#and Mickey doesn’t have enough either

[sometimes-i-write-good]

What if I heal my soul and continue writing top gun maverick fanfics

[ididdedurmom]

More evil head cannons

I have silly ideas about the gang after the event of the story, everyone lives, except Bob

PONY:

Has a thousand yard stare when he zones out

Has the loudest, most disgusting, mucus filled cough ever

Actually really good at drawing

Has drawn every member of the gang at least twice

Loves physical touch, he leans on his friends when their sitting next to him.

Actually screams during horror movies, like loud genuine screams

Loves play fighting with Darry, like full on wrestling

Steve taught him how to drive

He either walks like a ghost or stomps, there is no in between

He can play one song on the guitar, and that’s it

His legs are super strong, so his kicks hurt really bad

He would be better at track, but his smoking habits hold him back

He feels jealous of Soda and Darry because they had more time with their parents

He and Darry have matching reading glasses

SODA:

He says “I’m just a girl” anytime he gets in trouble

He has used his pretty privilege to get out of being arrested multiple times

Despite how handsome he knows he is, he still feels super insecure about his looks

He steals from the DX station constantly

He and Steve spend hours gossiping about their customers once both of their shifts are over

A dog bit him when he was a kid, now he’s deathly afraid of them

He loves physical affection, hugging him is the best way to cheer him up

Absolute candy addict

Candy is the #1 item he steals from the DX

He broke his dominant hand once, and now his handwriting is permanently ruined

He reads insanely slow and monotone when he reads out loud

He either sleeps like a rock, or wakes up from the slightest sound, there is no in between

He lives in his flannel, that thing hasn’t been washed in literal years

He suffers from middle child syndrome, he knows his brothers love him, but they don’t pay enough attention to him

DARRY:

He hates his jobs, he knows he has to go but he can’t stand them

All of his coworkers are old and they treat him like a child (which he’s kind of okay with in a way)

He loves watching cartoons but he feels like he’d be wasting his time

He sneezes like a dad

He wakes up at 4 am and works out immediately

Loves compliments and words of affection

Doing favors is his love language

He has the whitest legs ever, he’s all tan on the top and snow white on the bottom

His tan ends where his pants start

Small bits of his hair are grey, he doesn’t know

He has a fear of abandonment

He is insanely flexible for a man of his size, like he can touch the floor standing up with ease

He hit a dog with his car once and cried for 2 hours straight

He loves cuddling on the couch with his brothers, it helps him relax

He despises Curly Shepard, he’s civil with Tim, but he HATES Curly

When he comes home from his ski trips with his old friends, he actually looks his age

A woman once assumed he was Pony’s father, and it made him die inside a little

He can’t stand Mother and Fathers Day

He was mad at Steve when he found out he taught Pony how to drive

TWO-BIT:

He and Dally bond by harassing women

He has a box full of things he’s stolen

His slight alcoholism stems from his father

He let’s his sister paint his nails, and he shows them off proudly

He gets his nails painted before rumbles

He watches soap operas with his mother every night

He can play the trumpet

He has never purchased a pack of cigarettes, only stolen

He listens to metal

When he passes Johnny’s house, he has to actively stop himself from walking in and beating Johnny’s parents half to death, especially his father

Its not that he doesn’t want a job, I mean he doesn’t, it’s that he thinks he’d only mess up whenever they had him do

He constantly forgets to brush his teeth

Pop and beer are the only things he drinks, he doesn’t touch water

He religiously wears Mickey Mouse merch, you will never catch him in a plain shirt

Baby Pony and him got along really well, he was kinda like Pony’s goofy cousin

Two-Bit and Darry have been friends since they were little kids

Two has no plans for his future, and it weighs on him

He broke both of his elbows once

His teachers have kinda given up on him, they just treat him like a bother instead of a student

STEVE:

He messes up Pony’s hair every chance he gets

He uses the most hair grease out of everyone

He has had the same comb for 3 years

He constantly smells like oil

The underside of his nails are always black, no matter how much he washes his hands

He and Soda have matching scars from a shared failed attempt to climb a barb wired fence

He is terrified of the police

He and Soda make your mom jokes at each other, despite neither of them having mothers

His voice is scarily deep when he wakes up

He and Two-Bit have an inside joke no one in the gang understands

He, Soda, and Two-Bit all have matching stick and poke tattoos

He hates his father, and by extension the fathers of Johnny and Two-Bit

He and Dally don’t hang out much, but when they do they are absolute menaces

Dally and him steal cars and hub caps together

He is genuinely upset by the size of his nose

JOHNNY:

He’s dyslexic

His handwriting is atrocious

His best subject is math

He and the gang all picked out stickers to put on his crutches

He loves sleeping around his friends

His hands are rough

He can’t stand the smell of beer, unless it’s one of the gang

He and Curly hate each other for literally no reason

Pony has slowly been teaching him to read better

No matter how much grease he puts in his hair, it won’t stay back

He hates going out in public because people always look at him funny

He hates looking at his burn scars

He, Dally, and Ponyboy watch sunsets together

He either sleeps at the Cutis’s house, Two-Bit’s house, Steve’s (very rarely), or Dallas’s place.

He’s not allowed to sleep in the lot anymore

He has tons of freckles, you just can’t see them against his skin

He loves sleeping outside when he wants to

He never wants children, he’s to scared he’ll become his father

His pain tolerance is so high that sometimes he won’t even notice when he gets injured

He likes how defensive Dallas is of him, makes him feel confident

He smokes marijuana with Dally sometimes, he’s super anxious when they do though because he doesn’t want to get arrested

DALLY:

He will not talk about his feelings

The cops forced him to go to therapy, it didn’t fix anything

He is amazing at lying

The police know him by name

He hasn’t told the gang much about the past other than where he came from and that he doesn’t talk to his folks

Darry nicknamed him “Rat”

He actually feels bad when Darry yells at him

He gets sun burns very quickly

He has his own personal stench

He doesn’t want Johnny to end up like him

He cried for 3 hours straight when he found out Johnny was still alive, it is his most embarrassing moment

He chugs drinks insanely fast

He can’t read very well

He needs glasses but he thinks he’d look like a wimp if he had any

Even though he knows he could have an asthma attack from coughing to hard, he still doesn’t carry his inhaler

He was happy when he thought he was going to die

Then he woke up and had an epiphany about life, it didn’t do to much, but now he knows death isn’t the only option

He proudly shows off the burn marks on his arm

He loves pushing Johnny around in his wheelchair

He listens to outlaw music and Frank Sinatra

He loves horror movies

He toned down his bad behavior once he got out of the hospital, he’s still a dick though

That’s it or whatever. I hope you like them, I’m sorry if some of them don’t make sense. I’m just so silly. I apologize for my horrible grammar lol. Feel free to tell me some of your head cannons!! :D

[idk6123]

The Perfect Student & The Delinquent (Mickey Milkovich X Male Reader)

Mickey never have been one for doing homework, or just doing anything school related at all. Some people call him stupid because of that, but he just doesn’t care. He knows how to make money and that is enough for him. He’s done with school, but school isn’t done with him. And this is school we’re talking about; they’re going to bother him about it by shoving the responsibility to someone else.

That’s when Y/N appears, one of the best students in the school. Mickey knew him. He’s a quiet kid. He didn’t find him annoying enough to beat him up, or rich enough to steal from. Thus, they never interact. However, that all starts one day, when the school hold Y/N responsible for getting Mickey’s grade up. Feeling screwed, he’s going to help Mickey without having much motivation.

“How the fuck should I suppose to know how algebra works!?”

“Maybe you know when you come to fucking class!”

“Maybe if you cut some class, you realize that’s the best way to not get your ass kicked!”

That’s when Y/N hold Mickey in a position that the punk can’t counterattack. Feeling his face against the floor, he looks at the side of eyes and look up to see Y/N, sitting on his body.

“You look like you want to fuck me.”

“Yeah, fuck you over if you don’t shut the fuck up and do your homework.”

To be honest, Mickey is quite surprised that Y/N isn’t the quiet kid he expected him to be. He thought the top student was some shy, timid guy that only wants to do homework, not a martial artist that has no time for bullshit.

“So, you want to lie down while I’m on top off you, or do you want to do something useful?”

Mickey scoffs. “Fine. Get your fat ass off me.”

“At least I got a nice ass.”

They sit down again at the couch and recontinue Mickey’s homework. As Y/N guides him, he notices how much Mickey is struggling with math, causing some frustration. Even after math, Mickey is struggling with almost every subject. English, chemistry, biology, you name it. Y/N bets the only class he can do is PE.

As Mickey continues to struggle on the task, Y/N can tell he’s going to burst out in anger anytime soon. “Let’s take a break.” Mickey looks back, staying quiet. “Got somethin’ to drink?”

“Beer is in the fridge.” Mickey answers. Y/N stands up and heads to the kitchen. “Grab one for me.”

Y/N does that, bringing back two beers. He hands one over to Mickey. After they pop off the caps, they both take a sip at the same time.

“Are you some masochist for doing this shit?”

“Nope. Just someone who hopes for a big job and get rich.” Y/N responds. “Get in a good college first though. You?”

“I just steal the money. We should stay in contact, just in case you get rich.”

Y/N chuckles. “Any chance you get any money from me if you’re either my husband or my sugar baby.”

“That’s a hard pass.”

For the rest of the day, after having their break, Y/N helped Mickey, tutoring him in about every subject. That being said, it doesn’t look bright.

-

It’s another day where Y/N helps Mickey. The straight A student made sure to reflect why Mickey isn’t doing well, not wanting to write it off with him just being dumb. Thus, after changing the homework just a bit, he manages to do something that may help Mickey.

“’In a week, your crew makes these many drug deals: 7, 5, 8, 6, 9, 4, 10. What's the median number of deals?’” This is the first question Mickey read, only thinking what happened to his homework. “What the hell is this?”

“I’m helping you. Now you can use math in your future business.” Y/N responds. “Now, try to figure it out.”

Mickey then looks back at the paper. For whatever reason, he appears he knows what he’s actually doing. He doesn’t look confused, instead he looks focused. “7 deals.”

“Right!” Y/N is happy Mickey finally got something right. “Now to the next.”

“’You got two weapons suppliers. One brings you 2x units and the other brings 3x units. If x is 5, how many total units you got?’” Mickey looks back at his tutor. “25 units.”

