of you remains unchanged. 

You hold one side of the table to prevent yourself from falling to the ground from dizziness. In front of you is Lucien, his eyes crinkled with a smile... to be more precise, he’s a smaller version of Lucien.

"Lucien, what happened to you?!” You have no idea how to react to the sight before you. “Were you attacked by Voldemort's black magic?" 

Lucien waves your hands away in resignation, and says comfortingly. “It’s likely Evol fluctuations. It shouldn’t last long.”

Curious, you tug at his hair. “Is this for real? Mm, much cuter than usual.”

He takes your hand from the top of his head and holds it tightly. “Didn’t we agree to visit the bookstore to pick out books together today? Aren’t you going to prepare?”

"Are you sure you can still go to the bookstore like this?" You ask in uncertainty, looking at his small frame.

“If it’s something I agreed with you, I’ll definitely fulfil it.” He looks at you with a smile, his eyes gentle and firm, channelling ripples in your heart. Seeing you staring at him in a daze, he chuckles. "Go change your clothes, little fool.

You nod blankly, turning around to head into the room.

-

There are twice as many patrons in the bookstore over the weekend as compared to normal. Book lovers are either shuttling through the bookshelves or reading quietly with a cup of coffee in front of them. 

In contrast to the quietness in this area, the children's book section is much livelier. The walls are decorated with childlike decorative paintings, and the bookshelves are also constructed into various shapes - small houses, elephants, tall trees...

You hold Lucien’s hand as you walk past the children's book section. Feeling mischievous, you look at Lucien, whose height reaches your waist. "Little Lucien, do you want to pick a picture book?"

Lucien lowers his head and doesn’t speak, simply quickening his pace as he holds you. After walking to the western literature section, Lucien stops. “These are the books people my age read.”

The shop helper was just about to ask if he needed directions to the children's book section pauses. 

You laugh softly, taking a collection of poems from the shelf, and read it softly. 

“I love you, for putting your hand into my heaped-up heart, and passing over all the foolish, weak things that you can’t help dimly seeing there, and for drawing out, into the light...”

“All the beautiful belongings that no one else had looked quite far enough to find.”

Someone continues the second half of the sentence. The moment you lift your head, Lucien’s eyes turn icy. 

"It’s ‘Love’ from Roy Croft, right?” The uninvited man leans against the bookshelf in front of you and makes an inviting gesture. "Beautiful lady, may I invite you to have a cup of coffee with me?"”

Before you have time to speak, you hear a childish babble from Lucien. "Mom, dad would be anxious if we don’t get home soon.” 

Lucien smiles, his eyes crinkling as he tugs at the hem of your clothes. Nothing seems out of the ordinary - that is, if you ignore how he almost broke the hardcover copy of the “Theory of Psychoanalysis” in his hand.

Knowing that it’s no good to stay any longer, you take the few books Lucien picked, and prepare to leave. “Sorry, I should be going off with my... son.”

With a look of regret, the man shifts so you can access the aisle. “Next time, then.”

Carrying Lucien, you want to sprint away from this strange man. At the same time, you find the special smile on Lucien’s face very familiar. Every time he catches you doing something ‘bad’, he wears such an expression when he’s about to punish you.

After making your purchase at the checkout counter, you decide to use this rare opportunity to take Lucien to the trampoline. You’ve always wanted to experience it, but have always been too embarrassed to go. This way, you can play on the trampoline under the guise of bringing a child along with you.

Just as you’re able to compliment yourself for your wit, Lucien suddenly grips his chest and gasps, as though he can’t bear the pain.

"Lucien? What's wrong?" You grip his small body anxiously. 

Lucien raises his head with difficulty, his forehead covered with beads of sweat. “Let’s return quickly. I think I’m changing back.”

When you hear that, you dare not delay further. You step on the accelerator, and drive home before Lucien changes back.

As soon as he sits on the sofa, the little Lucien in front of you morphs back to his usual self, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

You thought this incident would pass, but you had forgotten that Lucien, a sly fox, doesn’t forget debts owed to him...

“My wife didn’t refuse that man in the bookstore today.”

"You didn’t even give me the chance to refuse,” you gripe, wrapping your legs around his waist.

...

Your whole body is sore, and you don't want to get up at all. Fortunately, it’s the weekend and you can spend the whole day in bed.

There is still lingering warmth in the vacant space beside you. In your line of sight, you see a thick book on the bedside table, and you can barely support yourself as you pick it up. 

Andersen's Fairy Tales.

"I got it from the children's section yesterday. Since I was a child for a while, I bought a book meant for a child." Lucien tousles your hair affectionately, and reaches out to place the storybook to the side. 

"After all, there’s a child at home who needs to listen to stories before bed."

[ KIRO ]

“Where’s Kiro? Where’s my fat... I mean, big Kiro?” You look around exaggeratedly, gesturing with your hands around the height of 176cm, as if you were really looking for him.

“...Miss Chips, stop pretending that you don’t see me.” Kiro looks at your antics in resignation. 

That’s right - the waist-high blond kid in front of you is your Mr Chips.

“I’m sorry, it's just really hard to believe that you’ve suddenly turned small.” Though you’re apologising, your hands cling to his cheeks. Sure enough, they feel like how you imagined. Soft and smooth, which make people reluctant to let go.

"Miss Chips, let go!" Kiro, who initially let you do whatever you want to him,, begins struggling when he realises you have no intention of sparing him.

You let go reluctantly, peeling your hands off his face. 

"Miss Chips, I asked for time off from Savin after telling him I wasn’t feeling well. Shall we go out to play?” 

As expected of Kiro. Even if his body size has turned abnormally small, he can still be optimistic about it, and still be in the mood to play.

“’Not feeling well’? It’s no good to lie to Savin, right?” You look at him, slightly troubled. 

“Savin doesn’t know that I have Evol. Ah, just tell me if you’re going or not.” Kiro opens his eyes wide, as though afraid he would receive words of rejection from you.

You prop your chin and think. "The amusement park then?"  

"Of course! We’ve planned to go for a long time!” Kiro jumps in place with excitement in his tiny body, looking adorable. "I haven't played the running escape game in the amusement park for a long while~”

You size him up, shaking your head regretfully. "Kiro, with your height... are you still able to run fast?" 

"...” Little Kiro feels slightly offended.

Although there may be many restrictions, you still drive to the amusement park with enthusiasm.

-

“All the best Kiro! Just a little bit more.” You watch him stand on his tiptoes laboriously, trying to reach the height permitting him to ride the rollercoaster.

"I made it!" Pleasantly surprised, he sees that his... hair reaches the red line. The staff ruthlessly presses his hair down. "Sorry kid, your height doesn’t pass, so you can't ride this.”

“..." Little Kiro wants to shut himself down. 

"It's okay Kiro, let's go play something else.” You pat him on the head comfortingly, ready to take him to other attractions. Kiro hangs his hand low, utterly aggrieved. "Miss Chips, I suddenly like amusement park rides won’t make me happy.”

You can’t bear to see your Little Sun being unhappy, so you lift him up off the ground. "If you aren’t happy, let's find a restaurant for dessert first, then play later?" 

When he hears that his favourite Miss Chips is bringing him to eat his favourite desserts, the Little Sun’s eyes light up. “Okay, okay~”

Smiling, it occurs to you that this personality and body are actually not that incompatible.

You order a teddy-bear shaped European bun and two dragon fruit juices stored in magic wands, taking a brief rest.

"This seems to be the first time I’m eating with Miss Chips in public.” Kiro dangles his feet off the bench triumphantly, taking out his mobile phone. "I want to take pictures of all our ‘firsts’”.

"Kiro, if Savin sees that, he’d chop your body into pieces.” You remind him softly. 

Sure enough, the fearless and brave Little Kiro stiffens, then quickly puts the phone back into the Donald Duck bag behind him, pretending he never made such a suggestion. "Forget it..." 

“Excuse me, do you have plans to let your brother become a child star?” Your conversation is interrupted by a man in sunglasses. He stands stands beside your table and looks at you expectantly. 

Before you can speak, Kiro answers. "I don’t want to. I hate all that stuff about having to maintain my figure.”

In response to his vehement refusal, the man in sunglasses continues. "No, no, being a child star is very relaxing, and you can even become very famous. Kid, do you want to give it a try?”

"No.” He says this clearly, giving you the impression that he’s been traumatised by Savin’s ‘torture’ over the years.

Not wanting to further entangle yourself with this man, you step in. “Sorry, we don’t have such a plan. We’re heading to another attraction, so please let us pass.” 

While you say this, you pick up the magic wand drinks on the table and lead Kiro out of the dessert shop.

“I didn’t think you’d still attract people’s attention even as a child.” You look at him with mirth.

Kiro scratches his head in irritation. "Absolute Charm is so annoying during these situations!"

You burst out laughing, helping him tidy his messy hair. Holding his hand, you complete all the other rides in the park. 

"Kiro, this is the last thing you can play.” You gulp, gazing at the dark, silent building in front of you. Unlike haunted houses in other places where there are monsters with scary teeth and claws decorating the walls outside this haunted house takes place in a small forest, keeping it out of the noise. The door opens quietly, as though making a silent invitation. 

Kiro squeezes your hand. "Let's go, Miss Chips. A superhero cannot back down!”

Upon entering the house, you discover that there is a line of people, and there are many, like you, have brought children with them to experience the attraction. The staff checks and accepts the express tickets in your hand, and allows around ten of you walk in together.  

The lifelike props and the crying of children fill your ears, and the shrill screams of women make the atmosphere even more terrifying. Trembling slightly, you grab Kiro’s hand, and he grips you. "Don't be afraid, I’ll protect you!”

Although he’s obviously afraid himself, he comforts and protects you from start to finish. 

He’s definitely your superhero.  

After finally getting out of the haunted house, all the children who went in with you, apart from Kiro, are bawling. Little Kiro, with his face pale, is still holding onto your hand.

"Congratulations to the bravest child. As a reward, here are coupons to the night floating parade!" The staff smiles and hands him two paper coupons. 

He receives them in a daze, and doesn’t respond until he walks out of the building and asks, “Miss Chips, does this count as cheating?”

You wink slyly. “If it’s such an adorable kid, cheating is forgivable~”

Kiro agrees with a nod. “Yes, cuteness is a ticket to doing whatever one wants~" He looks at the cartoon electronic watch on his wrist, and suddenly pulls you into a run. "Hurry up Miss Chips, we won't make it to the floating parade in time!”

[ SHAW ] 

You’ve always been calling Shaw “little brat”, but you didn’t expect your words to turn into reality. 

“I’m Shaw, the only graduate student from the Department of Archaeology at Loveland University. When I was playing games instead of sleeping last night, I didn't know that my hair had started falling out. At the time, I picked up the fallen hair but ignored the other harms of staying up late. After that, I was forced to go to bed. When I woke up, my body had shrunk! Although my body has become smaller, I’m as mischievous as always...”

You stand on the bed, raising your right hand exaggeratedly and forming the classic pose of the famous detective Conan.

"...” Shaw, who’s smaller than usual, stands at the side of the bed, looking as though he’s watching a fool.

"You should visit a brain doctor.” He picks up the pillow that fell to the floor accidentally because of your big movements. 

You laugh and get off the bed. "This is the first time I’m seeing a Little Shaw - when you look this small, you’re much cuter than usual.” You grab his cheeks with both hands and knead them to your heart’s delight.

"Don't do that!" He waves your hand away, stepping backwards and walking out the door. Seeming to remember something, he turns around. "I took leave today. You better be at home today too so you can take care of me. It’d save me from inconveniences.”

You purse your lips, mumbling softly, "What do you mean ‘took leave’? All you did was tell the teacher you wouldn’t be in class. You definitely didn't go through the formal leave procedures.” 

Although you’re complaining, you still call Anna to ask for a day off. 

By the time you’ve changed your clothes and freshened up, you find Shaw having breakfast in the living room and watching television. 

You walk over, picking up a dumpling and stuffing it into your mouth. "You’re unexpectedly thoughtful, knowing how to order takeaway for us.”

Shaw scoots over, making space for you. He lifts his head and says disdainfully, "If I didn't order takeaway, I’d become the first kid in Loveland City to starve to death because he didn't eat breakfast." He quickly grabs the last fried dough stick on the table. "Hey, don't touch my fried dough stick!" 

Knowing there’s no chance of grabbing it, you retract your hand and pick up a tea egg instead. “Stingy.”

"I'm a growing boy. Don’t you feel ashamed snatching precious nutrition from me?" He takes a bite of the fritter in his hand and looks at you in disdain.  