“Holy-” Y/N is surprised how well things are going. “Write down the solution.” Without any fuss, Mickey writes down the solution. Afterwards, he gives the paper back at Y/N. “Correct.”

Mickey smirks, grabbing the paper back. “And here people thought I was some dumbass.”

“Well, you proved them wrong.”

-

Now that every question is changed into a language into something Mickey comprehends, the speed of doing his homework changed from an entire day into 2 hours, with most of the time the questions correctly answered.

“’If you take a hit and your arm’s bleeding, which system in your body rushes to patch up the hole?’ The circulatory system.”

“’You got a new batch of goods, and you see the demand go up. If you usually move 50 units at $20 each, but now you can push 70 units at the same price, what’s the total revenue now?’ $1400.”

“If you're 'running' from the police, how do you say, 'we run' in Spanish?”

"Nosotros corremos"

Times passes quickly as Mickey completes his homework. After doing so, Y/N is wondering what kind of grade he gets. And it turns out he managed to get a…

“B+!”

Mickey looks surprised. “In total?”

“Yeah.” Y/N looks happy for his classmate. “You did great. Now you have to rely on regular questions, or you have to use your fantasy to turn it in something fun.”

“Do the second one.” Mickey answers. “To be honest, I’m surprised school can help me in my future.”

“The future full of crime.”

“Yep, and I give all the credit to you, not those assholes.” Mickey refers to the teachers without shame.

Y/N smirks. “They really are assholes. They black mailed me to tutor you, y’know?”

“They did?” Mickey is surprised, thinking it’s ridiculous. “Fucking bastards…” He then thought of something. “We should get revenge.”

“Whaddaya mean? You talking about a school shootin’ or somethin’?”

“No, just destroying the principal’s office. And for good sake, his car.”

Y/N thought about it, not declining the idea at first, causing Mickey to smile with glee. Feeling like he wants to bite back, the usually good student caves in. “Only after you ace your tests.”

Mickey offers a fist-Bumb, which Y/N accepts. “Deal.”

-

Y/N awaits outside of the classroom, wanting to see Mickey after finishing his last test. As Y/N daydream off, his eyes suddenly went wide awake when Mickey gets out of the classroom with a smirk on his face.

“And?”

“Not a problem.”

“Nice.” Y/N offers a high-five, which Mickey accepts.

“Now it’s for me to help your ass.” Mickey gestures his friend to follow him. They get to his locker, where Y/N sees multiple tools of destructions in the locker. “You’re backing down?”

Y/N grabs a hammer, checking it out. “Nah, they need to learn to not mess with me.”

Mickey looks proud. “Glad you’re not a pussy.”

After gathering their equipment, they get to the principal office. They see it’s empty, though locked. Using his lock-picks, Mickey opens the door, causing them to get access in the office. They look around, with Mickey looking back at his new delinquent friend.

“Want to do the first honour?”

Y/N holds the hammer tighter, with his eyes locking on the pc. With a heavy slam, the computer receives a massive hole, following up with another slam and another one. That’s when Y/N grabs what remained and throws it aside to stomp on it.

“There you go!” Mickey looks excited. He then gets to the desk, where he takes out all of the drawers to throw it away. “Let’s go wild!”

Chaos enfolds the entire room, as the two delinquents destroy the entire office. The shelves broken on the floor. All the files ruined and ripped apart. The chair being thorn into two. They even tagged the wall with a penis.

“You have a talent for making very gorgeous dicks.”

Mickey chuckles. “Naturally born talent.” He looks back at his friend. “And now we have made our territory.”

“Like a dog?”

“Yep.” Mickey hands move to his pants to unbuckle. He notices Y/N just standing. “You’re not joining?”

“I just think we should aim higher.”

“Like a shit?”

“No.” Y/N looks back at the desk. “Think anyone ever cummed on the desk?”

Mickey stops what he’s doing and looks back. “You want to fuck on the desk?”

“I don’t mean together.” Y/N clarifies himself, thinking Mickey is straight. “We could have turns jerking off.”

Mickey then just smirks. “Not the best time wise. It’s better we do it at once.”

“Huh?”

That’s when Mickey gets to Y/N to ambush him with a kiss, though surprised for a second, he quickly kisses back. The two guys quickly move to the table, where both guys begin undressing each other to take the ultimate insult.

-

“I think we’ve done enough orgies.”

“When is enough enough?” Mickey responds back.

They just stole the principle’s car and park it somewhere isolated, where Y/N and Mickey send another message from inside the car, multiple times.

Both guys are sitting in the front seat, where they chat as they’re covered in each other’s clothing.

“Well, I’m tired.”

“Of sex?”

“Yeah, l like it more dispersed.” Y/N grabs his boxers and put them on. “You’re one freaky shit to be able to have sex so many rounds.”

“Thanks.” Mickey merely responds. “There is more where that came from.”

Y/N hums. He grabs his t-shirt to put it on. As he does, he looks back at the guy next to him. “You’re staying naked?”

“I’m still up for one more round.”

“You really are a degenerate.” Y/N chuckles. “Well, the longer we stay here, the quicker the principle notices his car gone missing and the cops to find us.”

Mickey hums and think about it. “Right, I can’t really afford that.” That’s when he starts dressing up too.

“We can always do it another time.”

Mickey looks back to see a smirking man, giving him a smirk back. “I like the sound of that.”

-

“Got a B for math.” Mickey announces when Y/N walked in his house.

“Nice going.” Y/N looks proud. “And nice for me for being such a good and perfect teacher.”

“I wanna make a remark but consider the rest of my grades are all great, I let it pass.” Mickey goes to the fridge to grab a beer for him and Y/N. “Did you hear about principle shitface?”

Y/N smirks. “What about him?”

Mickey goes back to Y/N to hand over a beer. “Wasn’t too fond to discover cum on his desk, as well in his car.”

“Nice.” Y/N laughs. He put up his beer. “Fuck the principle!”

“Fuck the principle!”

Mickey and Y/N both cheer, celebrating their victorious, whether it’s from Mickey getting good grades, or Y/N standing up for himself, or their new find friendship that will turn into something more.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; "the one where Clark is trans and Kon is not". tw: internalized not-technically-transphobia-but-it-kinda-reads-that-way. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The team’s meeting up this weekend and Kon didn’t have anything else to do before said meet-up, so she’s at Mount Justice earlier than everybody else and trying to be, like–trying to be a boy about it. Like, just–however she’s supposed to do that. 

However he’s supposed to–supposed to– 

She goes to the training room and punches the reinforced heavy bag ‘til it splits. 

That’s what a boy would do, right? If a real guy were upset, or frustrated, or–whatever, he’d go take it out on a punching bag or something like that. 

Except a real guy wouldn’t be upset about this, because this wouldn’t be happening to a real guy. 

Part of Kon thinks she’d probably do that kind of shit anyway–punching out her problems and whatever instead of talking to somebody about ‘em or anthing like that–but would she? Like, for real? Would she really do that, if everyone didn’t think–if everyone hadn’t always thought– 

Everyone calls her a boy. Everyone’s always called her that. Cadmus was trying to make a man when they programmed all her mental uploads and education and Serling talked about cooking up hybrid-effective hormones for her and Mickey told her they could work out the surgeries for her when she was old enough–even if she wasn’t still working there, even–and–and– 

Kon’s not a boy. She’s not. 

But she’s not Supergirl either. 

And she’s never gonna get to be. 

Kon leaves the split-open and wrecked heavy bag hanging there leaking ball bearings and sand and leaves the training room without bothering with hitting the locker room, wishing she could just strip off the binder she isn’t supposed to wear when she works out anyway and ditch the packer and the Superboy suit and–and she doesn’t know, exactly. Maybe grow out her hair, or just cut it different. Get a fucking pixie cut, for all she cares. Try out–try some things. Paint her nails, or buy some eyeliner or lipstick, or just . . . whatever. Wear something different. 

She could pierce her other ear, maybe. She could get a different costume. She could . . . she could just . . . 

She couldn’t do any of that. She can’t do any of that. Kara gets to wear a skirt and have long pretty hair and be–and Match just could if he wanted to, because it wouldn’t matter because why the fuck would anyone at the Agenda care as long as he kept being an asshole for them when they told him to, but she–she– 

How even would she, when– 

Kon crashes on the couch and turns on the TV and puts on Wendy the Werewolf Stalker for all of four seconds before Wendy pops up on-screen in a cute little crop top and ruffled skirt like Kon could never, ever wear and it takes literally all of her self-control to not dissemble the remote. Or the TV. 

Or the base. 

She turns off the TV, buries the remote in the couch, and storms off to the kitchen to, like–get a fucking snack or something, she doesn’t know. The others are gonna be here soon, it’s gotta look like–like a boy was here. So like–breaking the heavy bag and leaving a mess and vegging out in front of the TV and raiding the pantry and–and shit like that. That’s what a boy would do, right? Take over the space, take up space, be–be–

Just be one, Kon guesses. 

But she’s not, so she just has to do what she thinks other people would expect her to and hope she’s getting it right. 

She digs through the pantry and gets out, like–the greasy, salty snacks, and leaves the sweet ones behind. Doesn’t go for any of the chocolate or the candy or–just, just what a boy would eat, would like, would– 

This is so stupid. She’s so stupid. She–she knows it’s not just–just stupid shit like if she eats fucking chocolate instead of chips or pretzels. She knows it’s not just if she flirts up other girls or takes up space or makes a mess or if she’s loud enough. 

If she was actually a boy, she’d just be a boy, no matter what. 

But she’s not. 

Kon rips open a bag of pork rinds, eats exactly two, and then just spits them out in the trash and leaves the whole messy pile of snacks on the counter and stalks off again, her hands jammed down hard in her jacket pockets and shoulders hunched up and glasses shoved up tight on her face. She just–she just wants to go. She wants to leave. 

She wants to be like she’s supposed to be.

[twinklyylights]

The trailer for a new romance movie is what sparks the thought in Mickey. He nudges Ian’s elbow with his own and looks over to him. He finds his husband to be lost in thought, intensely focused on the screen of his cell phone rather than the television screen in front of them. 

“Hey, where’s the DVD of our wedding video?” He asks.

Ian doesn’t bother to look up from the article he’s reading. Too many of the symptoms in front of him feel familiar.

“In the safe,” he mumbles, distracted. Silently panicked.

Mickey nods. Ian doesn’t sound like he’s in the mood to reminisce, so he doesn’t bother trying to push the conversation any further. 

Ian reads for a few more minutes without a word, but he eventually becomes overwhelmed by what he knows is coming for him. He locks his phone with a sigh, and sets it down on the coffee table, screen side down.

Mickey watches his movements carefully. He does his best to keep his face neutral, but he can’t help but grin when Ian moves to lay across his lap. 

Mickey gladly accepts the gesture. His palm is warm when it goes to rest against Ian’s cheek.

“Hi, handsome,” he murmurs.

Ian closes his eyes. He bathes in the comfort that he only can find in Mickey.

“Hi,” he supplies back through a yawn.

“Tired?”

Ian hums.

“Something like that.”

And he swears he can feel Mickey’s body go stiff.

“You feeling okay?”

Ian waits to answer that. The answer isn’t one he has to think on, but sharing it out loud makes it real.  

“No,” he admits after a beat.

He doesn’t explain it in any more words than that, but Mickey doesn’t need him to.

“Anything I can do?”

Ian opens his eyes then. His solemn ones meet Mickey’s worried two.

“Don’t think so.”

Mickey nods. He forces himself to give Ian a soft smile.

“I’m here,” he promises. “You’ll make it to the other side.”

Ian latches on to that sentiment for the next few days.

Laid on Mickey’s side of the bed, his husband’s words repeat on a loop. And even though he can’t quite see the other side, he trusts Mickey’s assurance that it’s waiting for him, simply because the words have come from Mickey’s lips.

Those same lips spend the week between Mickey’s teeth. Chapped and gnawed at despite Mickey’s best efforts to maintain some sense of normalcy in his day.

This isn’t new for either of them. But, it weighs heavier on his heart than usual.

Ian’s sadness feels like his own.

He barely finishes his bowl of cereal before abandoning it to the sink.

Breakfast together is usually a morning must have. The meal without Ian feels pointless.

He tries to keep himself busy in the living room of the apartment. He goes back and forth between the coach, the balcony and back to the couch again. Without ever accomplishing anything after he reaches his destination.

Laid across the couch he pulls out his phone and unlocks it with a sad smile.

The selfie that’s set as his lockscreen is from one of their first nights married.

It’s a mirror selfie, taken in the upstairs bathroom of the Gallagher house.

Ian has one arm wrapped around Mickey’s waist, pulling him close. His left hand is raised high to flash his ring in the mirror.

Mickey had laughed at him at first, but had quickly matched his move and thrown his left hand up at the mirror, too.

His phone covered his wide smile as he took the picture, but Ian’s smile was bright enough for the both of them.

His next few minutes are spent replying to missed texts. His replies are vague, but he figures they should suffice.

After a while, he dozes off on the couch. It’s a light sleep, but Ian still nestles himself into Mickey unconscious.

He wakes up with an ache in chest that only Ian’s presence can soothe.

Quietly, he tip toes his way to their shared bedroom.

The door is cracked, so he can see that Ian’s on his side of the bed. He’s curled up, bundled in their comforter.

Even though Ian’s eyes are closed, Mickey still whispers to him from the door frame.

“You sleeping?”

Ian opens his eyes immediately.

“No.”

A silence falls between them then. Mickey kinda stares off for a moment, taking in the room around Ian, and then letting his eyes fall back on his husband.

“Need anything?”

“You.”

And well, Mickey wasn’t expecting him to say that.

He comes over to Ian’s side of the bed then and lays down. His movements are awkward and he’s a bit stiff as he lays on his back, but he figures Ian can’t see him to question why he feels so weird in his own bed.

They’re both silent for a beat. Mickey’s the one to bring words back into the room.

“I hate seeing you like this,” He says quietly.

And maybe it’s not the perfect thing to say, but it’s the truth.

Because, it sucks seeing Ian suffer like this. It sucks knowing that Ian will have to deal with this forever.

There’s a helplessness that comes with it all, that, even after all these years, Mickey still doesn’t know how to manage.

How is it that his husband can be going through so much, yet he can’t do anything about it?

Ian makes a noise then. It sounds suspiciously close to a laugh.

Mickey side eyes him.

“You wanna trade brains with me?” Ian deadpans.

Mickey shrugs.

“Sure, why not?”

Ian smiles into the pillow even though Mickey can’t see it.

‘If I had yours, I’d probably bring us both something to eat,” He suggests.

Mickey snorts.

“Oh yeah? What would you bring?”

“Oreos.”

Mickey nods. Okay. Oreos. Oreos are easy. He can do Oreos.

He gets off the bed then and makes his way to the kitchen. He grabs the half-eaten pack of double stuffed cookies and then comes back to the bedroom.

His cheeks lift into a smile when he sees that Ian’s flipped over and is sitting upright in the bed.

His shoulders relax as he comes more into the room.

“My side really that comfy?”

Ian nods, he reaches his arms out to gesture toward the package of cookies. Mickey picks up his pace. He kisses Ian’s forehead as he passes over the snack.

“You don’t even know how much.”

He offers a cookie to Mickey then, and Mickey accepts it.

He didn’t even realize he was hungry.

They eat their cookies in a comfortable silence after that. Once the package is empty, Mickey throws it toward the trashcan.

“Anything else you’d do if you had my brain?”

“Yeah. I’d get out our wedding video.”

He gives Mickey a look.

“I heard you. I think we both could use it right now.”

And with that they both find themselves under the comforter with their laptop between them.

It’s the first time in a while that Ian’s felt like being this close. He kisses Mickey’s cheek before pressing play on the video they’ve both rewatched dozens of times.   

“We did good,” Ian murmurs as the camera pans over the reception hall. “You did good.”

“I used to dream about that shit, man.”

Ian eyes cut over to him then.

“Yeah?”

Mickey’s eyes say it all.

“Yeah,” He promises.

The video cuts after a few more minutes. Anyone else would think it was over, but they both know what’s coming.

Mickey huffs out a breathy laugh. He can already feel himself getting emotional.

Debbie had given them the idea that they should leave video notes for each other before the wedding.

“A last conversation as fiancées!” she had explained it as.

They both didn’t need much convincing.

The next clip is of Ian sitting on the bed in his wedding suit. Off camera, Lip gives him a signal, and he begins to speak after a pause.

“Hey Mick,” he starts, “It’s me, Ian.” He visibly cringes. “You already knew that. Anyway, my watch says its 4:05, so we’re about 2 hours away from being husbands.” On camera he blows out a shaky breath.

“You were so fucking nervous,” Mickey says with a shake of his head.

Ian doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge the comment. He lets it hang in the air as they watch Ian’s confessional.

And even though Mickeys lives in Ian’s love every day, it still brings a tear to his eye as he listens to the man speak so certainly about it.

“…I’m sure about us. I’m sure about, you, Mick,” Ian continues on the screen, “Is it selfish to think you were made to my husband?

Ian turns his head at the sound of a sniffle. His face falls when he sees that Mickey is teary.

“Mick?”

“You still feel like that? Like I was made for this?”.

Ian pauses the video. He closes his laptop and turns so that he’s on his side and facing Mickey.

“’Course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

He reaches up then, and wipes a tear from Mickey’s cheek. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Don’t know why I’m fucking crying about it.” He tries to dismiss.

Ian shakes his head. His hand starts to rub against Mickey’s stomach as he finds the words he knows Mickey needs to hear.

“You know, nobody else would be able to magically make me feel better if you weren’t here. No one in the entire world.”

And sure, the larger, more logical part of Mickey’s brain knew that. But a smaller, more nagging side, needed the reminder.  

“I know that. Fucking sucks that I can’t, though.”

Ian leans over and wipes a fallen tear from Mickey’s cheek.

“What would the meds be for then?” he jokes, before kissing the side of Mickey’s face. He lays himself on Mickey’s shoulder.

“If somebody else could, I wouldn’t even want them, Mick. I want you. I need you.”

“I can’t be that fucking great.”

Ian shakes his head. He’s never heard something so untrue.

“You are. And you’re made just. for. me.”

[em-harlsnow]

He’s got Joey on the phone in one ear, telling him they need him and whoever he can bring now, while he’s trying to shove on his hoodie and shoes on the same time.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get Mickey, think he’s free.”

“‘Kay, come quick.”

“Yeah, you just fuckin’ said.”

Iggy hangs up, shoving the flip phone into the pocket of his jeans and zipping up the hoodie. His struggles with his shoes for a few minutes longer, getting frustrated and nearly tripping. Eventually, though he’s ready to go and he’s already managed to stumble halfway to what is now Mickey’s room.

He bangs on it with his fist, rapping twice on the wood. Iggy’s learnt his lesson from last time.

“Yeah?” Ian’s voice sounds through the thin door.

Iggy didn’t want Ian, he wanted Mickey… but maybe Ian could work. Surely even a Gallagher can cope with a little drug run. Mickey won’t mind, if anything he’d be happy. Iggy guesses he would be, anyway, since doing drug runs is basically a Milkovich right of passage. If Ian wants to be a part of their family, he’s going to have to do at least one. He needs to get on with it, too, if he wants Iggy’s respect.

Cautiously, because he’s still scarred, Iggy swings the door open by a foot to poke his head in the door.

He opens his mouth to ask Ian where Mickey is, and if he would like to come on the run instead, but he’s interrupted by the sight of his brother sleeping soundly beside Ian. They’re not exactly cuddled up or any gay shit like that, but what Iggy sees is enough to startle. His brother - Mr. I’ll Kill You If You Touch Me - has a firm grip on Ian’s arm, like Ian’s a balloon that could float away into space. Iggy’s never seen him touch anyone willingly. He’s disgusted if Iggy so much as brushes past him too closely, yet now he’s holding onto Ian like he’d be upset if he wasn’t touching him.

Iggy hones in on the contact, unable to take his eyes off of the place where Mickey’s tattooed hand is clasping Ian’s arm. He can see silver scars shining in the light from the window, circular scars on Mickey’s hand. Iggy remembers when he got them. He’s got a matching set. They feel more like matching sibling tattoos than the knuckle tats.