"You’re twenty, Uncle Shaw." You retort.

"I look six, okay!”

You click your tongue, pick up the remote control, and switch to a channel playing "Peppa Pig" before placing it back on the table.

"Children should look like children, and watch cartoons that are good for the brain." You turn his head so he faces the television screen.

On it, a pink piglet hops around in the mud pit, splashing muddy water on her brother George.

Shaw looks at you, his face dark. “Do you think I’m you? Isn't this something which suits your intellect?" 

You don the standard smile of a flight attendant, answering him in the sweetest voice you can muster. "Didn't you say you’re six years old? Little brat?"

Shaw looks at you sympathetically. "Unexpectedly, Auntie MC is old enough to have a bad memory, and forgot that my body possesses a twenty-year-old soul." 

Is it illegal to whack a child? If it weren’t against the law, I’d whack him to death!

Stuffed with food and drink, you’re half-lying on the sofa, leaving only a small space for Shaw. You poke his back. “Little Shaw, clean the table.”

He turns around blankly. "I’m a kid. You do the cleaning." 

Fine, even though he’s a child now, he knows how to switch between being an adult and a child when it suits his interests. You decide to teach him a lesson.

You smile and suggest, "I'll take you out to play later.”

Listening to his, Shaw lifts his eyes lazily. “Oh? Is your conscience pricking at you?”

“Children have to write reflections after going out to play. No less than 800 words.” You hold your palm out to him. "Also, you have to give me your money, and let the adult decide your share of the pocket money.

“I knew you weren’t so kind.” Shaw turns away from you. "I want fried chicken cola for lunch. Remember to order properly.”

You roll your eyes, whipping out your phone to order takeaway. You swear that you’re buying it for yourself, not following what he says just because he looks cute.

There’s plenty of fried chicken to go around in the afternoon, so there’s no repeat of the food-snatching that happened in the morning. 

After you’re full from cola and fried chicken, you clear the table and urge him to take a nap. "Children need their afternoon naps, or they won’t grow tall." 

Shaw refuses. "I'm 1.82 meters tall!”

You stare at Shaw, who isn’t even as tall as the television. Even if you don’t speak, what you want to express is self-evident.

He comprehends the meaning in your stare and scratches his head in irritation. You seize this opportunity, whisking him up into your arms and walking towards the bedroom. 

"I don't want to sleep!" He struggles violently, causing you to lose balance and fall forwards.

"Ah!”

“Damn!”

...

You find yourself straddling the enlarged version of Shaw, staring at him with wide eyes.

With a mischievous smile, he strokes your waist. “Since you can’t wait, I have no choice but to comply with your wishes.” 

-

More translated and original works: here

-

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Part 2, Through the Maelstrom (2 of 3)

House Isekai ARR Masterlist Here

—

Client: Hilda Valentin Goneril

Refusing to work with the newly reformed House Isekai due to Class VII, Duvalie takes her orders and storms off to Goneril territory, trying to get home faster. Not wanting to leave Duvalie completely alone, Raelyn and Fireteam Alpha-Nine accompany her.

Reports indicate of a giant serpent-like beast terrorizing the ocean trade routes near Goneril territory, and an unknown entity accompanying it…

—

(Raelyn) “I will accompany her to ensure their survival. Until then, House Isekai.”

Raelyn turned to the portal and walked through it.

After getting the minimum knowledge required about the Abyss Mages, Buck and his squad followed her through the portal.

(Kazuma) “…Wait a second, none of them knows anything about Fodlan. Why did we let them go anywhere alone?”

(Sitri) “…That’s a good question.”

When Duvalie stepped through the portal, she was still muttering to herself angrily.

(Duvalie) "Ugh, the nerve of those people! As if we can work hand in hand like nothing's ever happened!"

Her ranting continued, even when Raelyn stepped in behind her, looking around his environment.

(Raelyn) "...Duvalie, was it?"

(Duvalie) "And that jackass, Rean! What on EARTH ever made him think we were friends?! I ought to-"

Raelyn sighed and holstered his bolter. Even his footsteps didn't alert her.

(Raelyn) "Cease your complaints."

Duvalie spun around and opened her mouth about to continue until she realized she was only up to his lower chest. Her head tilted all the way up for her to even see Raelyn's helmet.

(Duvalie) "Listen you giant yellow tin can, you don't know what they're like!"

(Raelyn) "They seem calmer than you."

(Duvalie) "Tch, whatever. Why are you even here anyway? I can handle this on my own!"

(Raelyn) "Ah, then I assume you know the layout of the land? The person we're supposed to meet? What the state of the world even is?"

(Duvalie) "...I-I...I can just figure it out myself!"

(Raelyn) "Indeed."

Raelyn turned to the portal and saw the ODST squad walk in.

(Buck) "Right, we got the information we need. As for lay of the land, think one of the locals is about to tag along."

Aigis and Kazuma were on the other side nodding about to say something before the portal suddenly closed.

(Mickey) "...Or not."

...

Everyone was confused on why the portal closed.

Sitri made sure no one was looking at her as she whispered.

(Sitri) "Sothis?"

(Sothis) "Uh, don't look at me. I wasn't even the one who opened it."

(Sitri) "Wait, then where did...?"

...

(Romeo) "Great. Now we gotta wander around and pray to god it's the right way."

(Dutch) "Not even sure the good lord would poke his head out in wherever this is."

(Duvalie) "Wha-DID THEY CLOSE THE PORTAL ON US?!"

(Raelyn) "You were the one who wanted to do this alone."

(Duvalie) "IF I WANT YOUR INPUT, I'LL ASK!"

(Buck) "Enough of the shouting already! Complaining isn't going to do us any good. Besides, we got the data we need, we'll be fine...probably."

(Duvalie) "Fine, whatever."

Duvalie had her hand on the sword sheathe as she stormed off.

(Duvalie) "Let's get going then."

(Mickey) "Wrong way. It's behind us."

Duvalie quickly marched towards the direction Mickey pointed to, muttering something.

Raelyn slowly walked up to the squad.

(Raelyn) "I cannot speak for her, but it is a pleasure to fight alongside you."

(Buck) "Feeling's mutual. Come on, we should hurry before she pops a vein."

The five walked casually behind Duvalie who stayed in the front.

Fodlan, Goneril Territory, Evening...

[Stilness of Night - Trails of Cold Steel 3 OST]

The group eventually found a path leading towards a town inside Goneril territory, and continued on it until the sun began setting.

(Buck) "Huh. Place doesn't look half bad with a sunset."

(Dutch) "Yeah, somethin' you'd see from a storybook."

(Raelyn) "I have not had the pleasure of experiencing a world as quiet as this before."

(Duvalie) "Hm. My world was something kind of like this, but not as primitive to not have lamp posts at least."

(Romeo) "Think you're the most primitive out of all of us here, lady."

(Duvalie) "Excuse me?!"

(Mickey) "Changing the subject, just how far is this place?"

(Buck) "Shouldn't be more than a few minutes. The town according to that Sitri lady is about to come into view right about...Ah, there we go."

They eventually reached the top of a hill and saw a small fishing town with the sunset directly shining on top of it.

(Raelyn) "Excellent. We should reach the town by nightfall."

They all continued walking silently until Dutch spoke up.

(Dutch) "So uh, any idea what that creature is like?"

Everyone had read the report given to them by Sitri, but no one actually knew what they were in for.

(Romeo) "It said a serpent, so maybe an underwater snake or something."

(Mickey) "We aren't strangers to alien life, but I doubt it'd be simple to kill. This place seems to have magic after all."

(Raelyn) "It matters not. If our guns can work, then we can kill it."

(Duvalie) "I'm more concerned about those weird floating chubby things the Knights of Favonius mentioned."

(Buck) "What did they call them...Abyss mages?"

(Dutch) "Think that's it. They don't seem that tough to beat."

(Romeo) "Especially when we can put a round between their eyes from a hundred yards away."

(Duvalie) "If that's the case, then why are they so dangerous?"

(Mickey) "Guess we'll find out soon. Until we actually fight one, don't think we can properly assess the situation."

Finally, they reached the town's entrance. The concrete path shook beneath their equipment, gathering strange looks from the townsfolk.

Some mothers hid their children behind them while some of the men passing by whispered to each other.

(Romeo) "Think we might be standing out a little."

(Duvalie) "You all maybe, I look perfectly fine. Might be mustard bottle over here that's getting all the looks."

(Raelyn) "...You are referring to me?"

(Duvalie) "Duh! Who did you think I meant?"

(Raelyn) "What is 'mustard'?"

(Buck) "Good lord man, just how far in the future are you?"

(Raelyn) "It is the 42nd millennium."

(Dutch) "...Damn. That explains why you don't really seem to lighten up."

They made their way to the center of town, where multiple people kept staring at them.

(Romeo) "Any particular reason why we're standing out in the open like this? Not exactly doing us any favors with the people here."

(Duvalie) "Shut it, trying to find a tavern or something. There's gotta be one here."

Mickey and Buck helped Duvalie look around their surroundings to try and find a tavern. Romeo and Dutch shrugged and made sure the townspeople weren't going to try anything.

Raelyn was about to help when he heard small footsteps approaching.

It was two children who were chasing each other, most likely playing. They had failed to notice the offworlders they were running towards until a girl hit her head on Raelyn's leg.

(Girl) "Ow...! What in-"

Her eyes went wide when she stared up at the 8 foot tall Space Marine looking down on her.

Both the kids look terrified until Raelyn knelt down, trying to get on their eye level the best he could while taking off his helmet. He made sure his Bolter was strapped to his back.

(Raelyn) "My apologies. Are you hurt?"

(Girl) "N-...No sir."

Raelyn offered a hand to the girl. His hand was massive compared to the child, he could effortlessly crush her head with one hand.

Yet, he was extremely gentle in making sure not to harm or intimidate the children, the girl grabbing his hand and standing up.

(Raelyn) "If I can bother you for a moment more, do you know where the Tavern is?"

(Boy) "Um...It's to your right, mister. The building next to the docks."

Raelyn nodded and motioned away from them.

(Raelyn) "Thank you. Get home safe, now."

(Girl) "Thank you, mister."

The two kids appeared to be put at ease despite the size difference, and continued playing as if nothing happened. Something that shocked the adults watching.

The ODST's and Duvalie watched the exchange and were surprised that this walking ton of armor managed not to utterly terrify the two kids.

(Raelyn) "You have your tavern. Let us get to it."

(Duvalie) "...Right."

They continued off to the Tavern, still noticing all the adults watching them, albeit slightly more at ease.

(Romeo) "Now that sweet moment's over, time to see how well you work with a bar full of drunkards, big guy."

(Dutch) "Come on, I'm great with people."

(Mickey) "Sure, you are. How about Raelyn? Actually can he even get through the door?"

Duvalie was the first to enter, followed by the ODST's with Raelyn the last one.

He stared awkwardly at the doorframe, and back to his armor.

Even if he tried to crouch, he would break the doorframe.

(Raelyn) "I...will keep watch out here."

(Romeo) "Put those people skills to work."

(Buck) "Think you should be worried about doing that yourself."

[Another Round - Final Fantasy XIV OST]

Everyone inside the bar stopped talking when they saw Duvalie march in with the ODST's.

Duvalie saw the bartender and sat down on a stool.

The bartender was a bald middle aged man who had clearly seen better days. He had a scar over his left eye and a beard that was barely kept clean.

(Bartender) "...Can I help you with something missie?"

(Duvalie) "We're here on request of...what was her name?"

Buck stood next to Duvalie, making his visor visible so the bartender could see his mouth.

(Buck) "Hilda. Ring a bell?"

(Bartender) "Ah, Lord Holst's sister. And who exactly do I owe the pleasure of speaking to?"

(Duvalie) "I'm Duvalie."

(Buck) "Call me Buck, and this is my Squad. Fella outside is with us too."

(Bartender) "I see. And another question, who exactly ya workin' for? Don't see people dressed like yer group at all."

The people in the nearby tables began whispering. Mickey was the furthest from the group but he was only able to hear snippets of conversations.

(Man) "Hey, you think those are those House Isekai freaks? The ones from the calamity?"

(Man 2) "They sure as hell don't belong here, that's for sure!"

(Man 3) "Worse, they could be spies for the seppies'!"

(Mickey) "Think we might got a problem..."

Duvalie was clearly getting impatient, and before she could open her mouth and start a bar brawl, Buck butted in.

(Buck) "Mercenaries. We work for money."

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he eyed them up and down. Finally shrugging, he dropped the question.