It’s because of those scars, the story behind them, that Iggy hates people smoking around him. More specifically, waving lit cigarettes or joints around that are clasped between loose fingers. Smoking is one thing. Iggy has more tobacco and weed in his lungs than oxygen. It’s when people aren’t careful - and most people aren’t - that stresses Iggy out. He doesn’t like it. Mickey doesn’t like it either.

Ian’s smoking. Iggy doesn’t think he’ll drop the cigarette, but he’s not being careful. He’s smoking the way most people do; casually. If Iggy were as close to Ian as Mickey is, he’d be stressed. Mickey’s not stressed. Mickey’s sleeping. Mickey’s trusting him. Mickey isn’t worried about getting burnt by the cigarette in his hand. Mickey hardly trusts his own hands not to fuck him over, never mind another person.

Iggy can’t stop thinking about Mickey’s hand on Ian’s bicep, his restful, calm face and Ian’s cigarette.

“What?” Ian prods, reminding him of his rush.

“Uh-“ Iggy stutters, looking between Ian’s expecting face and Mickey’s comfortable sleep. “Yeah. I’m goin’ on a run with Joey. You up for it?” He won’t wake Mickey up. Not because he looks happy or anything, Iggy isn’t a pussy, but because Mickey’s an asshole when he’s woken up.

read the rest on ao3!!

i hope you enjoy!!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"The Best Gift He Can Give." Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader.

Okay, so the amazing and fantastic @mrsaltieri-real had a birthday a while ago, and I wrote this as a gift. I edited it to make it reader insert friendly and now I am sharing it with all of you! I hope you all enjoy it.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.4K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Your Boyfriend David Fucking Sucks. Your Boyfriend Cheats On You. Apologies To Dudes Named David Who Don't Suck. Stalking. Breaking And Entering. Murder. Blood. Gore. Violence. Making Out. Grinding. Vaginal Fingering. Eating Out. Eating Ass. Hair Pulling. Spanking. Praise. Degredation. Rimming. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Confessions Of Feelings.

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There are people in this world who do not deserve anything. They don’t deserve kindness, or understanding, they don’t deserve friends, they don’t even deserve to breathe. One such asshole was your boyfriend, David. You don’t even know why he is your boyfriend, honestly you’ve had friends ask, and you are never sure much what to say. He treats you terribly, he is mean to you, rude, constantly picks fights, and it isn’t like you can say, “Well at least the sex is good-”

Because it is very much not. You’d been together for four years, and it had never been good.

Mickey didn’t know about that, though. All he knew to start is that you were cute, and he liked how you looked, the rest started to become revealed to him through watching you over time. He remembers the first afternoon he started to pick up on that very clearly. He was in the library, one table over, trying to do some actual work, sure he wasn’t paying for his degree, but he couldn’t exactly flunk out either, and he overheard an interaction, “Do you have to turn your pages so loud?”

Your head snaps up, looking over to him, Mickey’s own eyes flick up, but his head doesn’t raise, brows furrow in question mirroring yours as you ask, “Excuse me?”

“You are turning the pages of your book really loudly-” He drew out your name, focused on it, and that made your expression turn from somewhat annoyed confusion to outright disgust, a roll of your eyes. “Fuck off David.” 

His tone made Mickey’s skin crawl, “Sooo mature, this is a library, can’t you keep it down and show some class?” 

Mickey had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping, who the fuck was this guy, and why was he so comfortable talking to you like that? He thought boyfriends were supposed to be fucking nice to their girlfriends, and here he was treating you like he hated you, as if you were shit on the bottom of his shoe.

That was not the only time he saw you being treated so shamefully by David, either. Seems whenever he overheard, walked by, you were being talked down to by him or already mid-fight. 

Worse still he would complain about what you wore deriding any skin you wanted to show, and what you were into, he’d overheard him belittling your love of movies too. “How the fuck can you do that shit?”

“Do what shit, David?” You sighed, and he asked, “What the same fucking movies over and over, don’t you ever get bored?”

Your reply comes out almost bored, edging on annoyed, “Those same movies over and over are definitely more interesting than talking to you so-” 

“Woooow, is that any way to talk to me?” He’d ask, and Mickey would think to himself that you should treat him a Hell of a lot worse for how he acts.

You and Mickey had been friends in secret for a while, it had been a very quiet affair, mostly because David would be threatened and jealous, something that bugged Mickey, but he was just glad for the time spent with you and to get to know you. Small moments carved out whenever that prick wasn’t around became absurdly meaningful. 

One day he found you alone on a park bench on campus and seemingly very upset, he couldn’t leave you like that, your boyfriend isn’t around and so he comes forward until he is close enough to ask, “Hey uh, you good?”

Head raises, and you sniff, hands rushing to wipe at your nose and mouth, you nod shakily, mouth dry as you say, “Yeah, totally, so, so good.” 

He lets himself smile this kind of sad smile as he sits down beside you, humming out, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Leave it alone.” You sigh, and he presses, “No way, there has to be a reason you’re this upset and I wanna know.” 

You slump back further into the bench, averting your gaze as you confess, “You caught me, M’ not good at all. I just found out that my boyfriend fucking cheated on me.” 

Immediate anger flares as does genuine concern for you, both emotions taking hold makes his eyebrows raise and his hand reach out to touch your elbow, your attention snaps back to him. Your eyes meet, and he says, “You can talk to me.”

“What is there to talk about?” It’s said very quietly, and his grip on you tightens by a fraction as he encourages, “Plenty. It isn’t healthy to keep this shit bottled up, what he did was fucked, talk to me about it.” 

You haven’t opened up in such a long time but right now, something in his eyes beckons you and the urge overtakes, you feel safe and think, maybe you should open up. Your stomach is churning, and you think, what harm could it do? You start to tell him, a verbal torrent that once it began it was impossible to stop, as you vent about David and the series of horrible things he had put you through in your relationship. He listens, and only when you stop for breath does he say, “You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you could do so much better than an asshole like him.”

A small shrug as you brush him off, “It’s easier to stay in this relationship because it’s all I’ve ever known. Even if I broke things off with him, he’d never really let me go.”

“What do you mean he wouldn’t let you go?” His question isn’t entirely unexpected, but you still struggle for a moment to respond, “I dunno, I just…I know he would put up a massive fight, and I couldn’t ever just make a clean break. He wouldn’t let that happen.” 

He licks his lips tentatively, an almost nervous action, “He…He doesn’t own you. Hon, you know that, right?”

You looked over at Mickey and said quietly, unconvincingly, “I know that.” 

He wasn’t sold. He hated the look in your eyes right now. Not only that, but he tried to break the tension and asked, “Is the sex that good or-?”

You laughed, head tipping back, genuine smile crossing your face, you shake your head as you catch your breath and tell him, “God no, it’s terrible! So vanilla, nothing but missionary, he never even eats me out.” You exhale and expound further, “He expects me to blow him too.” 

“Fuck off no way.” His reaction pulled another laugh out of you, and he insists, “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” You sighed. He speaks with conviction, anger but not at you, never at you, more frustration at your situation and how you seemingly have just accepted it. “Why the fuck do you put up with this asshole? Seems like you are doing all the giving with no take.” 

A shrug as you tell him, refusing to look at him any longer, “I’ve grown used to it, it’s been just so long of the same thing, you know?” 

That was fucking bullshit. Sunk cost fallacy much? Clearly you were never going to get out from under this jerk’s thumb on your own, so he was going to do something about this. It would take some work, but you were more than worth it. He started to stalk him, determined to get real dirt on him, he learns his routine and becomes far too acquainted with even the most basic and mundane things about your boyfriend. 

It doesn’t take him long, around a month in is when Mickey catches David in the act of cheating, he was fucking some girl from his film class. 

It was infuriating! Here he has you, a total fucking catch, and he doesn’t appreciate you, mistreats you, and cheats on you on top of all that. What a complete piece of fucking trash. 

He has every intention of telling you when he has the adequate proof-

Wait.

What if he tells you and you still stay? You seemed so downtrodden, what if not even this is enough to convince you to leave? Fuck, that would be terrible, but he couldn’t let that hold him back. 

He just needed to stay on task, stay focused, and this could work out. He clung closer, tried to be around you more and provide more support, but that, as it turns out, only made it harder. Having to be confronted so frequently with the damage he was doing to you, how sad you were, it made him hurt in kind. He really fucking cared about you.

On top of all of this, his presence is apparently putting more pressure on your relationship. He comes across you and David having a loud and public altercation a few days later, as he gets closer he realizes it is about him. 

“You can’t tell me what to do!” You insist, and David bites back, “Oh, can’t I?”

“No! You can’t! What is the problem anyway?” You try to implore, and he isn’t having it, “I don’t like him! No, scratch that, I fucking hate him. You shouldn’t be talking to any guy, I don’t want you to even look in his direction-”

“You are so ridiculous-” 

He can’t stay. He can’t listen to this. Furthermore, he can’t stand idly by any longer. He is going to do something about this. 

Breaking into David’s place was easy, taking his time is what was difficult. He eases into his bedroom, costume on, knife already in his hand, and comes up to the bed. You were back at your own place, far away and hopefully peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of just what he was about to do for you, of the devotion he has and was about to display. 

He wanted to spit in the fucker’s face for what he did to you, more than that he wanted to main and mutilate him, wanted to inflict as much physical pain onto him as he inflicted mental pain onto you. He reached down, he ripped the blanket back, and with one smooth motion he stabbed the sharp blade into David’s stomach. 

The reaction was immediate, his eyes snapping open, mouth open in a soundless scream as it seems all the air leaves him, hands flying to his stomach trying to clutch at the blade but stopping short, afraid to touch the intrusion. He ripped the knife out and then stabbed it back in, immediately. He twists, David inhaled as much as he could but then breathed out, hiccuping on the air, it becomes a complete bloodbath. Mickey cuts, he stabs, he hurts him as he can’t hold back, and David chokes out, “Why?”

Mickey laughs, this cold and calculating kind of laugh before he takes the mask off, and then he starts to talk, “You are a pathetic excuse for a man, a worthless piece of trash-” 

The knife is ripped out and brought back down harder than before, the steel scrapes bone, and he sobs, “-you don’t deserve someone like her, you know that, right? You’ve been mistreating her for way too long.”

The metal wrenched free and then drove deeply inward again, the next sound of pain is a short gasp, Mickey tells him further, “That is why I am doing this, I am going to step in and take over.” 

David looked so pitiful, tears down his cheek, bloodstained and movements slowing, weakening. Mickey leaned down and told him lowly,“I’m going to make her feel so, SO much better than you ever did.” 

He is unrecognizable. Organs are laying all around him, cuts on his face making it, so his identity is basically gone, partially skinned in places. He wished he could have taken the time to skin him alive, fillet him like a fucking fish, but even that would be too good for him. He is sure that he has drained him of about half of his blood, the mattress is soaked, heavy and thick, there is a squelching sound when Mickey gets off the bed. The blood has soaked through the robe, it is staining his shirt and jeans he is positive of it, the handle of the knife is slick, he can feel coagulated blood that has gathered between his fingers, the clots are slippery and almost black.

There is one place he wants to be and it’s with you.

He goes to your place. 

It is obscenely late when you open the door, you are in your pyjamas, you look fucking gorgeous to him. 

“Mickey?” You rub over your eyes, suppressing a yawn, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

He pushes past you, comes inside as he starts to talk, “I had to come see you, I just did something amazing tonight-”

You close the door, he is talking quickly, a mile a minute, excited, manic. “I was thinking about what told me about David and I just got so fucking inspired, you know? So I decided I just had to do it, so I did but, darling, you need to tell me, what else didn’t he do for you?”

“What he didn’t do?” You repeat, softer, confused, and he nods, brows raised and eyes alight, mischievous, “Yes, tell me all the things he doesn’t do for you.”

It is then that you take him in awake enough to register, and notice what he is wearing. A black robe, almost plastered to his body, your eyes flit downwards, and you see that it’s shiny in a particular way that tattles on it being wet, but wet with what? Eyes catch red droplets on the ground coming off of the frayed edged of the black fabric, your gaze shoots back up. You smell the iron, and you see the small flecks of red on his face, and so the question tumbles out, “What is with the robe and is that fucking blood?”

This half smile on his face and a cock of his head as he tells you as if it couldn’t be more obvious, “I just killed David. For you sweetheart.”

You don’t feel angry or upset, to your complete surprise, you feel an insane and immense sense of relief that David is gone. You no longer have to put up with him. 

A sharp inhale as the feeling sinks in, you let it wash over you, not fighting it, letting it soak into your bones. Another question spills out as you ask, “What did you do to him?”

His grin is so wide you worry it hurts his face. 

“I snuck into his apartment, broke in with no issue, I crept into his bedroom and I stabbed a knife-” He brought one foot up, boot rested on the chair at your desk, hauling up the robe, careful not to get blood on more than he had already his hand grasps the hand of the knife. He unsheathes it from the holster that was strapped to his leg, his foot comes back down, he is holding the knife up, you can see the dried blood all over the blade and his hand, he continues to expound, “-this knife, into his stomach.”

He mimics the motion, smile still pulling his features tight, “He gasped and struggled, it was pathetic. I ran him through over and over, the sound was wet, the blood gushed.” 

A sigh crosses his lips, he is looking down at the blade, turning it over in his hands. You, too, are fixated on the glinting metal as it moves from one hand to the next. He keeps talking. “You’d think sound would be a concern. That he’d be screaming his fucking head off, right?”

You look up, he is staring at your face, expectant, you respond to the question, a shaky nod. He continues on, a point of his knife, “Wrong. When you stab someone right, it sucks all the air out of their lungs.” The images his is giving fills your head, of David lying there, bleeding and as Mickey put it, pathetic. He is still expounding. “I was relentless, kept stabbing him, he had no chance to catch his breath. You can’t scream if you can’t breathe.”

You listen enthralled as he describes how he cut flesh from bone, how chunks fell away, digging fingers into open wounds, manually separating cartilage and skin and muscle apart just because he could. He speaks of how much blood he drained and by the end of it you were breathing much harder as was he. Almost no space between the pair of you.

He is looking in your eyes, and he speaks, “I ask again, what did he never do for you?” 

You can’t help it, inquiring, “Why do you want to know so bad?” 

“Because sweetheart-” He sets the knife down on your desk, his hand reaches out to take yours, tacky with partially dried crimson, and he says, “-baby, darling, I want to make you feel all the things you’ve missed out on the past few years.” 

You are as explicit in describing what you’d been missing as he was when describing the violence he did to David. 

“He never made me cum with his mouth, his dick, not even his fingers. I haven’t felt a hot tongue on my clit in fucking years.” You start, a deep inhale before you force it out, speak in hushed tones, “He only ever fucked me in missionary, he never put a hand on my throat and choked me, never pulled my hair, he never praised me, fuck, Mick, he never even degraded me.”

You sigh now, “Never spanked me, never ate my ass, God do I want someone to eat my ass and above all else, he never overstimulated me-”

He cut you off. His mouth crashing into yours after far too long, he kisses you deeply, and you fall into it, into him. A moan into his mouth, hands reach out, fingers tangle in the sleeves, they feel damp, you flex your fingers, you squeeze, beads of blood squeeze through your fingers. Your tongue runs over his bottom lip, and you revel in the taste of him. Christ it was never like this with David, a simple kiss with Mickey was serving to do you in, the graze of his lips against yours, of his tongue brushing yours was sending sparks throughout you. 

Feet stumble back, you pull him with you, keep him near, unwilling to break the connection you’ve made and yet you do, a quiet mumbling of, “Get this fucking robe off-”, pulling on his sleeves for further emphasis. The contact is broken for him to listen and obey, he pulls the robe off and drops it onto the floor, the blood has soaked through to his t-shirt he was wearing, and again you are confronted with what he did. He killed David for you, the evidence of his care for you, of his total devotion is splattered all over him, plastering his shirt to him, soaked into thin fabric. 

This time, you are pulling him back to you, greedy and needy as you do so. Mouths meet again as you are moving backward, the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and you let yourself fall, tugging him down with you. 

His leg slots between yours as his lips descend on yours again, you sink further into the mattress as he, in turn, sinks into you, melting into the contact, his leg presses closer, knee is tighter to you and that makes you inhale sharply. That sets something off in him. 

One of his hands moves, threads in your hair, and he tugs, it forcefully breaks the kiss and pulls a moan from you at the delicious rush of pain. His mouth moves, presses over your jaw, down your throat, and he makes your hips move on their own, grinding against him, desperate for more already. A squirm of your hips as you drag your clothed slit against his solid thigh, and the wash of pleasure makes you have to suppress a shudder, a whining moan held back as well as you bite your bottom lip. 

He notices immediately, pulling back from your neck, another tug of your hair, and he makes you look at him, “None of that shit, I don’t fucking care how late it is, I don’t care if every son of a bitch on this entire floor files a noise complaint, I want to hear you, no holding back.”

You are stunned, speechless, your hips shift, and you are drenched, underwear plastered to you and one of his hands locks onto your throat, he squeezes and says, “I’m not hearing you say yes.” 

You just cannot believe everything you’ve ever wanted has fallen into your lap, you choke out, “Yes, yes, please, fucking yes-”

He shuts you up with another kiss and that is how things seriously escalate, both of you rushing to undress each other. You hadn’t been wearing much to sleep, the tank top and shorts were removed, his shirt and shoes are off now, and he stops. You are looking up at him, admiring him the same way he is you, even with almost all his clothing removed there is still the mark of the crime he committed, blood left on his torso after leaking through his shirt, splatters on his arms, the small flecks on his face. He is looking at you like you are a full meal with nothing more in his way than damp lace, “Fucking Christ-”

He sighs, his fingers trace the curve of your breast before he fully takes it in his hand, he looks helpless in regard to what he wants to do, he follows the impulse, he leans down, and his mouth latches onto one of your nipples. His tongue circles and you sigh, arching up into him. 

His teeth graze as one of his hands slips between your thighs, he only gets one pass of his fingers over the wet material before he decides that isn’t good enough. Fingers hook in the thin garment, and he pulls, he hopes you didn’t give a shit about them because he cannot be bothered to remove them properly, he pulls until it rips and throws it aside. No chance of you complaining because his fingers are on you, strong digits press to you bare for the first time. 

Your eyes roll back with a soft, “Oh my fucking God-” which Mickey absolutely eats up as he starts to move, fingers trace slowly, dipping low, catching some mess and dragging it up, using it as lube to rub your clit. 

The increase in pleasure was immediate, your body slowly starts to tense as the feeling digs into your bones, you fully give in to what he is doing to you. 

“Do you know how much I’ve poured over this?” He asks, and you say quietly, “No.” 

“So many nights.” He confesses, his fingers pick up the pace, tight circles rubbed, and he tells you more, “I’d think about this, about having you under me, about doing-” Two fingers ease inside of you, and he moans like it’s his pleasure, breathing out, “-this.” 

“You feel better than I ever thought you could, so fucking wet, so soft.” He groans, and you arch closer, his palm presses nearer, he moves and works with you, fingers curling into that sweet spot and hand grinding over your clit. You listen, and you feel, minutes later, very quickly between his hushed words and expert touch you are shivering and telling him, “M’ close Mickey-” 

“Fuck yes, do it.” The firm command makes it impossible to stop, you tip over and cum. It feels phenomenal, it’s been ages since anyone has done this, showed this level of care and investment in your enjoyment. He doesn’t relent, keeps his pace steady and consistent, and draws out every bit of feeling he can from your high. 

He doesn’t let you rest, your body sinks back into the mattress, you are panting, and he slides his fingers out of you and right into his mouth. Not only that, but he tastes you for the first time and moans from the salt and tang of you coating his tongue. 

“You taste better than anything I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He slips down your body, drags of his lips lighting further fire in you until he settles between your thighs, his mouth latches onto your still very sensitive clit and your thighs clamp around his head immediately. Your hand shoots down, fingers in his stupidly attractive hair, and you moan loudly, just as he wants you to. 

He was ravenously hungry but still taking his time with this, he forces himself to slow down just a touch, he knows you haven’t had this in years thanks to that douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. He laps at your leaking slit, from hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, he swirls his tongue around the boarders once, twice, three times before passing over it again, making you gasp out his name. 

Mickey luxuriates in the act and does his best to ensure that you do as well, sucks with purpose and is quickly rocketing you to another orgasm, you can barely string together a sentence to warn him of that, but he knows, fingers twist further in his hair, and you pull with a cry of his name, in another two short minutes you are cumming again, it’s stronger than the first, you are louder than you were last time, but he continues. He doesn’t stop on your come down, he just slows, goes lighter, his licks are running up the length of you, between your lips and on top of your twitching bud, over and over, methodical, and you can’t stop shaking. 