(Bartender) "Fair enough. We'll send a letter to let 'em know people have arrived to take care of the problem. Shouldn't be more than a day or so. Now, ya buying something or am I going to have ta' throw your asses out?"

(Duvalie) "Hmph. Thought bartenders were supposed to be friendly."

(Bartender) "And I thought customers were supposed to be paying."

Now Dutch decided to intervene.

(Dutch) "Apologies for the lady. She's got a temper on her. Surprise us."

(Bartender) "Can do. You got gold?"

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly.

(Romeo) "Oh you have got to be kidding..."

(Buck) "Think we can get this one on the house?"

(Bartender) "This isn't a charity. And you're mercenaries, right? Surely you got some gold on you to get all the equipment on yourselves."

This got more people talking, and it was clear some of them were getting riled up.

Raelyn could hear the conversation from outside, and saw some of the adults from earlier getting a closer look at him.

(Raelyn) "..."

Raelyn's visor picked up more signatures. Some of them were armed. He used one hand to knock on the doorframe, alerting Romeo and Mickey.

(Romeo) "Hey, Gunny. Think things are about to get real ugly."

One of the customers stood up from his table and shouted with an ale cup in hand.

(Man) "Come on, pay the damn drink and quit causing a scene! Mercs always got coin on them! You one of those damn offworlders?!"

(Man 2) "Nah, worse than one, he's a seppie!"

(Man 3) "WE DON'T WANT ANYMORE TO DO WITH YOU, KEEP YOUR SEPARATIST MOVEMENT OUT OF HERE!"

More and more people riled up, making the ODST's keep a finger on their triggers.

Duvalie kept her cool on the outside, ready to lash out if someone dared make a move.

Raelyn grabbed his Bolter and calmly held it in his hands, watching everyone suddenly stiffen up.

(Bartender) "...Well?"

(Woman's voice) "Sorry, sorry. We'll pay, they're with us."

Everyone suddenly turned to a girl who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, putting gold onto the table.

Duvalie made a noise that no one could decipher if it was a swear or a gasp.

Buck turned to the girl who had just saved them from a potential firefight.

[End Song]

(White-haired girl) "They just forgot to bring their gold with them...Again."

(Bartender) "Hmph. Aren't you a little young to be the boss of a mercenary team, kid?"

(White-haired girl) "Could say the same for the second Blade Breaker."

(Bartender) "Hah, got me there."

(Duvalie) "I...You...!?"

(White-haired girl) "If you wanna complain, do it later and not in front of customers. Gives us a bad rep."

(Buck) "...Thanks boss."

Everyone quickly played along.

As Raelyn was about to point the Bolter at everyone, two more people got in front of him, motioning to the left.

(Blue haired girl) "Hey, got our room. Quit standing around all scary-like."

(Orange haired boy) "Come on, it's this way!"

The orange haired boy winked at Raelyn, and having no better idea, he played along.

The blue haired girl looked at Fie and nodded.

The white haired girl slid the gold to the Bartender and sighed.

(White-haired girl) "We'll take it to go. Keep the change."

The white haired girl turned to the group and pointed at the blue haired girl.

(White-haired girl) "Follow her and don't cause a scene again."

Duvalie looked like she was about to scream when she saw the blue haired girl. Not wanting to deal with this mob, Buck shoved her along.

(Duvalie) "H-Hey, what the?!"

(Buck) "Shut the hell up and move it, the last thing we want to do is start a fight!"

The ODST's, Raelyn, and Duvalie followed the orange haired boy to what appeared to be a rented out building. Amazingly, Raelyn could actually fit through the door.

When everyone was situated, the blue haired girl put a device on the door and window, and with a little static noise, she nodded in satisfaction.

(Elliot) "Whew, man! Things looked SUPER bad there..."

(Laura) "Oh...It's you. That would explain how the townspeople became aggravated so quickly."

(Duvalie) "Believe me, you lot are doing the same to me...!"

(Elliot) "Wait...Duvalie?!"

(Romeo) "Jesus lady, just who DON'T you know?"

(Raelyn) "More friends like Rean, I presume?"

(Duvalie) "WE ARE NOT FRIENDS!"

(Buck) "Clearly. Anyways, thanks for pulling our asses out the fire. Where's that white haired one?"

The door opened, and she was carrying some mugs of ale in her hand.

(Fie) "...Hey."

She casually gave most of the group their mugs, leaving Duvalie without one.

(Duvalie) "...Really?"

(Fie) "Figured you didn't want one...Actually, we didn't figure you'd be here at all."

(Romeo) "That's great and all, but mind explaining just who you people are?"

(Elliot) "I'm Elliot! That's Fie and Laura, and we were part of the original House Isekai. Class VII, to be specific."

(Dutch) "And clearly you know Duvalie."

(Laura) "For better or worse..."

(Raelyn) "Seeing the situation we are in, I would rather not alienate the only help at talking to the locals here."

Despite the fact he had a helmet, she could feel a piercing gaze shoot straight through her.

(Buck) "Agreed. So, what brings people such as yourselves here?"

(Fie) "Hm. Long story short-..."

===

Doomguy's Base, 1 Day Earlier...

[Briefing Time - Trails of Cold Steel 3 OST]

(VEGA) "All attempts of establishing a secure line has failed. It appears something is blocking our ability to respond."

Doomguy frowned as he checked the screens. Nothing was damaged on anyone's end, yet he was only able to receive Sitri's distress call.

He said nothing as he turned to the teleporter. It appears someone was finally arriving.

(VEGA) "Signatures detected. Class VII members: Elliot, Laura, and Fie. Authorize access?"

Doomguy nodded as he put his helmet on, letting the three former House Isekai members materialize onto the pad.

The first one was Laura, quickly followed by Elliot and Fie. Elliot appeared to be staggered while the other two were barely fazed.

(Elliot) "Oh man, still not used to that!"

(Fie) "Doubt we ever will."

(Laura) "Instructor. It's been quite some time."

They turned their attention to Doomguy who gave them a nod.

(VEGA) "It is a pleasure to see you all well."

(Laura) "Likewise. I only wish the circumstances were better."

(Fie) "Tried contacting everyone else we could, but they were either busy or didn't respond at all, so for now we're all you're getting.

(Elliot) "We received a distress call from Sitri. Is everything alright in Fodlan?"

Doomguy shrugged and motioned for them to follow him out the room.

(VEGA) "A distress signal was sent out, and normally we would have been able to respond, but an unknown variable has been preventing us from doing so. However, we are still able to keep track of any movement via teleportation of former House Isekai members."

(Fie) "If it has the ability to block dimensional calling, that's pretty strong, whatever it is."

(Laura) "Has anyone else been able to respond this entire time?

(VEGA) "Yes. Rean Schwarzer, Towa Herschel, Satou Kazuma, and Aigis have been the only four to do so."

(Elliot) "That explains why we couldn't call Rean and Towa."

(Laura) "Aigis I can understand, but for Kazuma to show up? That surprises me."

(Fie) "Guessing you haven't been able to ask them what's going on either?"

(VEGA) "Your assumption is correct."

(Fie) "Guess that means we gotta get our hands dirty."

Fie checked her gunblades and stretched her arms.

(Laura) "Hopefully combat won't be necessary."

(Elliot) "Buuut that doesn't really seem possible, if I'm being honest. Trouble tends to follow us no matter where we go."

Doomguy checked his shotgun's ammo as he opened up the door to another teleportation chamber.

(VEGA) "We thank you for responding regardless, but we will ask if you may investigate this phenomenon on our behalf."

(Fie) "Sure. Things are pretty stable back home."

(Elliot) "So, if we're going into Fodlan, how are we going to keep in contact?"

(VEGA) "We are assuming there will be a total communications blackout. If you do not respond within a week in Fodlan's time, we will directly intervene."

(Laura) "All right then. Looks like our goals are to find former House Isekai members and find out what's going on."

(VEGA) "Affirmative."

(Fie) "Mission parameters established then. Let's begin."

(VEGA) "...Strange. There appears to be a teleportation to the Goneril territory."

(Elliot) "What's so weird about it?"

(VEGA) "It was not activated by Sothis, but rather the tower itself."

(Everyone) ?

(Laura) "But there is no one there. Right? Instructor Byleth made sure of that."

(Fie) "Guess that's another thing we gotta investigate. First let's head to where that teleportation took place.."

(Elliot) "That's Hilda's last name, isn't it?"

(VEGA) "Hilda Valentine Goneril. Unofficial retainer to Claude Von Riegan."

Doomguy stood behind a console and pressed several buttons and looked at the members of Class VII.

(Elliot) "So three things to do, got it! We'll see you soon!"

(VEGA) "Good luck, Class VII."

Doomguy gave them a thumbs up before he pulled the lever.

They were absorbed into a beam of light and were taken to the location VEGA reported...

...

===

(Buck) "So...that portal wasn't theirs?"

(Fie) "No. Something else pulled you here, and we came to find out why, among other things."

(Elliot) "On top of that, we have to find out specifically why you all were brought here. Our group didn't have much reason other than it being chance but yours it seems almost deliberate."

(Raelyn) "I fail to think of anything unique happening to where I'd be brought into a world like this."

(Dutch) "Same with us."

(Duvalie) "Agreed..."

(Laura) "Well, despite the unusual circumstances that has brought us here, the former members of House Isekai ask to join forces with your group."

(Raelyn) "No objections here."

(Romeo) "It's either work together or be stuck in this place forever, so we might as well."

(Mickey) "You got our support."

The ODST's and Raelyn turned to Duvalie.

She crossed her arms, barely able to keep her anger down.

(Buck) "How old are you, exactly?"

(Duvalie) "SHUT UP! FINE! FINE! WHATEVER, YAAY WE'RE BEST FRIENDS! NOW ENOUGH!"

(Elliot) "Hah...g-glad to see she hasn't...changed?"

(Raelyn) "There is nothing about her personality that I have seen thus far that you should be glad about, Elliot."

(Duvalie) "EXCUSE ME?!-"

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 19)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 18

Dex drives him to the airport.

Even though it's still too fucking early o'clock, Whiskey feels wide awake. He didn’t think he would – it’s not exactly like he got an abundance of sleep, last night. He’s supposed to be joining the Aeros for their practice, right after lunch, and unfortunately, he highly doubts this nervous energy is going to last him until then.

Whiskey closes his eyes, breathes in and out. It’s fine. It will be fine. Somehow.

"Hey," Dex says carefully.

"I'm okay." Whiskey forces his eyes back open. "Thank you for doing this. I’m so sorry it had to be this fucking early."

"No problem," Dex tells him firmly. "Just remember – if you need to get out of there, for any reason, don’t hesitate to call. Alright? I promise I’ll drive right down and rescue you.”

Somehow, that actually makes Whiskey smile.

"Sure. It's literally on the other side of the country, but sure."

"Just a few hours behind the wheel," Dex replies decisively, almost like it could truly be that simple. Like he actually means it. "Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you talked to Jack, yet?"

Wait. What?

"Zimmermann?" Whiskey asks doubtfully, and watches in disbelief as Dex nods. "Why would I… Dex, I don't actually know Jack Zimmermann. I've spoken to him once, maybe twice in my life."

“He’s Samwell Men’s Hockey alumni, isn’t he?” Dex points out. “And obviously, he knows more about these things than any of us. He could definitely help you get some perspective.”

“Maybe, but I can’t just… It’s not like I’ve even got his number.”

“Do you mind if I talk to him, then?” Dex suggests. “I’m sure he’d have your back, Whiskey. And if there’s ever a time when you should rely on all of your support systems, I think it’s probably now.”

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Whiskey agrees, somewhat tersely. It goes without saying that talking to Jack equals getting Bitty in the loop, and Whiskey’s not sure if he’s completely ready for that, just yet. “You know, it’s really okay if… I mean, Jack Zimmermann is probably very busy.”

“Just leave it to me.” If Dex picks up on Whiskey’s discomfort on the subject, he doesn’t show it. “We should probably also consider how much I should tell the team, while you’re away? They’re bound to have some questions.”

Whiskey closes his eyes again, just briefly. Fuck. The team. Tango and Ford. Louis, Hops and Bully. Chowder and Nursey. Joyo and Jader. Pips. God fucking damnit.

“Tango and Ford already know,” Whiskey says, as evenly as he can manage. “As for the rest, could you just… Try to say as little as possible? At least for now.”

Dex takes a moment before he replies.

“They’re all going to be happy for you,” he says carefully. “You know that, right? Sad, too, and in some cases pretty fucking devastated. But happy, ultimately.”

“Maybe, yeah.” Whiskey attempts a casual shrug that he knows Dex will see right through. “I just think, if I’m really doing this, then I’m going to need to tell them all myself. So for now, just say that something came up and that I will be back on Saturday.”

“Alright,” Dex agrees. His tone is a lot gentler than before. “Sounds good.”

Whiskey nods, once.

They don’t talk much more for the rest of the drive.

Emily has booked Whiskey a first-class ticket, and that should be exciting or at least somewhat distracting, but it’s not. Whiskey barely takes in his surroundings as he moves through priority boarding and fully reclines in his very spacious seat. He manages to sleep a little on the plane, so at least that’s something.

A bored-looking driver collects Whiskey from the airport, and then they’re off straight towards the rink. Whiskey grits his teeth as he steps out of the car. This is it. This is actually fucking it.

Someone is waiting for him by the entrance. It’s one of the players Whiskey certainly knew by name even before he obsessively googled the Aeros’s current roster, the night before. Walt ‘Mickey’ Davis, team captain of the Aeros and one of the highest ranked defensemen in professional hockey.

Whiskey takes a breath. No big deal. Absolutely no big deal at all.

“I hear you’ve had a bit of a whirlwind, these past twelve hours,” Walt greets him. His handshake is firm, and Whiskey immediately likes the steady way he meets Whiskey’s eyes. If Walt Davis is at all concerned with the fact that two of his best forwards are out due to a broken collarbone and a torn meniscus, respectively, he certainly doesn’t show it. “It’s Connor Whisk, right? Let’s see what we can do with that. I go by Mickey.”

“I know,” Whiskey says, only to immediately feel stupid. Which, in itself, is stupid – the only reason he’s here is because he’s been explicitly asked to come, so if he somehow makes an utter fool of himself it’s actually kind of on them. Besides, all of this is just more hockey, isn’t it? Whiskey knows hockey. How fucking hard can it be? “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m really looking forward to getting on the ice with you guys.”

“Polite, eh?” Mickey smiles. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in as best as we can, before practice. I have to warn you, though – Ducky has this slight obsession with the Samwell NCAA team. He might have one or two questions. Just let me know if you ever need him to back off.”

Whiskey blinks. Right. What’s one more utterly baffling thing to navigate.

Ducky, it turns out, has a lot more than two questions. He instantly reminds Whiskey of Tango in the best way possible, which unfortunately makes Whiskey feel nauseous all over again – what the fuck is he even doing here – but he kind of also reminds Whiskey of Bitty in a way that calms him slightly, and of Chowder in a way that almost makes him smile.

“So obviously, there’s been a lot of talk,” Ducky says, after Whiskey has apparently satisfied his curiosity on Samwell’s defensive strategy during last season’s playoffs, “About Eric Bittle. You played with him, right?”

Whiskey stills.

“Uh, yeah. For two years.”

“That long, huh.” Ducky grins. “So, like, is there any chance you’ve got some intel on the whole jam situation?”

“Ducky,” Mickey says, somewhat warningly.

“No, I swear, it’s a whole thing!” Ducky insists. “I used to play with Poots on the Falconers, okay, and I’m telling you, Poots won’t fucking shut up about it!”

Slowly, Whiskey exhales.

“The jam is a whole thing,” he offers tentatively. “But, it’s not... I mean, Bitty’s jam is the greatest, yes, Poots is absolutely onto something there. It’s just, did he really not mention the pies?”

Ducky’s eyes widen.

“Oh my God. There’s pies, too?”

“Dude,” Whiskey says. He actually smiles. “The pies are where it’s really at.”

“Our nutritionist is gonna be all over this,” someone chirps – Lacer, if Whiskey’s not entirely mistaken. God, he’s gonna need fucking flashcards. "Are we talking, like, blueberry or apple, here? Or is there any chance for apricots?"

Somehow, inexplicably, the conversation about pie lasts all the way until they're lacing up their skates. It's only then that Whiskey realises they've talked a lot about Bitty, and at one point little about Jack, but not for one single second about Bitty and Jack. It just hasn't come up, even once. Whiskey's not entirely sure if that should make him feel relieved, or concerned.

Stepping onto the ice is like a breath of fresh air. Whiskey skates a lap, and then another, and it’s like he finally relaxes for the first time since last night. Pretty soon, Mickey calls them to order, and suddenly it’s all starting, but Whiskey still feels like he’s got a decent grip on himself. He’s got this. He can do this.

They run a bunch of drills focused on puck control, at first, and then split up into pairs to work on passing and receiving. And somehow, it all feels achingly familiar. It’s almost like Tango is right there next to Whiskey as he shoots the puck to Ducky over and over again – Whiskey gets the timing exactly right every time, but that's only because he and Tango spent all those hours fucking nailing their passes, last season. And later, when Whiskey races Mickey up the ice in a speed exercise that has him high on adrenaline, it’s almost like Pips skates furiously beside him, like always, pushing and pushing and pushing until Whiskey is giving it everything he’s got and then just a little bit more. It’s weirdly grounding, how every member of the Samwell team seems to manifest themselves through his playing, a constant reminder of how far they’ve all helped him come.

They play something of a mock-game towards the end of it, and Mickey has them changing up the lines again and again. By the time they’re wrapping things up, Whiskey thinks he’s played alongside each of the other forwards at least once.

They’re all good. They’re all really fucking good.

Mickey claps a hand on his back as they’re stepping back into the locker room.

“Not bad,” he says. “You’re fast.”

Not as fast as Pips, Whiskey doesn’t tell him. And neither are you.

“I try to be,” he says instead, and Mickey grins.

“You’ll catch up to an old man like me in no time,” he chirps kindly. “Now, I think Larsen wants to get hold of you sooner rather than later. Let’s try not keep her any longer, eh?”

Unsurprisingly, Emily Larsen is waiting for him when he steps out of the locker room.

“There you are,” she says brightly. “Welcome to Houston, Connor. We’re so happy to have you here at such short notice.”

He’s ushered off to something that turns out to be a meeting. There’s at least three different people who shake his hand on the way there – one of them is the nutritionist, who has somehow already heard rumours about baked goods. 

Emily promises not to keep him for too long, but she does have a few things that apparently can’t wait. She goes over the draft of his contract, aided by someone from the legal department who is able to answer some of Whiskey’s questions, which is good. Or well, it’s at least informative. Then there’s the question of housing options, which Whiskey decides to postpone until all of this is actually completely settled. He’s in a hotel, for now, which is perfectly fine. Finally, Emily runs through a brief power-point presentation on the Aeros, their history, and some aspects of life in Houston. Which isn’t uninteresting, exactly, but Whiskey is sort of more fucking exhausted than he remembers being in last year’s playoffs.

“Almost done,” Emily reassures him as she changes yet another slide.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the next headline captures Whiskey’s full attention. Outreach Activities – You Can Play & The Rainbow Puck Foundation. Our values and vision.

“Well,” Emily says. She looks at the screen, her expression almost a little confused. “This is, you know. What we stand for, and all of that.”

And just like that, she’s moved on to the next slide.

Right.

Whiskey checks into his hotel room, puts his suitcase down, makes it to the bed and sleeps for three hours.

When he wakes up, he’s got seven missed calls and more than twenty texts.

Most of the texts are from Miguel. Whiskey smiles softly while he scrolls through Miguel's more than familiar stream-of-consciousness. It's perhaps a little more chipper than usually, almost as if Miguel is making an effort to sound nothing but cheerful. Whiskey's heart aches desperately as he types up a few lines in response. got here okay. practice was fine. will call you tonight. I miss you so fucking much.

The calls are from Dex, Chowder, Louis and Pips. Pips has called twice, Dex thrice. Dex has also sent him five texts.

The last one contains Jack Zimmermann’s phone number.

call Jack, okay? he’d really like to hear from you. Bitty says hi, by the way.

Whiskey plugs in his phone, and gets up. If he’s going to have a heart to heart with one of the most high-profile players in the league, he’s going to take another shower, first, and his phone is going to have more than six percent battery.

About half an hour later, he’s put on pajamas, because fuck it, and settled into an armchair by the window with his hair still damp. His hands barely shake as he carefully types in the number.

Jack Zimmermann doesn’t pick up until the seventh ring.

“Connor?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Yeah.” Whiskey pulls his knees up to his chest and fiddles with the hem of his pajama pants. “Hi.”

“Give me just one second.” There’s a bustling noise, the sound of a door closing and then quiet. “There. It’s nice to talk to you again.”

“You, too.” God, Whiskey has no idea how the fuck he’s supposed to navigate this. “I hope this isn’t a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Jack reassures him. “How are you?”

“Um.” Whiskey grimaces. “Tired?”

“I can imagine,” Jack says, his voice surprisingly warm. “Dex filled me in a little bit, this morning. You’re already in Houston, right?”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“How are things, so far?”

“Not bad,” Whiskey decides, after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t really… I mean, I’ve actually barely had time to think about it.”

Jack hums.

“How long do you have, before you need to give them a definite answer?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Sunday. Okay.” Jack pauses momentarily. “That’s not unreasonable, on their part. Sometimes these things happen really fast.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Can I ask… Do you have an agent?”

“No, actually.” Whiskey runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t really... I mean, I’ve basically been thinking that there would still be time before I’d need to consider these things more seriously. This opportunity was very unexpected.”

“Okay.” There’s another moment of silence before Jack speaks again. “Look, I’m just going to be very blunt about this. How much are these guys offering you?”

“Ah,” Whiskey says. He tries to remember – there’s been numbers mentioned, several of them, something about a signing bonus and a monthly salary and Whiskey’s barely registered anything beyond how that’s a lot of digits, holy cow. “I haven’t… Honestly, the financial aspect has sort of been the last thing on my mind.”

“Okay,” Jack says again, and there’s something of a smile in his voice. “I understand that, I really do. There are a lot of other important factors. It’s just, you should definitely think about getting an agent.”

“No, I know,” Whiskey agrees readily. “I, uh. This has all just happened really fast.”

“I’m getting that.” There’s no judgement in Jack’s tone. “But you haven’t actually signed anything yet, right? Not even some non-disclosure formality?"

“No, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Then you’ve got the ball in your corner, still,” Jack says encouragingly. “Or, you know. The puck. This is all going to play out the way you decide is best, in the end.”

“... Right.” Suddenly, Whiskey wants to laugh. Fuck, he’s so tired. “The thing is, I’ve honestly got no clue how I’m supposed to figure that out. There’s no telling if I’ll ever get a better offer than this, and that’s...  A major concern for me. This is what I want to do, and I don’t know if I can afford to pass up on this chance. But I never imagined that I would need to be ready to take this step so soon, and I… I just don’t know if I’m going to be.” 

“Okay,” Jack says. And this time, he doesn’t need to pause and consider before he responds. “Look. The only thing you need to do, here, is make sure that you do right by yourself and what it is that you need. Okay? I know the Aeros are in a bit of a hurry, at the moment – I’ve heard all about those injuries and the estimated recovery times. They’re going to have several key players out for the rest of the season, and that’s certainly an urgent situation for them. Now, I’ve seen the way you play, Connor, and I’m more than familiar with your statistics. You’re good. Clearly, this is a move that makes complete sense for the Houston Aeros. The real question is, is it something that’s going to make complete sense for you?”

Whiskey closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales, and feels his shoulders relax a bit. Huh. When he opens his eyes again, looking out over the unfamiliar city outside his window, it’s like he finally has a moment of clarity.

“I don’t know,” he says, almost steadily. “I thought it might.”

“Well,” says Jack Zimmermann. He sounds almost fond, which is of course completely ridiculous. Clearly, Whiskey is having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. “Maybe don't rule it out after your very first day. But you might want to give that some serious thought, during the rest of this week.”

“Yeah.” Whiskey inhales, then exhales. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.”

Their conversation continues for a little while longer. Jack inquires about some of the Samwell team members, and coach Hall and Murray, and Whiskey finds himself surprisingly at ease as they take turns sharing a few personal anecdotes about Faber, and the Haus. It's never quite struck him, before, how much of a shared history he has with the generations of Samwell team members that came before him.

"I'd really like to stay in touch," Jack says before they hang up. Surprisingly, he tacks on something of a chirp. "If you're going to be my new competition, I'd like to know what I'm up against."

"I don't think I could give you competition," Whiskey tells him honestly, and if that reveals just a little more of Whiskey's deep and genuine admiration for Jack than he had maybe intended to show, well, so be it.