Somehow through the haze of pleasure you manage to speak, calling out to him, “Mi-Mickey, oh my fucking God-”

He lifts his mouth, you expect him to give you a breather or to give some pithy response that will turn you on further and make you leak more, but instead his hands are on your hips, he tilts them up and his tongue dives lower. His tongue circles over your asshole, and you actually sob, shocked and broken from the sudden stab of ecstasy that hits your gut, your hand leaving his hair, instead gripping at the sheets. You can’t stop from squirming, which makes his job harder, you hear something that sounds akin to a mildly annoyed growl. 

One of his hands lifts off your hip, and he lands a firm smack on your ass as he grits out, “Stop squirming so much babe, let me make you feel good.” 

He gets back to it and your head is thrown back against the pillows, you try, you really do, but his tongue flicks just so and your body bucks. He instead flips you over onto your stomach roughly manhandling you, one hand pulling your hips up, and he dives back in tongue first. He eats your ass with passionate fervour, whenever you buck too much he reminds you to behave with another hit to your ass cheek. His hand that wasn’t on your hip slides under, and he circles your clit with fast and clever fingers. 

The sharp slaps of pain and combined with him being tongue deep in your ass and rubbing your clit makes you cum embarrassingly fast yet again and harder still, legs trembling so much you almost fall on your face, with an ample gush onto his chin while sobbing his name into the pillow.  

When you stopped shaking he came up, another smack to your ass, his chest to your back as he leans down and praises right in your ear, “Oh good fucking girl.”

You start to babble out into the damp pillowcase, “Mi-Mickey, ‘lease, fuck me, need you-”

He hums, and you hear his belt open, finally getting his pants open, he inhales sharply in relief, the pressure easing from him opening his pants. The rest of his clothes are discarded, and he pauses. His hand on your sore ass, right on the spot he kept hitting over and over, his thumb traces down, spreading your lips, over your hole, and he sighs, “I have been dying to get inside this cunt.”

He lines up, he pushes his hips forward and sinks deep inside you, in one swift and smooth motion. The moan you share is like music, beautiful, melodic, passionate collaboration. His hand goes into your hair, he fucks you like that, face down ass up, he starts a quick pace initially, rough, needy and you love it. His body is covering yours as he breathes into your ear, “You feel incredible, oh my God-” His head tips back with a loud moan, he drives into you over and over, “-fucking stunning too, you are so gorgeous.” 

It has been entirely too long since you’ve been fucked in any position other than missionary. The sensation, his weight on your back, the sound of skin on skin, his breath in your ear, it’s fucking perfection. You rock back with him, meet him in the middle, you were giving back, showing just how desperately you want him in kind makes Mickey let out this sound, caught between a groan and something more possessive, not explicitly words, but it hits you low in your gut. 

He starts to slow down, takes a little more time, and you are moaning louder and louder, you are so worked up, so sensitive, you feel alive and electric. On one level it feels like you can feel every ridge and vein of him and on another like you can’t determine up from down, completely drunk on feeling. 

You completely lose track of how many times you get off that night, the pace will switch on a whim, from hard pounding and him calling you every name in the book to more easy and sensual, a writhing joint movement instead of an aggressive pounding. 

You ride him, grind one out on top of him while he cradles your breasts, thumbs passing over your nipples as he calls you a beautiful fucked out angel. 

He fucks you spooning, hand around you and between your thighs, strumming your clit with one hand, the other locked on your throat as he is fucking in and out.

The only thing that seems to make it stop is you literally sobbing for it to. Your cheeks are wet, you are babbling his name and the word stop, you have one leg over his shoulder and the other is pinned down near your knee by him. His stamina was impressive, he’d already cum once when you were riding him, had filled you up, but instead of that stopping it, he just flipped you over, still hard, and kept fucking going, his own cum providing even more lube.

That was a while ago, you could tell that he was near again, sweat down the side of his face, movements of his hips sloppy, panting your name over and over. You know you can’t again, you are too fried, too overstimulated and finally, just as the soreness is starting to teeter on the other side of being more unpleasant and painful than pleasurable he holds deep and cums again. 

You feel totally boneless, your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around him loosely, his head dips down and rests on your shoulder, you are just trying to catch your breath.

He gets his back faster than you. 

He is still inside of you when he comes back up, fingers push some of your hair aside as he looks down into your eyes. Your chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he confesses, for what must be the third time tonight, telling you, “I fucking care about you.”

A strong belief that is nothing but the truth hits, “You deserve way better than him, I wish I could have met you sooner so you could have had those years back of someone who actually gives a shit about you instead of that asshole.” 

You want this, want him, damned what that says about you or your morals, you don’t care as you tell him, “Fuck that selfish cunt, forget about him, let’s just make up for lost time.” 

He has every intention of doing just that.

[starfiresky]

Why Kairi is the way she is

The title of “Re:Mind” is SUPER MEANINGFUL

|| My personal thoughts ||

STICK AROUND TILL THE END OKAY? So Kairi day happened recently, and I see a lot of people talking about her… either in defense of her or against her. It’s gotten to the point where I start getting angry when I see Kairi in KH3, and I’m starting to wonder if feeling angry is supposed to be the point. Maybe we’re supposed to get frustrated with the way she is right now.

I’ve been trying to put myself in Kairi’s shoes. You see how she’s so spunky in kh1 and 2, right? And suddenly in kh3 she’s kind of withdrawn and desperate. Just look at her face at the end of 2 and you’ll see when I think the personality switch occurred:

This is the moment when she realizes Sora is leaving her AGAIN.

Kairi’s character in 1 felt very infused with independence and “Sora needs me 😤” energy. Then, in 2 she’s like: “I remember Sora now, and heck— he needs me more than ever! 😤 He can’t do anything without me!”

Then she proceeded to be reckless trying to reach him— and I genuinely believe that she ACTUALLY believes Sora needs her to succeed. She escapes prison, and gets shut out of the final battle and left behind. We as the players are SUPPOSED to get frustrated, because SHE’S undoubtedly angry, too!

When her letter brings Sora back, she realizes that he survived and he’s actually grown a lot!

But I personally feel like when Sora gets Mickey’s letter, she starts to feel less and less important. Especially with this line from the letter: “Sora, you are who you are because of those people, but they’re hurting. And you’re the only one who can end their sadness. They need you.”

Like, Kairi’s got to be looking at Sora thinking; “Wow. He’s grown so much, saving lives, saving everyone— and what have I been doing? School. I thought Sora needed me— but look at all of his accomplishments… look at all the things he’s done without me. And when I’m around, I just distract him. I don’t help him.” 💔💔

So in kh3, she’s depressed, she’s sad, maybe she even feels a little worthless. Kh1 Kairi would’ve sent those letters to Sora during Merlin’s training, but it’s my belief that kh3 Kairi doesn’t think Sora needs her anymore. She’s lost her drive.

I heard that in the novels, Kairi cuts her hair short because “Sora likes it that way”! But what if she cut her hair because she’s trying to embrace the younger, more confident version of herself who felt needed by Sora? Maybe that’s what she meant by “he likes it that way”.

I’m pretty confident that Sora becomes AWARE of Kairi feeling useless in the paopu fruit scene! He looks disappointed when Kairi gives him the paopu fruit not because he doesn’t reciprocate her feelings, but because he sees through the gesture! This is her cry for help, and he doesn’t know how to help her. To me, this is the face of a guy who’s just realized: “I thought she already knew I want her to be apart of my life forever. What’s going on here? What happened to the Kairi who already knows I need her and we’ll be a part of each other’s lives forever?”

His awkward reaction is literally him wondering where the Kairi he knows ran off to? This is the “crap, I must’ve screwed up” face.

Then there’s the scene where Kairi is kidnapped by Xemnas and she barely even fights or tries to get away from him. This is a Kairi who’s lost her drive and her knowledge of being NEEDED, it makes perfect sense to me why she didn’t fight. What if she’s reached the point where she wonders if Sora even cares enough to save her? Of course, it’s not canon, but this moment is kind of like a representation of not feeling like she’s worth very much, and therefore won’t be missed!

To me, this just looks like an extremely depressed girl who’s been reading too many comment sections.

Then of course, Re:Mind happens and obviously, Sora demonstrates that YES, Kairi, you are important to him! Maybe a little too important. Its my belief that the paopu scene was a huge wake up call to him. When she dies, and everyone’s like; “okay, time to go back”, this really explains why Sora says so adamantly “No. My whole journey began the day I lost her, and now that I’ve found her she’s slipped away again”.

That’s him realizing that he forgot the sole reason he was going on all of these adventures. He did them for her, and got so lost in the noise of all his quests that he neglected her and didn’t realize until she called out for help with the paopu fruit. Re:Mind is literally his quest to saving her self-esteem and RE:MINDING her how much she means to him!!!!! THATS WHY ITS CALLED RE:MIND.

And you see how desperate he is to get her back? How he’s hugging her, holding her hand, taking her places during the ending? He’s trying to let her know that he still needs her!

We’re supposed to get mad about how she’s being treated, BECAUSE ITS NOT RIGHT AND BOTH KAIRI AND SORA KNOW IT!

Sora finally understands that he needs to remind her that he cares about her!!!!

If Sora is like any guy I know, he isn’t clueless, he just assumed Kairi already knew.

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 19

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14. Part 15. Part 16. Part 17. Part 18.

cowritten w @schemmentis

Summary: Those close to you face the fact that you aren't coming back.

WC: 1.2k

It takes time for you and the rest of your family to recover enough to flee. You remain tucked away in the hospital with a rotation of agents standing watch. Just in case anyone in the Family has figured out you've survived. You doubt they have. It was rare for a contracted hit to go wrong, and the truth is, you just got lucky. Very lucky.

Cat's condition remains touch and go. Both you and Melissa take turns being in her room with her once you're well enough to move. Which exacerbates the extreme pain you still each have but neither of you care. Not when it means you get to be there for your eldest twin. You speak softly to her every time, believing despite not seeing those little eyes open she can hear you and knows you're there. 