"Don't be so sure," Jack says plainly. "Take care out there, Connor. I'll talk to you soon."

ch. 20

[mxtantrights]

˚ · · . · ✵ ✷PART TWENTY-THREE

HAWKINS, INDIANA

NOVEMBER 3, 1984

A good Saturday morning breakfast should make the dread go away. My mothers due to arrive home sometime this evening. And I feel like I'm gonna freak out. I feel like I can't keep up with this long con that Dayton wants me to keep up with.

And he's not even answering my phone calls anymore. I know he's busy at college but honestly I feel like my situation is a little more stressful than his college education.

As I'm chomping down on my last pieces of bacon I feel Mickey tap on my shoulder.

I turn around and see him all packed up like he's going somewhere. "And where the hell are you going?"

"Dustin is waiting outside, we're headed to Mikes. Come on."

I let out a groan.

But I get up anyways and head over to the coat rack. I grab whatever is closest and pull it on.

"Dad me and Mickey are going to see the other boys. See you later!" I shout.

Pushing my baby brother out the door and then letting myself out next. I shut the door- I'm not sure if my dad agreed or not but If I can't hear him then I can't get in trouble. Me and Mickey pick up our bikes and get on.

Dustin is waiting at the end of the block.

-

Me and Mickey decide to wait on the street while Dustin goes and gets Mike. It's been a little bit awkward between us since yesterday. I know making him tell me what was happening was a huge violation of trust and privacy and other stuff.

But all that can go to hell when his life could be in danger.

I didn't even tell him about the whole mom part.

I do not want his world to stop spinning like mine did. Never minding the fact that I don't even have all of the pieces to put it together.

In the corner of my eye I can see him staring at me. He's also been doing that since I told him. That part is getting annoying.

"Mickey I was going to tell you when I had all the information. I swear."

All I can hear him hum a response. Not a nice one.

"Look I didn't even know what happened to me okay? Dayton was the one that started all of this Nancy Drew shit. And he's not even here to help me with it." I try explain to him.

He's silent for a few.

Then he rolls his bike in front of me. "Well I'm here. I can help you."

He's such a little kid sometimes. Even though I want to stop it, a smile forms on my face. "Okay then Michelangelo. I'll take your help."

"Stop calling me that Jessica."

I almost trip off my bike.

"What the fuck that is not my name. Don't even try that shit with me." I wag my finger in his face as he laughs at me.

I see Dustin coming back our way with no Mike. But I can't say anything about it because a car is pulling up to us. I push Mickey over to the side a bit to get him out of the way and drop my bike. What I wasn't expecting was The King of Hawkins to come barreling out with flowers.

He's headed fast to the front door when Dustin stops him.

Out of nowhere Dustin grabs his flowers and walks over to his car, signaling us to come over. Mickey drops his bike and so do I as we meet at the BMW. I keep thinking to myself that his car does not make him an asshole.

It's not much use.

Dustin opens the passenger side door and Mickey is just following his lead and climbing in the back seat. I hold the door open, not going in just yet.

What the fuck?

I bend my head into the car.

"Mickey what the-" I start but then Steve is walking back to the car, to the driver's side. I look at Dustin in the passenger seat. "Dude what are we doing?"

He turns around with sass. "Jessie just get in the car."

Steve gets in, not without tossing a look my way.

My eyes widen in annoyance but I'm gonna have to roll with it. Mickeys in the car so guess what that means. I'm in the car.

I slump into the backseat and shut the door. I can't believe I'm in Harrington's car with two kids who are driving me up the wall! I have to be back before my mother gets home. I can't give her a reason to ground me again.

Steve asks what this whole spontaneous road trip is all about and Dustin explains it. The little pet he kept in his house is not some normal little animal. It's grown in size and it's on the loose.

-

It's dark outside.

That much is confirmed.

Not much on Dustin's little pet though.

We're all sitting in silence as the radio plays. I tried to do some light talking before but- it didn't go well. Let's just say I found out that Steve and Nancy are broken up. That's why he was coming to her house with flowers.

I shut my mouth after that.

"Wait a sec. How big?" Steve asks Dustin.

Dustin holds out his fingers at a length. "First it was like this," He moves his hands away father from each other. "Now he's like this."

"I sweat to God, man, it's just some little lizard, okay?"

"It's not a lizard."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know it's not?"

"How do you know it's not just a lizard?"Steve's voice raises a couple volumes.

"Because his face opened up and he ate my cat." Dustin says casually. Like it was just a casual thing to say. Oh yeah his cat got eaten.

Wait a fuc-

"It ate Mews?! Dustin! Why didn't you tell me that?!" I shout at him from the backseat.

He turns around to talk to me. "Because I knew you would freak out."

"Of course I'm freaking out! This thing is on the loose and it ate your cat!" I yelled back at him, realizing that it wasn't really his fault. He didn't eat his own cat. That'd be weird. I calm down a bit. "Sorry. Just-"

"I know. I get it." He turns back.

There's a beat of silence between us again.

"Hey wait, how is Jessie involved in all of this?" Steve throws out the question.

I think I was here from the beginning actually Harrington. He got here towards the middle or the end. I'm one of the founding members!

"She can make people do things with her powers." My brother drops.

I smack him over the head. "Mickey why the he-"

"Like mind control? You're saying your sister has mind control powers?"

Before I can even knock that down, Dustin beats me to it. "She made Mickey spill the beans yesterday."

"Wait a minute," Steve pauses to think. And I know just what he's pausing to think about because there can only be one thing he could be thinking about. "You made me tell you the truth?!"

Sighing I lean back into the backseat. "Fine. Yes I did. I'm sorry but I needed to know why you were on my case."

He doesn't say much of anything. Just shakes his head to himself, his hair flopping around.

My stomach growls and I try to hold it in but I can't.

Mickey digs into his bag without a word and hands me a bag of trail mix. I take it and open it, munching on the little raisins and cashews. I hold it out for my brother and he takes a handful for himself.

Steve sighs "Hey don't let any of that fall back there."

"Wouldn't dream of it Harrington."

-

"I don't hear shit."

I look over to Dustin. "He's in there."

Steve hits the lock with his bat. Nothing

"Alright listen kid I swear if this is some sort of Halloween prank, your dead." As he threatens him I scoff. He's shinning the light on the poor kid like he's in interrogation.

"No you're not Dustin." I tell Dustin.

"Alright?" Steve asks over my voice.

"It's not a prank." Dustin exclaims. "Get it outta my face."

"You got a key for this thing?"

Dustin goes and grabs the key to the cellar. He brings it back quickly and Steve opens it. It's dark down there, like midnight dark. Steve gets Dustin's flashlight and shines it inside. And then he's walking down the cellar steps with that bat thing.

I'm waiting out here with Mickey.

Dustin starts asking for Steve and sure enough he almost spooks all three of us when he appears from the dark with the flashlight.

And then we're all headed down into the cellar like some sort of field trip.

I do not miss the fact that Steve's bat that's got some weird dangling piece of skin on it.

It's not long before he's pointing us to the brick wall that has a hole in it. It reminds me of the night when we were in that hallway and that thing just busted it's way in. It killed all of those men.

Would've killed us if El wasn't there.

I can feel my hands beginning to shake and I hug myself to keep them form seeing. Then it hits me that I'm wearing my dad's jacket. My dad. My mother.

Shit I so cannot go home now.

Eventually.

I have to go home eventually. They'll worry about Mickey and me.

But not at this ungodly hour.

Turning over to my brother I ask him. "You got any more snacks in there?"

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

A Magic Kingdom Love - CH 4

Title: A Magic Kingdom Love

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Tags: fluff, just so much fluff. It gets a little heated at one point but that’s it.

Summary:

     This is based off a picture I saw on Pinterest (which I’ll post below) with this prompt attached…

     “An AU where Dean and Cas are both working for Disney and have been cast as the very first gay princes. And at first they hate each other but it’s hard to pretend you’re in love all day for sweet, shy kids, and then not makeout under the bridge of the magic kingdom castle.”

AO3 Link

Masterlist:

A/N: Soooooooo.... I know I promised y’all that I would have this fic posted yesterday but for some reason my computer decided to be a giant dick and deleted the entire post I had scheduled to post yesterday and then wouldn’t let me fix it afterwards. So I gave up and decided I would make sure it got posted today and that everyone who wanted to be tagged, got tagged. So without further adieu, here it is :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Four:

     The first couple of weeks of Dean’s dream job as a prince at the park was going by fairly well. Yes, Dean absolutely loved his job. He loved playing a prince all day, he loved being a role model to the kids and even some of the older visitors, and he loved being part of such a monumental step for the park in their journey to represent the LGBTQ community. But this thing with Castiel still had not changed, and he was starting to worry that it may never get any better. And it was not for lack of trying on Dean’s part.

     He’d been doing what Sam had told him. He’d tried to talk to Cas, to pull him into casual conversation, even suggested texting if it would make him more comfortable to ease into it, but he hadn’t gotten much of a response. He mostly just nodded or completely ignored Dean. 

     And it’s not that Dean needed Castiel to like him, but it wouldn’t be so bad to at least get along. But at the very least he was worried that it was going to start interfering with the job. He didn’t want to lose this job because they couldn’t get along. 

     Cas was good for hand holding in public, though he didn’t say much when it came to the kids, Dean did most of the talking, and rarely did he see Cas smile. Dean was starting to think Sam was wrong. It was getting less likely that Cas was shy and more likely that he was really just a dick. 

     It wasn’t until one day in the park that Dean was certain Cas was for sure a dick. 

     They were out in the park, making their rounds, when they were both surrounded by a group of very excited kids. 

     They were jumping up and down, asking all sorts of questions and getting pictures taken with the two handsome princes. When one of the kids, a little blonde girl, grabbed Dean by the jacket and asked, “Can you kiss?”

     Dean felt Cas’s entire body tense in his hold, felt Cas clutch the back of his jacket where his arm was around Dean, saw him turn his head away from Dean. 

     It was just a kiss, a little peck to make the kids smile and giggle, what was the harm. 

     But since Cas was clearly turned off by the idea of kissing Dean, with his head turned completely away, he decided to just wrap his arms around Cas and pull him in for a kiss on the cheek. The kids were still happy with it, running away giggling back to their moms, but Dean was not happy with it at all. Even less so when, after the kids were gone, Cas moved even further away and all Dean could do was sigh, completely defeated. 

     “Does that look like chemistry to you?” Ellen asked Bobby from their place on the sidelines, watching Dean and Cas as she spoke between pieces of popcorn.

     “Maybe in another dimension.”

     She hummed, popping another piece in her mouth, “I thought they would do well together, and I still think that, but I’m worried that if this doesn’t move forwards we might have to make a casting change.”

     “Maybe you should have a chat with them,” Bobby suggested, “maybe help them along. I know Dean’s trying but Castiel seems a bit on the shyer side then I thought he’d be.”

     She nodded, “I’ll call Dean in first, see if we can’t come up with a plan to get Castiel out of his shell a bit.”

     The two nodded to one another then continued on through the park.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     A knock came at her door and Ellen looked up from the paperwork on her desk, “Come on in.”

     Dean popped his head in first, then he slowly walked inside and shut the door behind him, “Is… is everything alright?”

     Ellen closed the file in front of her and folded her hands over it, “You tell me, Dean. How’s things with Castiel?”

     Dean closed his eyes and sighed, this was exactly what he was worried about.

     She gave him a sad smile and gestured to the chair across from her, “Have a seat, let’s see if we can’t work this out.”

     He shuffled his way over and plopped himself down in the chair, smacking his hands on his thighs, “I… I don't know what the problem is. Is it me?!”

     She shook her head, “I don't think it's you, Dean, I really don't. I think we might just have a little case of stage fright. We’ve helped many of our other actors get over it, sometimes it just takes a bit of time and coaching.”

     “I thought that too, or that he was just shy, but,” he shook his head, “I’ve tried everything I can think of. I've tried talking, and most of the time I feel like I’m talking to myself, the most I get is a curt nod. I've tried suggesting we meet outside of the park to get to know one another a bit better, he usually ignores me when I talk about meeting up. I even said we could start with texting if that made him more comfortable but nothing seems to be working. I don't really know what else to do here, but I don't want to lose this job, I waited two years to get it!”

     She raised both of her hands in a calming manner, “Dean, sweetie, you’re not going to lose the job. Bobby and I picked you and Castiel as the actors to play these princes because we thought you were both perfect for the roles, so we are not about to give you up that easily.” Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “What we are going to do is help you guys figure this out and get everything running smoothly, alright.”

     Dean smiled for the first time since he entered her office.