Despite the three of you slowly recovering; you only get some precious time spent together before being relegated back to individual rooms. Except, thankfully, Rosie is allowed to stay with either you or Melissa. You may be improving but when you aren't checking on Cat or soothing Rosie; you're sleeping. The pain is certainly better than when you first woke, and the hospital staff have assured you you're healing well. Still, it seems even the smallest things take all your energy.

While the four of you are recovering in the hallowed hallways of the hospital and deep enough that no one will ever know of your survival, news breaks that the Schemmenti family has been killed. 

Your mother breaks out into ugly and abrasive sobs while your father is numb to it- he doesn’t believe it. It takes him a week to finally come to terms with the fact that you, your wife, and your little girls are never coming back. 

Melissa’s family expects it, as much as they hate to admit it. Her family was more clued into the business that the two of you ran. Still, it crushes their hearts and souls- especially when they find out that the two little rays of sunshine that used to prance around during Sunday dinners were also murdered; that just wasn’t fair for them to not have a chance at life. Luca falls to his knees. The family assumes that it’s because he was always so close with Melissa, and he adored the girls more than anything. No one suspects that he was the contracted hit man.

Melissa’s mother makes the trek up to the prison where Mickey is and spreads the word to him. Your wife’s younger brother is destroyed by the news. He was so close to getting out and being able to spend time with the four of you out in the fresh (somewhat stale) air of Philadelphia. And now that’s been ripped away from him. He clings to his mother as she holds him close and curses the day that you all got involved with the mafia.

When word hits the Howards, Barbara’s knees buckle, and she lands in a heap on the church floor. Gerald has to pick her up and escort her out. It’s the one and only time Barbara Howard can’t make it through a sermon. 

The senator can’t believe it- he knows of your family to be so pure, and yet you were the victims of a crime. He too mourns your passing- only he does his mourning in silence while he holds his hysterical wife, as he curses his faith in his head. If God was so good, why did he take away the innocent lives of you four- specifically Cat and Rosie?

Your funerals are small. They really only contain those close to you, and those who your girls were close with at school attend funerals. Four caskets are lined up within the hall of your church- all closed. Only one person there knows that there are no bodies in the coffins, and that one person is the agent who went undercover to deliver the empty holders. No one else suspects a thing, all too wrapped up in their grief and not wanting to see your lifeless bodies.

While your families are wrecks, it’s nothing compared to what Barbara Howard is feeling. She can’t quite explain it, if she’s being honest. Her heart hurts for you and Melissa- but she absolutely falls apart, deep sobs rippling through body, as the pastor speaks of your twins. Her heart breaks for them within her chest.

That night, long after the funeral processions, the Howards sit in the dark and lonely sanctuary- a place that usually provides the two with hope and light. It doesn’t this time. Instead they are haunted by the sniffles and sobs that bubble out of them as they mourn your passing. Neither Howard will say it, but they both question their faith that day- wondering how God could be so good and yet still take the four of you away.

On the step is a singular picture of the four of you. You have Rosie on your hip while your wife holds Cat. Both girls are absolutely tickled pink at whatever you and Melissa had said to make them smile and laugh the way that they are. Your eyes are full of so much love as you watch the way your wife is with your oldest. Melissa’s eyes absolutely sparkle with love for you and your little ones while her hair gently blows in the breeze. She’s glad they chose this picture of your family to display and keep up alongside the various other pictures that have already been taken down. This picture shows that you four were really just a simple family full of love and life. The joy that radiates in that picture only makes Barbara that much worse. You should be here.

Sundays will never be the same. When the service that your wife would usually slide into the pew next to Barbara comes around, the seats stay vacant. Nobody dares to sit there, lest they feel the wrath of a brokenhearted Barbara Howard. Gerald takes her to the diner where you would usually head after the sermon is over, but it isn’t the same. It’s silent between the two of them.

It's only a few weeks after they found out that Gerald learns the truth. Barbara sits him on their couch, all but stuffing the ledger she still had hidden into his hands. As he flips through it, he slowly understands exactly what he's holding. He should feel disgusted, or betrayed, at this new knowledge of your family. Instead, he tucks the ledger carefully into his work briefcase. 

He kisses his wife and promises her that with any name in that ledger, he'll do whatever he can to get the police onto them and ensure they are arrested and tried. Your family might have been involved but he can see it was on the lighter end of the crimes the mafia and mob each commit within the city. No matter what you all did, you're gone now and didn't deserve to go the way you did. So, he swears he'll see the fall of Cosa Nostra within Philadelphia as soon as possible- for the fallen Schemmentis. Barbara weeps at your names again. 

TAGS:

@thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[mickittotheman]

Perhaps 3 (forehead kisses) for gallavich?

Most people make their most stupidass decisions when they’re drunk. Not Mickey. Mickey makes his when he’s sober, when there’s not alcohol clouding his mind and slowing his thoughts and drowning out the fucking urges he gets at the most randomass times.

Like right now.

Mickey isn’t drunk, but Ian sure as fuck is. He’d been doing some stupid fucking drinking game with Mandy. Mickey’s been listening to them giggling and shrieking like the schoolgirls they are for hours now, the music blasting from his speakers not enough to drown them out, not when he’s deliberately sitting with his back pressed up against the door of his room so he can hear them better.

He’s just keeping an ear out to make sure Ian doesn’t say anything stupid. Doesn't let anything slip about him. About them.

Ian doesn’t. Mickey isn’t sure why that pisses him off just a little bit.

He waits until a good half hour after the giggling has faded out. Creeps his way into the dimly lit hall. Pokes his head into Mandy’s doorway.

They’re both fast asleep. Mandy’s hogging all the blankets, because she’s a selfish bitch who always hogs the fucking blankets, awake or not. 

Mickey rolls his eyes. Swipes at his nose.

He snags a random quilt from the living room and heads back, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard near the foot of Mandy’s bed. He gets her sorted first, because he’s a good fucking brother like that, no matter how vehemently his siblings and he himself would disagree if asked. 

He unclasps her necklaces so she won’t get strangled to death in her sleep. He pushes her hair out of her face so it won’t tickle her nose in that way she’s always hated. He kisses her forehead, soft, just like he has since she was nothing but a tiny little pink burrito of bundled up blankets that would scream and scream and scream her little lungs out every waking moment.

She hasn’t changed all that much since she was a baby, really. 

He deals with Ian next. Rolls him into the recovery position, because he doesn't sleep on his side like a normal fucking person, he sleeps sprawled out on his back like a fucking starfish. Ian doesn't so much as twitch as Mickey shoves and pokes and prods at him. 

He drapes the quilt over him, gets it tucked in nice and tight at the edges. Stands there for a long time after, just looking. He never gets to look, because the stupid fucker is always staring right back, and Mickey always has to either look away or risk giving away too much.

He doesn't have to look away now.

He flits his gaze over the map of spattered freckles, over ridiculously bright orange hair, over plush pink lips parted in sleep.

He tugs his own bottom lip between his teeth. Gnaws.

What the fuck ever.

He swoops in. Presses his lips to Ian's forehead. Soft, then harder. He closes his eyes. Breathes.

Ian snuffles sleepily.

Mickey jerks away like he’s been electrocuted. He’s back in his own room in a split second, door shut firmly behind him. 

He leans against it once more. Pants. Tries to catch his breath.

He rubs his fingers at his lips. Tries to scrub the phantom feeling away.

In the morning, he kicks up a fuss about the quilt being missing from the living room, blaming Mandy for stealing it when she already has half the blankets in the fucking house hoarded away. He and Ian fuck, quick and messy, while she’s busy making scrambled eggs and eggos to soak up their hangovers. He bites Ian for the first time, digs his teeth into Ian’s pec hard enough to leave little indents in the shape of his teeth.

After, he whisks the blanket and a stolen eggo back to his own room. He wraps himself up in it, in the faint remnants of Ian’s smell, and he scowls.

[chippedshake]

Been seeing a lot of Christmas themed headcanons and not nearly enough Hanukkah headcanons, so...

Headcanons for what menorah each member of the gang would have

Darry’s is football themed because of course it is (just had the most fantastic fic idea about this... let's see if I can finish it for Hanukkah). I have one myself with a bunch of different sport players with the ball of their sport in front of them and that's where you put the candle, so this is basically the same only with just football players. They're all from the same team and have their number behind them.

When Soda got his it was just a bit after losing Mickey Mouse so it was horse-themed. This one was home-made bc they couldn't find one with horses on it. It has nine horses with a nut on their head for the candle (and also some holes in their heads bc there's no way a nut can hold a candle atop a play horse's head)

Ponyboy's was a bit harder to think of because he didn't have such a clear-cut obsession with anything. He got it for his bar mitzvah when he was sort of getting more into religion because the Curitses aren't all that religious, but were fine when he wanted to be more religious, so he got one that looks sort of like this:

Only the swirly things spelled out "khai" or however it's romanised in English that means "life" in Hebrew (in the original letters ofc).

He likes it because it makes him feel grown up despite being the baby of the family

Now I don't personally hc the rest of the gang as Jewish but you better believe they're getting a menorah anyway

Steve. Steve my beloved. He made his own menorah to match Soda's when Mr and Mrs Curtis gave it to him, only instead of horses he used cars. He had enough toy cars (that he didn’t play with anymore at the grown age of thirteen, of course) so he found a piece of wood somewhere and glued them to it and then asked Mr and Mrs Curtis for some nuts to use as candle holders.

The shema was either a toy truck or like three cars piled up on each other

Johnny doesn’t have his own because he didn’t really want one, he felt kinda uncomfortable, like he was intruding on something, so he just lights Ponyboy’s with him (they grab the shema together and touch hands hehe)

So for Two-Bit I looked up weirdest menorahs and found one that is absolutely perfect

But I don't think it would be neither cheap nor easy to steal, so HEAR ME OUT Jewish Marcia who has this bc her parents let her buy her own and Two-Bit absolutely falls in love with her it when he sees it when he came over for Hanukkah this is canon trust me guys I'm friends with his sister

As for Two-Bit's own menorah, I think it'd just be a random simple menorah he swiped from the first place he saw that was selling them.

Now all that's left is Dally.

Once, Mrs Curtis mentioned that her family has like... heirloom menorahs. But since she has issues with her family, she never got them, they went to her sibling. She described it a bit and he went "huh" and then showed up a couple weeks later having stolen one that matched her description almost perfectly. She accepted the gift (begrudgingly) but it was still the menorah Dally lit every Hanukkah so in a way it was his

(The five remaining members of the gang lit his menorah together the Hanukkah right after canon. If Ponyboy closed his eyes he could imagine it was Johnny, lighting the menorah with him like he'd been doing for years.)