     “Now we only have two days until Mickey's birthday bash,” she said, running a hand through her hair, “you and Castiel just keep it together for two more days until the party is over, in the meantime I’ll talk to Bobby about everything we discussed today and see what we can come up with to help, and once the birthday bash is over we’ll start. How does that sound?”

     Dean nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure we can manage a few more days.”

     “Great! Now, you head on home and I’ll see you in the morning.”

     He flashed her a smile then headed for the door, turning back before he opened it, “It's…” She looked up at him. “It's not that I don't like Cas cuz I do, I really do, and I’m sure he’s a great guy once you get past his outer shell. But I do want this to work between us, I want us to be close so that we can do the role’s justice. So I hope we can help him get out of this shell, and whatever you or Cas need from me in order to do so, I’ll do it. I want to help him.”

     “You’re a sweet kid, Dean,” she regarded him with a warm smile, “I’ll get started on a plan with Bobby right away. We’ll get you two in shape in no time.”

     With one last smile and a thanks, he left and headed for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     With the conversation he had with Ellen running on a constant loop in his mind, the two days leading up to the birthday bash crawled by agonizingly slowly, but finally the night had arrived.

     He was in one of the change rooms with Cas, both finishing up the last details on their costumes before heading out. They had spent about an hour in silence as they got dressed, and Dean was starting to get annoyed but he tried to push that feeling down and remain calm. 

     “You excited for the party?”

     Cas made quick eye contact with him before just as quickly averting his gaze and merely giving Dean a nod.

     “How was your day off yesterday?”

     “Fine.”

     Fine… just fine? That’s all he got? 

     That was the last straw for Dean. He had been trying and trying and was getting nothing in return but short, and quite frankly, seemingly snarky responses. He finished fastening the clasp on his cape then turned to face Cas, eyebrows furrowed, “Seriously, man, what is your-”

     “Y’all ready?!” 

     Before he could really lay into Cas, Ellen walked in, stopping him before his anger could really get the better of him. 

     “The rest of the characters are getting lined up backstage by the balcony,” she waved them on to walk with her, and they followed her out, “just follow everyone else when they head out, stand and wave at the crowd, and once were finished with that you’ll head down to mingle with the guests. Alright?”

     They both nodded and lined up with the rest of the characters. They remained silent, neither even so much as bothering to look in the others direction as they waited. Once Ellen got on the balcony and announced the characters, they followed everyone forward, Dean not even offering his arm until they were a step away from the curtin.

     They stood on the balcony with the other characters and waved at the crowds below, and Ellen wasn’t kidding when she said this event always drew in a full house, it was even more crowded then when they held Dean and Cas’s event. 

     Soon enough Ellen called Mickey out onto the balcony and the characters plus the crowd below all came together to sing happy birthday. A very large, multiple tier cake was brought out in the process and everyone clapped as Mickey blew out all the candles with the help of his friends Donald and Goofy. And shortly after, the characters left the stage with the promise of joining the crowds below for the rest of the evening's festivities.

     And to no one's surprise, especially Dean’s, as soon as they were back stage and the curtains closed behind them, Cas let go of Dean’s arm and took a very obvious step to the side and away from him. It really pissed Dean off. 

     They were just about to head out, Dean getting ready to put on his happy face for the remainder of the night, and pretend like he and Cas were oh so in love, when they were stopped by a kid walking past them. 

     “Why aren’t you holding hands,” the little boy asked, pointing to both Cas and Dean who were feet away from each other at this point, “I thought you were in love?”

     Dean didn't quite know how to respond to this question, and clearly neither did Cas since he practically turned and ran away. 

     The kid looked to Dean, partly concerned and party devastated that Cas had just left like that, so Dean leaned down and tried to bullshit his way out of this without getting fired. “Prince Cas isn't feeling very well right now, I think he ate too much cake,” the kid giggled when Dean made a face at him, “I’m going to go check and make sure he’s alright, you go ahead and enjoy the party, I think the fireworks are about to start!”

     That seemed to satisfy the kid just fine, and Dean ruffled his hair before he ran off. Then Dean turned to chase down his ‘sick’ prince. 

     He caught up with him just outside the tunnel under the Magic Kingdom bridge, grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him inside, pushing him against the wall of the tunnel. 

     “What the hell-”

     “Yeah, what the hell is right, Cas!” He shouted, making Cas blink in confusion, “I’ve had enough of this. We've been working together now for over a month, we should be able to communicate with each other by now but I can't seem to get a handle on you.”

     Cas just blinked at him as Dean continued to hold him against the tunnel wall as he spoke, “You’ll hold my hand and smile in public, but as soon as it's just us you completely change. You won’t talk to me, you barely look at me, and as soon as there’s no one else around you’re pushing me away. Am I that repulsive to you?!”

     “I…” Cas stammered, searching for words, “It's not that-”

     Dean shook his head, “I have been trying to make this work between us, but you don't seem to wanna try in return. This is my second time trying for this job. The first time I was rejected before the interview even started, so this is my second chance at a job I have always wanted. I just want to make the kids happy and have a good time, to enjoy getting up in the morning because I love my job. But for some reason that I can't figure out, you don't want to be a part of this partnership. You’re so god damn closed off, and if you don't start opening up and actually making it seem like we’re as in love as we are supposed to be, then one or both of us is going to get fired. And I don't wanna lose this job! I had to wait two years for this second chance and I don't wanna blow it!”

     He waited for Cas to say something, anything, but he was met with the same silence and the same stoic stare he seemed to always get from him. 

     “Look,” Dean breathed deep, trying to calm down, “I need you to tell me now, before we get into this any deeper than we already are, whether or not you want to keep doing this. So do you? Do you want to keep being my prince?”

      It was no surprise to Dean when Cas just continued to stare at him, though he would admit he was a little disappointed.

     Dean let Cas go, taking a step back from him and just shook his head. This was it. He had waited two years, two goddamn years for this job and now he was literally watching it all go down the drain. He was going to lose this job and all hopes of ever getting another one the same, all because this guy couldn’t get over himself.

     “Forget it,” he waved Cas off, “maybe I can try again in two years if another position opens up-”

     Castiel’s actions had long since stopped shocking Dean, but when Cas suddenly grabbed him by the front of the jacket and pulled him into a long hard kiss, he had to say he was both shocked and thrilled at the same time.

     When Cas pulled back, but still had a grip on Dean’s jacket, it was Dean’s turn to merely stare at Cas. For the first time in his life he found he didn't Quite know what to say.

     “I…” Cas took a deep breath then looked Dean straight in the eyes as he continued with a new found confidence that Dean had to admit, he found slightly sexy, “I do not find you repulsive, Dean, it's quite the opposite actually. I am extremely attracted to you.”

     Dean’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, and still he couldn’t find the right words to say.

     “I just… I am afraid that I may look the part of prince but I have no idea how to act like one,” he sighed with a shake of his head, '' I was recommended this job by my godmother, Amara, who thought I looked the part and could easily get the job. I only did the interview to humor her, but it turns out she was right. But I am so extremely socially awkward, I never know what to say, and when I do seem to say something it comes out wrong. And I was trying to avoid being affectionate with you because I didn't know where your feelings stood, or even if you were interested in men. I didn't want to get too close to you and end up breaking my own heart in the end. I just… I don't know how to do this, I don't know how to open up to people.”

     Cas turned away from Dean, and Dean brought his face back to look at him, “This is a good start, Cas. And I can help you with all of that, all you have to do is ask. I’m here for you.”

     Dean held out a hand between them and smiled at Cas. Cas smiled back and took Dean’s hand, “Thank-you, Dean.”

     “And if you ever get stuck or don’t know what to say you can lean on me, we’re partners, we’re in this together.”

     Cas nodded, a small smile creeping across his face.

     “And as for the rest, I’ve never had an interest in a man before,” Cas looked down at his feet, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes, “but I guess that’s because I just never came across the right guy, never met anyone that I thought was worth giving a chance, now I have.”

     Dean took Cas’s chin between his fingers and pulled his face back up to his, pulling Cas in for another kiss, this one he eagerly returned with as much passion as Cas. The two found themselves quickly tangled together, arms wrapped tightly around one another as Dean lifted him slightly against the wall. Their tongues met tentatively at first, but soon enough they were both ravishing one another under the Magic Kingdom bridge as the fireworks started going off over the castle beside them. It was the best night of Dean’s life.

     He let Cas slide back down to the ground, moving his lips from his and along his jaw, down his neck to suck on the skin there. Cas tilted his head to the side to allow Dean better access and groaned when Dean slid his thigh between Cas’s legs. 

     A particularly loud firework pulled Cas back to reality as he remembered exactly where they were, and pulled gently on Dean’s hair where his fingers had at some point ended up. Dean hummed against Cas’s skin as he continued to suck and rub his thigh against Cas, pulling more moans from the already breathless man. 

     “Dean,” he panted, “we should stop before someone sees, we are at a family park after all.”

     Dean chuckled into Cas’s neck and murmured into the skin there, “Yeah, you’re right,” he placed one last kiss on his neck before pulling back to look Cas in the eyes, “we should head back, I’m sure people are wondering where we went. And if we stay here any longer we might not be able to turn back.”

     Cas nodded, tightening his hold around Dean’s neck, “We don't want to get caught making out under the bridge, or worse.”

     Dean hummed and leaned into Cas’s space, “If I’m going to be a proper prince, I should really ask you out on a date first, at least take you to dinner.”

     “Are you asking?”

     “Are you saying yes?” Dean asked with a raised brow and a smirk.

     Cas leaned in and captured Dean’s lips in a quick kiss, “Yes.”

     “Good. Tomorrow's our day off, so you can finally give me your number,” Dean pecked his lips, “and I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

     “Can’t wait.”

     They tangled together for one last passionate kiss before parting and heading back to the party hand in hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “I haven't seen them since we left the balcony.”

     “They can't have gone far,” Bobby said as he looked around, then tapped Ellen’s shoulder and pointed, “there they are.”

     They stood and watched as Dean and Cas came strolling in together from a pathway off to the side, arm in arm, “Are… are they smiling at each other? And talking?!”

     “Seems like,” Bobby smiled at the two as Cas giggled at something Dean whispered in his ear.

     As they continued to watch them in complete shock at this turn of events, a small group of kids ran past the two princes bouncing a balloon between them. The kids hit the balloon high into the air and it floated over to Cas and Dean. Dean chuckled as it blew into his face then hit the balloon back in the direction of the kids, which then started a small game between them as the kids continued to hit it back wanting them to play. 

     Cas took a small step back, not quite sure what to do, and Dean just wrapped his arm around him and pulled him back. He gave Cas a small nudge and whispered, “Play, it's okay, Cas.”

     Cas nodded to Dean then knelt down on the ground as the balloon came his way and hit it back to the kids. They were more than thrilled that Prince Cas was playing with them, and Dean stood back with an adoring smile on his face and watched as Cas laughed and played with the kids. Becoming more and more comfortable as they went, and Cas found himself really enjoying the game and the happiness of the kids.

     After a few rounds Dean decided to join in and knelt down behind Cas, wrapping his body and arm around him and placing his chin on his shoulder. As the balloon came closer, Dean reached out to try and beat Cas to it and ended up hitting the balloon backwards and into Cas’s face. The two burst out laughing, and the sounds of Cas’s genuine full body laugh had Dean’s gut doing flips. He loved the sound and never wanted it to stop.

     He stared fondly at Cas for a few moments, basking in the sound of his laugh, then moved in to place a soft kiss on Cas’s cheek, then his neck, then leaned his face to rest in the crook of Cas’s neck as Cas rocked them gently back and forth. 

     The kids ran off soon after to play together, waving to them as they did. Dean stood and pulled Cas along with him and kept him as close to his body as he could possibly be. 

     Bobby and Ellen watched with slacked jaws as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, and Cas his arms around Dean’s neck. And as the second round of fireworks went off high in the sky above them, Dean leaned in and kissed Cas long and sweet. Definitely not the kind of kiss one would see between two actors playing a part, but rather one filled with a passion between two lovers, two soul mates who had finally found one another.

     “What… what the hell happened?!” Ellen turned a shocked look on Bobby.

     “I have no idea.” All he could do was shake his head.

     “Seriously, what the hell happened?!”

     Bobby looked between Ellen and the boys, who were still locked at the lips, then back to Ellen, “I am honestly just as confused as you are here.”

     “I mean, not that I’m complaining, this is great!” She gestured to the boys. “But I just spoke with Dean two days ago and he told me things weren't going too well between them. I was starting to worry that this might not work out, but this… this is excellent! It's perfect!”

     As his initial shock wore off and Dean and Cas parted just enough so their noses were still touching, Bobby was able to see the pure bliss on his nephews face as he looked at Cas. Bobby nodded once, a smile creeping its way onto his face, and said to Ellen, “That they are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there you have it my friends, tis the end! Buuuuuutttttttt..... don’t forget, I do have an epilogue still planned and waiting in the winds if y’all would like to read it and see what’s next for our two beautiful princes XD Just let me know in a comment or an ask, or feel free to shoot me a message, I would love to talk to you!

And, I would just like to say thank-you to anyone who read this and who made it to the end, you’re lovely. And to anyone who commented, you’re also beautiful! <3

If anyone would like to be tagged in any of my other destiel fics, please let me know!

I do have two that are currently WIP’s, you can check them out below...

The Thing About Blind Dates

Mountain High

Other then that I hope everyone enjoyed this, a big shout out to @purgatory-jar for the amazing art! Go check them out!! Another shout out to @kitsunecastiel who is my destiel sounding board and who puts up with me and all my ramblings about these two boys, you’re the best little sis <3

And, here are the tags: @kitsunecastiel @florenciareiser @soulmatchortega @humanlady28 @sugarbae128 @deeutdutdutdoh @willastar23 @quillsandink-writes @avokind @theninthdutchessofhell @bbotts9797 @supernaturalbaesduh @deanwithhisimpala @deanssidechick @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday @thekingofgreenapples @say-it-aint-so-bro @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @markpellegrincs @pooffa @magicalmess93 @all-time-fall-out-panic-pilots @myessenceconsistsofdeadmemes @petertingle3000 @ractna @but-for-the-gods-three-days @upside-down-fable @analogical-love-child

[varsityleatherbluejacket]

OK BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE JUSTIN GOING ON A FAMILY TRIP WITH THE JENSENS FOR THE FIRST TIME ONCE HE GETS ADOPTED

This has been sitting in my ask box for ages, and I’m finally getting to it but I need this sweetness in my life rn so let’s go

Justin has never really been on a family trip before

His mom never had the money, and her boyfriends wouldn’t have brought Justin on a trip if they won the freakin lottery

So when the Jensens find this out, naturally, they think it would be the perfect surprise gift to celebrate Justin’s adoption

The morning after he gets adopted, Lainie, Matt, and yes, even Clay, wake up early to make breakfast

When they finish, they go to wake up Justin by singing a very off tune version of “A Whole New World”

He wakes up very confused but also very happy

When they serve breakfast, they give Justin his plate of blueberry pancakes last because they shaped his to have Mickey Mouse ears

Lainie is recording the whole thing on her cellphone

Clay is trying not to die of embarrassment over how corny his family is

When Justin looks at the pancakes, he doesn’t really catch on

“These are really good!” “Justin, do you know what it’s shaped like?” “Uhhhh…” 

By the time Justin finally figures out they’re going to Disney World, he just gets a look of ‘ohhhh’ on his face before his eyes light up like he’s five years old again

Justin gets so excited the week leading up to it he can’t stop singing Disney songs and jumping around “WE’RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD” “Yes we’re going to Disney World, now would you please fold your laundry?”

When they finally board the plane, Justin gets a little nervous

He has the window seat with Clay next to him (Lainie and Matt are across the row) and his leg won’t stop bouncing

“Are you nervous or excited? I can’t tell at this point”

“I’ve never ridden a plane before”

“Oh yeah…well…it’ll be fine. Just like, close your eyes or something.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the expert advice, Jensen.” 

“You know, your last name is Jensen too now.”

“Yeah well just because we’re brothers now doesn’t mean I’m going to stop calling you Jensen, Jensen.”

When they finally walk into Magic Kingdom for the first time, Justin tears up, but if you ask him, he’ll totally deny it 

(Clay will never let him live it down – “You cried because you saw Cinderella’s castle! You’re seventeen freakin’ years old!”)

Lainie insists on taking lots and lots of pictures

Every ride they do, every cool thing they eat, every landmark, even by the goddamn toilets, you could hear “This looks like a great opportunity for a family picture!” *chorus of groaning*

Matt loves Epcot and trying out all the different food from around the world

Clay is actually living for the new Star Wars area

He can’t stop rambling facts about the series every twenty seconds

He takes pictures with all the characters 

When they meet the princesses, Justin blushes the deepest red in the world when Belle asks him if he thinks he would make a good prince

He just stammers out, “I- uh-uh- y-yeah. I- yeah.”

Clay can’t stop laughing

“Shut up, asshole. She was always my favorite when I was younger, okay?”

Lainie insists they go on all the classic rides at least once, including “It’s a Small World” which Matt thinks is a pretty pointless and obnoxious ride

Matt ends up talking to another family while they’re waiting in line

Matt is definitely one of those dads who will just casually strike up really long conversations with strangers

He introduces Clay and Justin as his sons, and he says it with such pride, Justin’s heart catches in his throat

He’s never been addressed as someone’s son in that way before, not even by his mom

It hits him all at once how lucky he is to have finally be a part of a family that loves and cares about him so much

Somewhere in the background, “Go the Distance” is playing

And Justin gives his new family a giant random group hug with the Hercules’ lyrics echoing around his mind, “I know every mile will be worth my while. I would go most anywhere to find where I belong.”

He couldn’t help feeling like every mile was worth it, standing here, with his newfound family in Disney World

Yeah, it was definitely called the happiest place on Earth for a reason

[aeliagioia]

"Wanna dance, handsome?" Ian watches Mickey’s face soften; he'd been looking for him in the middle of the dance floor. His cheeks take on the slightest bit of pink and it's not just from the fifth beer he's almost done drinking. Ian wraps both of his hands around one of Mickeys.

"Your leg ok?" He hesitates. "Ey - you didn't drink too much did you? Your meds -"

"Everything's fine, Mick. Dance with me." The redhead gives his husband's hand a slight tug and raises his arms to hold him around his shoulders.

In the blink of an eye, Mickey knows that Ian's right. On this day, in this room, surrounded by love, everything - for one bright, shining moment, actually is ok. He slides one hand around Ian’s waist under his jacket, wishing he could touch his skin.

"Softie," Ian teases with a whisper in Mickey’s ear.

"Shut it," Mickey says back, matching Ian’s gentle, quiet tone.

As they slot together and sway to the music, a song Mickey has been hoping to dance to with Ian since the first time he heard it playing on the radio (in spite of the obvious hetero undertones of it) he's flooded with a feeling of want; something is missing.

He swallows a breath and sees his target: that spot on Ian’s neck that he's kissed and nibbled at and straight-up bitten more times than he can remember. For some reason, the scent of his husband is concentrated there and all he wants is to get lost in that Ian-smells-like-home feeling of comfort. He uses his chin to nudge Ian’s tuxedo jacket out of his way, leading the way with his mouth. The shirt collar is cutting into the side of his nostril as he settles his face into Ian’s neck and finds his target with sharpshooter-like accuracy. With the fabric in the way, the scent isn't as strong as he'd like - though mixed with his sweat from the activities of the day, it gives him a hot chill knowing that Ian smells like this everywhere.

"We did it, Mick. We really did it."

How does this unnecessarily large idiot who he's loved since he was 17 know what he needs to hear every fucking second of the day?

"We did. We did it." A pause. "Regrets?"

In his mind, Mickey’s asking if Ian wishes they'd gone with strawberry filling between the cake layers instead of raspberry, or if he wishes they'd tried a little harder to convince Debbie to let Franny wear the cute kid-sized tux she'd fallen in love with at the store; any number of small details.

"Only regret not doing this sooner."

Mickey stops dancing for the briefest second, only Ian is close enough to notice. He hums.

"Wish you'd have wifed me up at the courthouse?" He hears a fond sound puff out of Ian’s nose.

"Or on a beach in Mexico."

The phrase is so benign, a casual listener might think the subject of a destination wedding was being mentioned but both men are fully aware of what Ian’s referring to. Mickey clears his throat and presses a soft kiss to his husband’s neck as Ian tightens his grip on him. They exhale in unison, taking some comfort in the thought that they've made it. Crossed the finish line. At last.

[arrowflier]

Small Talk

Seeing all the personal question and answer things on my dash has inspired this little speedwrite of Ian and Mickey trying to do normal date small talk after they get out of prison.

“The fuck do you mean, you wanna get to know me?” Mickey scoffs when Ian brings it up, pausing in his task of throwing clothes haphazardly into their shared dresser.  “You’ve been fuckin’ me since we were kids, I just lived out of your damn pocket in prison for almost a year, what the hell do you think you don’t know yet?”

Ian just rolls his eyes and leans against the doorjamb, having expected Mickey to say something along those lines.  But Debbie had been talking about her dates a lot, lately, and it had gotten him thinking.  She kept spouting off facts about her new girlfriend like everyone should care, and the details had been getting progressively more intimate.  Not sexy intimate--he could do without knowing some of the things she shared, but that wasn’t what he meant.  No, it was all personal intimate, like her favorite color, or her favorite song, or how she got the little scar on her arm from a dog bite when she was younger.

Mickey was probably right; they knew just about everything important about each other by now.  But Ian wanted to know the less important things, too.

“Come on, Mick,” he resorts to pleading.  “Just one regular date, like a normal couple.”

“We’re not a normal couple,” Mickey retorts without even turning around to face him, and Ian sighs.

“Really, Mickey?” he asks forlornly.  He might be playing it up just a bit, but Mickey doesn’t need to know that.

“What?” Mickey sounds surprised, and finally glances back over his shoulder.  “We’ve never been normal, man.  That really botherin’ you right now?”

Ian shrugs, folding his arms.  He doesn’t meet Mickey’s eyes.  “I guess not,” he says lowly, letting his lips tug into a small pout.  “Was just thinking it would be nice, you know.”  He shrugs again.  “Get out a little.  Talk to you.”

“We talk all the time, jesus,” Mickey practically whines, and Ian knows he won when the dresser drawer is slammed closed a second later.  “Fuckin fine, then, let’s go.”

He wasn’t expecting that, though, and his arms drop uselessly to his side as Mickey pushed past him through the doorway.

“Wait, right now?” he tries to confirm, and Mickey waves dismissively over his shoulder as he makes it to the top of the stairs.

“You waitin’ for an invitation?” Mickey asks.  “Now or never, man.”  He trots down the stairs, calling back up to Ian, “I ain’t holdin’ your fuckin’ hand though!”

Huh.  Ian thinks.  That actually went better than expected.  Grabbing his jacket from the foot of their bed, he hurries to follow.

---

They find a restaurant without a waitlist, and are led to a quiet booth toward the back by a host that smiles at Ian entirely too much.  Ian ignores the man’s attempts to chat, and tries not to smile too hard when Mickey pointedly holds his hand out over the table.

He takes it immediately, smoothing his thumb over tattooed knuckles, and doesn’t hear anything else their host says.

The man leaves quickly, but Mickey doesn’t reclaim his hand.  “What’re you lookin’ at?” he asks Ian gruffly, and Ian tried to temper the elation he knows must show on his face.

“Nothing,” he says simply.  Then, “You,” he adds.

Mickey snorts, looks away before settling his gaze on their clasped hands. “That’s fucking gay, man,” he says, and Ian just raises an eyebrow until Mickey gives in and laughs lightly.

A waiter comes by with their drinks--Mickey must have ordered when Ian wasn’t paying attention, because there’s a coffee in front of him he hadn’t even known he wanted--and after Mickey takes a swig of his own cheap beer, he finally pulls his hand out of Ian’s hold.

“Alright,” he says casually.  “What do you wanna know?”  He sounds at ease, but gives himself away by peeling at the condensation-wet label of his bottled beer with his freed hand.

“What’s your favorite color?” Ian asks, and Mickey looks startled, then exasperated.

“Really, firecrotch?” he askes wryly.  Ian just grins at him, blowing on his coffee.  Mickey rolls his eyes.  “Black,” he answers.

“Bullshit,” Ian claims immediately.

“The fuck, man?” Mickey laughs.  “Why you askin’ stupid questions if you don’t wanna hear my answers?”

“I just want real answers, Mick,” Ian tells him.  “And there is no way in hell that your favorite color is black.”

“Fine,” Mickey huffs.  “Red.  You happy now?”

Ian is.

“And not for the reason you’re thinkin’, Gallagher, so don’t even go there,” Mickey adds, pointing a finger at him.  “Red like blood, alright?  Not red like your damn alien hair.”  He gestures at the offending feature before letting his hand drop to the table, where it fiddles with his wrapped napkin.

“Do aliens even have hair?” Ian wonders aloud, and Mickey glares at him.

“That one of your dumb questions?” he asks.

They’re interrupted before Ian can answer by their waiter, and Ian randomly points to something on the menu rather than admit he hadn’t even looked yet.  Mickey glances down to see what he’s ordering, and raises his eyebrows.

“Nah,” he tells the waiter.  “Ignore that.  He’ll have the same as me.”

Ian shrugs.  He didn’t know what he had picked anyway, and Mickey wasn’t going to steer him wrong on food.  Not when it determined what Ian would be feeling up to later that night.

“Next question, Gallagher,” Mickey prompts when their alone again.  

“What’s your favorite song?” Ian asks.

“Enter Sandman,” Mickey tries, then relents when Ian just looks at him expectantly.  “Livin’ on a prayer, jeez, gonna let me keep any of my street cred tonight?”

“What cred?” Ian asks with a shit-eating grin.  “You snitched on cartel to shack up with your boyfriend, Mickey.  I hate to break it to you, but your credibility is already ruined.”

“Shut up, fucker,” Mickey says, but he’s grinning now too.

“Alright, just one more,” Ian says.  “One more and then we’ll just eat, I promise.”

Mickey nods.  “Shoot.”

“How did you get that scar on your leg?” Ian asks.

Mickey looks confused.  “Uh,” he starts, “you mean the one from when your pedophile boyfriend shot me?”

Ian leans over the table, hisses “Keep your voice down, Mickey, what the fuck?” when he sees a woman at the next booth over look at them, startled.

“And no,” he adds at a normal volume, leaning back again.  “The one above that.”

Mickey just raises his brows.  “You mean the one where you’re geriatric viagroid boyfriend dug a bullet out of my ass?”

Ian groans when the woman’s friend looks over at them too.  “Mickey, shut up,” he begs, looking around to see if they had garnered any more attention.  “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Oh, not that one then, okay,” Mickey says, pretending to think.  “Well there’s the one where I sat on the shiv when you left it out on the bed...”

“Oh my god, Mickey.”  Ian puts his head in his hands.

“Not that when either?  Huh.”  Ian peeks through his fingers to see Mickey grinning, tongue in the corner of his mouth.  

“Think you might have to show me which one you mean then.”  He waggles his eyebrows in that way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Ian forgets that he’s in the middle of being embarrassed.

Their waiter shows up then, and starts to put down their plates.

“Actually,” Ian says before he can get anything onto the table.  “Can we get that to go?”  He doesn’t take his eyes off Mickey.  “I just remembered something we have to do.”

Mickey’s grin widens as the flustered waiter backs away with a promise of coming back with boxes.  “We gonna play show and tell, then?” he asks.

“Got a better way to learn about each other?” Ian responds.  “And if you thought I was picky about your answers before,” he adds as he pushes out his chair, “it’s about to get a lot worse.”

Their waiter barely catches them with their food and the bill before they can get out the door.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Nickovich (pt 9) - NSFW

They strip quietly, quickly, not throwing their clothes but simply discarding them. Mickey always used to go silent during this process unless Ian managed to undress him during a play fight, distracting him from the action until it was done. Nakedness is something that bothers Mickey a little and Ian, who is not bothered in the slightest by it, never fully understood why especially considering just how wonderful he looks.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Mickey.”

He murmurs, lightly plucking away the blanket Mickey has draped over his lap.

“Yeah?”

The tone is sarcastic but the accompanying look is hopeful and Ian nods firmly.

“Yes.”

“You look good too, Red. Got a little more hair on your chest these days.”

Mickey runs his fingers down his own chest, lean and hairless, marked here and there with scars and the occasional beauty mark or freckle. Ian smirks and tucks a finger under Mickey’s chin.

“Ready?”

Mickey nods, his mouth suddenly dry. It took years for him to accept compliments from Ian but once he learned how to, they became important to Mickey, maybe more so that he was willing to admit. No one had ever given him compliments before, or not on anything outside of his ability to shoot straight and hit well and whether Ian knows it or not, they are now a key component in Mickey’s willingness so hand over control.

“Stand up. Face me. Keep your hands by your side.”

Ian hasn’t given commands like this in a  long time but it doesn’t feel awkward, it feels right. The control and the eventual nurture of dominating someone sexually has always fitted him, even when he was a gawky teenager and he has missed it more than he realised.

Mickey once teased him that it was because he was such a brat and needed to get his own damn way over every little thing. At the time Ian had denied it and been a little offended but actually, he doesn’t really think Mickey was too far from the mark at all.

He squeezes lube onto his fingers and Mickey spreads his legs but Ian doesn’t move behind him. Instead he steps in close and smooths a small, trace of clear gel over each of Mickey’s nipples making the brunette shudder deliciously as goosebumps scatter across his chest.

Ian slicks both their dicks with the rest and cups his hand around the hot, heavy weight of Mickey’s balls. The finger tips of his free hand pinch and lightly massage each of Mickey’s nipples in turn, eliciting sharp, keening breaths from delicately parted pink lips, bite indentations clear in the soft skin.

“You really are beautiful, Mickey. The most beautiful man …”

Ian glances up from Mickey’s chest to meet his eyes and nods as if agreeing with his own statement

“And you’re good. You’re so good. Don’t move.”

His voice is barely above a whisper but it roars in Mickey’s ears and he shivers, clenching his butt as Ian sinks to his knees and slides his hand between Mickey’s legs, slicking his inner thighs with a light films of lube as his fingers delve into the warm crevice of his ass, working him gently, almost reverently.

“Ian …”

Ian takes Mickey into his mouth and groans. He is meant to be the stoic Top but the taste of his lover is almost too much to bear. It is the same, the same heady scent, the same slightly sweet tang at the back of his throat as he relaxes his tongue and takes him deeper.

“Fuck! I missed you …”

Mickey rises onto his tiptoes as one finger becomes three and the walls of his body clench around the broad knuckles.

Ian stops when Mickey’s breathing begins to get ragged and stands, sliding himself up the length of Mickey’s body, pressing close.

“Get onto the bed.”

“Fuck that!”

Mickey scoffs and bites Ian’s lip lightly before dropping to his knees and sucking and biting his way up the long thighs. Ian tips his head back, gripping Mickey’s hair tightly. He’s getting carried away and needs to focus but Mickey has taken over and isn’t releasing him just yet. Ian can feel his orgasm building and makes an urgent noise, trying to pull his hips back but Mickey just grabs his ass and pulls him closer. Ian tries to resist but he wants it too badly and Mickey knows he does. Before he can help himself, Ian is fucking into Mickey’s mouth, his hips slamming forward over and over until stars explode behind his eyes.

“Jesus, Mickey.”

Ian shudders, his head tipped back

“That was amazing …”

“Yeah well you were bein’ a bossy prick.”

Mickey picks up the beads from the bed and drapes himself over the mattress. He is warmed up and eager now and knows what he wants.

“You remember what to do with these?”

“Yeah.”

Ian blinks trying to get his head on straight and Mickey smirks over his shoulder at him.

“The get the fuck on with it, Gallagher.”

Ian smooths his hand lightly up and down the length of Mickey’s back and around his hips to lightly rub his dick, gripping lightly as his fingertips trail over the fine dark hair at its base.

“I love you.”

“Fuck you, Gallagher”

“Seriously? You’re not gonna say it back?”

“No.”

“But … you do? Even though you won’t say it?”

The word ‘brat’ floats to Ian’s mind and he blushes slightly in the three heartbeats it takes for Mickey to answer.

“… Yes.”

Ian’s bated breath leaves him in a soft rush and he smiles  happily down at the back of Mickey’s resolutely turned head.

“Okay.”

*

Mickey collapses across the bed as the last bead leaves his body, the final shudders of his orgasm making the relaxed flesh of his thighs quiver.

Ian is stroking him, gentling him, his hands large and warm, making small circles between Mickey’s shoulder blades.

“You took that so well, you did really good, Mickey”

He murmurs and Mickey smiles drowsily,

“They make you do some motivational speaking course to get that EMT licence?”

“No, I just like telling you when you’re a good…”

“Finish that sentence with ‘boy’ and I’ll rip your tongue out.”

Mickey doesn’t open his eyes but his eyebrows twitch upwards and Ian hastily occupies his tongue while he still has it, laying down nose to nose with his lover and kissing him thoroughly. There was a time when he could say such things to Mickey and feel him swell with satisfaction but such liberties must be built back up from the ashes of their former romance and Ian knows it well.

“Mmm. You ready to get on me, Gallagher?”

Mickey cracks one eye and props himself up on one elbow.

“If that’s what you want?”

“Ain’t it what you want?”

Ian grins and ducks his head at the surprised look Mickey is giving him

“Yeah but you know … I’m meant to be making some stuff up to you …”

“Well you can get that fuckin’ idea out of your head right now. I’m pissed at you and I’m gonna be pissed at you no matter how well you fuck me.”

“Yeah but …”

“No buts. I don’t want you thinking this shit is some sort of trade off.”

“Okay,”

Ian nods a little abashed at the stern tone of Mickey’s voice. It is a new and slightly exciting thing for Ian, Mickey being stern with him and it quells any argument he might have tried to put forward to the contrary.

“Right. So with that very firmly in fuckin’ mind, what do you want? I can eat your ass, suck you off, gargle your balls, or just let you fuck me however you want it?”

Mickey lists the options on his fingers as casually as nice middle class ladies list of herbal tea options to house guests and Ian rolls onto his back, grinning broadly up at the ceiling.

“I missed you so much!”

Mickey gives him a slightly goofy grin back before rolling his lips inwards and resuming his neutral expression

“So? What’s your pleasure?

“I do wanna eat that ass but I think maybe … slow cowboy?”

Ian asks tentatively but Mickey simply nods and straddles Ian’s prone body, reaching for the roll of condoms.

“’iiight.”

For some reason that strangely drawn out, street slang way of saying ‘alright’ nearly makes Ian cry and he realises that out of all the people Ian knows, it is something that only Mickey really does and yet to Ian it has become synonymous with home. Like so many things that Mickey does.

Mickey makes Ian free in a way that he just isn’t with anyone else. He forces Ian to be himself and he seems to genuinely like who that person is. Mickey doesn’t make Ian filter himself, he never did.

There is a grunt of discomfort as Mickey takes a little too much of Ian in at once and Ian instinctively reaches around to gently massage the joining of their flesh. He does it almost without thought and then remembers the first time he did so.

It had been a lazy summer afternoon, they had both been almost too exhausted to go for another round, the air hot and humid in the quiet of Ian’s bedroom lolling them both toward sleep but Ian had cajoled him and they had ended up entwined once again, Ian on top, Mickey’s heel resting lightly on his shoulder. Mickey had been approaching climax, his eyes shut tight and teeth set firmly in his lip and Ian had reached between them on impulse to touch the taut joining, slick and warm between them. It was beyond intimate and Ian had half-expected a blow or a sharp word but his touch had elicited a response that neither boy had been prepared for. Mickey had opened his eyes and grabbed Ian’s forearm hard, staring at him with completely open adoration.

“I fucking love you.”

The words,, snatched from the humid air in the split second before Mickey’s orgasm, had formed one of the best memories of Ian Gallagehr’s life.

Now, in a room unfamiliar to both of them, blue eyes lock onto green and hold. Mickey is remembering it too and although Ian expects a gruff instruction to move, no such order comes. Mickey bites his lip and trails his fingers roughly through the smattering of red-gold curls on Ian’s chest. His hips find a rhythm and Ian curls upwards as the sensation becomes almost painfully good.

“Oh God … Mick … MICK!”

Ian tips his head back against the mattress, his free hand gripping the flesh of Mickey’s hip hard enough to leave deep red blotches on the pale skin.

“You’re mine, Gallagher.”

“I am…. I am …”

Ian pants, he would probably agree to anything but this statement is so patently true that it doesn’t even require consideration.

“Tell me what you want …”

“I … Shit … I …”

“Tell me, Ian…”

“Cum on me, please … just…”

Mickey strokes himself firmly and the sight of the word ‘FUCK’ pumping up and down, aiming over his chest is the final straw for Ian. He bucks and twists beneath Mickey who is prepared for the sharp movements and simply travels with him, gripping with his thighs.

“I fucking love you.”

Ian gasps and Mickey allows himself a small satisfied smirk, then, looking down at Ian who is desperately trying to get his breath back and streaked in the evidence of Mickey’s ardour, Mickey allows himself to surrender. It might fuck up, it probably will but what the Hell? It wouldn’t be the first time Gallagher ruined his resolve and God willing it won’t be the last.

“I love you too.”

*