[lizzy019]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐸𝒶𝓉, 𝒮�� 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉?

Dom!Darrel Curtis x Sub!Two-Bit Mathews x Plus-size Fem!Reader

cw-> insecurities, polyamorous relationship, double penetration, booty slapping, overstimulation

Word Count -> 1.6K

I love Darbit so much :DDD Did you know that $10 back in the 60s is the equivalent to about $105 nowadays? Cool asf

The timer ticked as you three waited for the cake to finish its baking process, Darry was whipping some icing to put on top of it as a small treat.

“Should I go get beer? We have beer, right? I think I should go get beer-”

“Two-Bit, we have beer. Sitcher ass down and wait, it’s only a few more minutes.” Darry scolded lightly, annoyed by Two-Bit’s disheartening energy.

Two-Bit sighed dramatically, hobbling his way over to you and pulling you into a hug so time could pass by faster. You smelled so nice, so fresh and clean. He felt rather dirty almost instantly.

“Mmh.. my little Minnie mouse, d’ya wanna come with me to get beer?” He asked as he hugged you close, relishing in your lovely soft flesh squishing against his. It felt so heavenly and warm.

You could only smile at the nickname and chuckle at his request, your own expression becoming warm as you shrugged.

“Darry said we have beer, but if you’re so determined, I can give you money.” You smiled, giving his back a soft rub as his smile widened and his head nodded with vigor to your offer.

You pulled away to go find your wallet, taking out a simple 10 dollar bill and hurrying back to him. You knew it’d either be just enough, or maybe a little less, but it’d work out for him.

“Buy the beer we ALL like, not just the ones you like, Two.” You chided, shooing him out and laughing as he jogged out of the house.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Darry was prepping the icing in the fridge, waiting for it to cool.

“You’re one of the few who can tolerate his obnoxious behaviour. Maybe that’s why you’re so hot.” He hummed, walking to you and gently rubbing your hip with his rough palm.

“Or maybe it’s these lovely thick hips, with a pretty, big butt behind ‘em. Maybe it’s how gorgeous you look all bare and exposed to me whenever Two-Bit gets needy. I dunno, maybe it’s just you.” Darry murmured, his hand now digging gently into the soft flesh of your hip, traveling to scoop an asscheek of yours into his hand before smirking.

“Look atchu, I can’t get this from any ol’ girl. I don’t want ‘em skinny anyway, that’s not my style. I want a girl who can take a big hug, who has little belly rolls, love handles and thick thighs. Plus, the bigger, the wealthier, hm?”

Your cheeks were hot with a pink hue, hands at his waist as you fought so hard to not giggle out of appreciation. While half the things he said didn’t make much sense to you, the only thing that stuck was that he liked it and so did Two-Bit.

With a soft hum, Darry’s hands gently smoothed over under your shirt to caress the soft pudge you had, that little piece of fat in which you hated so much about yourself. It was warm, and so very cute.

“Yeah but.. don’t I look gluttonous? I look like I practically inhale food.” You murmured, watching his hands lovingly squeeze your rolls.

“Yeah. You eat, so what? Doesn’t every person need food to live heathily? You’re worrying, I don’t like it.” Darry groaned out in disbelief.

With some effort but with a big smile, he lifted you up without a second thought to carry you and sit you atop the table. Luckily today, Steve and Soda were at work and Ponyboy was at school, Johnny and Dally were together who knows where, so it was just you and Darry now.

And Two-Bit soon enough.

Soft, slow kisses were pressed along the muscle of your neck, your hands clutching his triceps as little sighs of pleasure coursed through your every vein.

It was only once Darry began to get too touchy did Two-Bit burst through the door with beer and a bright smile.

“I’m baaack! Where are you tw- oh..” Two-Bit interrupted himself when he saw the situation.

A wide smile cracked on the Mickey fan’s face, and instantly the beer was forgotten and placed to the side as he chucked his leather jacket off to hurry over to the two of you.

“You started without me? No fair!” Two-Bit cried, gently tugging Darry and you to Darry’s bedroom.

“Come on, come on! Let’s go!” His genuine excitement for this had both you and Darry smiling, and without reticence, you both followed.

Soon, you all were huddled together in Darry’s bed, naked and bare to each other as Two-Bit smiled softly at your wettened panties.

“You kept her last pair, can I keep this pair? Please, Darry?” Two-Bit asked so politely, how could Darry say no?

The undergarment of yours was exchanged as if it were simple money, something to use for personal gain whether it be for dirty pleasure or lust-filled admiration. Whatever it was, Two-Bit certainly wanted it.

Once they were in his hand, he whiffed it happily and your face scrunched up in disgust, a light chuckle resonating from your throat.

“Ew, you weirdo.” You teased, chucking the fabric away and laying down on your side to face Two-Bit.

Darry set himself up behind you, offering you a condom as a yes-no type question. If Darry was going anal, why did the condom matter? Ohh, for Two-Bit! You shook your head and smiled, you’d taken the pill early in the morning.

So with a nod, the condom was put aside and he gently applied some lube to your pretty puckered hole. Your pussy didn’t need it from how much it was freely spewing out.

“Alright Darry, same time, yeah?” Two-Bit asked with a soft smile.

Darry nodded, lining himself up properly and waiting for Two-Bit to start up as well. Soon enough, the two men’s dicks were ramming into your holes like relentless drills to concrete. Pounding away until there was nothing.

“Oh baby! Oh, my little Minnie mouse, you got me feelin’ it! Fuck!” Two-Bit cried out in pleasure, hands seizing your pretty protruding stomach and squeezing it lovingly.

The sounds were bouncing off the walls, the sounds of wet slapping, moaning, bed creaking, all of it mixed into one harmonious sound that you all didn’t wish to forget. The moment was forming a bond stronger than before now that its base was solidified with love.

Being Two-Bit’s “little Minnie mouse” and Darry’s “sweetie”, the whole moment was enough to have you going cross-eyed in pleasure, but not just lustful pleasure either.

Darry’s hand came to slap your rear in a light motion, to get you to clench on the both of them. You moaned out, arm lazily draped over Two-Bit’s body while he hid away in your half hug.

“Yeah sweetie, tighten real good for us. Look at Two-Bit, he’s seein’ stars. I’ma make you see stars too, sweetie. Just wait for it, be a good girl.” Darry commanded with less force than he could give, too enraptured in the pleasure to even be coherent enough to speak his thoughts.

“Ohh baby, you got us feelin’ so good. How does it feel bein’ worshiped by us two? Havin’ us tell ya how pretty you are?” Two-Bit sighed out in ecstasy, relishing in your pussy’s tight walls.

“Fu-uck! Feels so good! I love it.. I love you! Both of you!” You whined out into the room’s already obscene mess of sounds.

Once everyone found a rhythm that suited all their needs, you three were climbing up the stairs of pure passionate pleasure. It was smooth and effortless, the only occasional slip-up was, literally, Two-Bit accidentally slipping out.

Fingers clawing at Two-Bit’s fabric shirt, you could only begin to get louder with your sounds as you approached a finale. A climax with the two of them penetrating you, it excited you like no other.

“Close! Fuck, so close! Faster, faster.. fuck!” You moaned out into the room, finding yourself being swooped away by your climax to cloud nine.

You swore you couldn’t see anything for a good minute before everything settled back down, but the sensitivity of your walls and their constant thrusting was getting you a bit too overstimulated.

“S-stop, stop! ‘M sensitive!” You whimpered, hot tears spilling from your cheeks at the lack of mercy they provided.

Yet luckily enough, Two-Bit tapped out to let his load ooze into your welcoming womb, and shortly after, Darry had let his release flow too as his cum filled your arse.

With huffs and puffs, desperate attempts to clutch back air, you all were now happily adjusting to get some quality cuddles in. Until a voice boomed from the front door, alerting you all.

“That’s swell! Who bought more beer?” The voice called, sounding like Steve was back.

Now everyone was huddled together into the living room, talking amongst themselves and eating the chocolate cake previously made while you and Two-Bit watched some Mickey Mouse.

You two shared the same beer bottle, and he’d give an expression of disgust whenever he took a sip.

“How ever you all like this type of beer is nasty. ‘S too dry.” He hummed out, watching with saddened eyes as the show he loved so dearly cut to commercials.

You could only laugh, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before standing upright to go fetch another slice of cake.

[lockandkeyblade]

Magical Disposition

And the little rambles and side notes we made along the way

All casters have specific magical dispositions, beginning with their leanings toward Light or Darkness. This leaning often has an effect on the elemental magic that they gravitate towards; Light casters showing considerable aptitude in Air, Water, or Ice spells, whilst Dark casters are more inclined to be proficient in Fire, Earth, or Lightning spells.

In this way, Light-leaning casters are unlikely to have a natural aptitude in Dark-leaning elements, though such aptitudes are not impossible. Apprentices are encouraged to learn the base level of all elemental spells, in order to identify where their natural aptitudes lie.

As an apprentice becomes more skilled with elements they share a natural aptitude for, the more likely they are to exhibit this aptitude in accidental ways. This accidental magic is most often tied to emotional distress; an example of such being an apprentice with an aptitude of fire, who, overwhelmed by the seemingly unending piles of books their master ordered them to read, set fire to the entire stack.

Magical disposition can also affect the appearance of magic being cast, though this rarely affects the potency of the intended spell. Drawing from the previous example, the apprentice mentioned often cast Fire tainted with the color of Darkness, the result being purple flames that were no less potent due to the visual discrepancy.

~~~

How's this look on the cast then? Ignoring canon, letting it be a free-for-all….

Ventus and Aqua are never going to master fire and earth skills, such as firaga. Their strength is obvious (like, in the names, man), though Aqua will probably have that Stop magic to a fucking T. Ventus again, obvious- wind is his forte and Salvation exists.

Terra and Axel would never master ice skills (tbf Axel will probably have nothing to do with Ice or Water ever), and probably never master healing spells either. Both their strengths are obvious.

Riku is balanced enough that he could master everything. Like, literally everything he’s probs the only motherfucker that popped out of the womb who can say “yeah I got everything but Wish”. Roxas and Xion got him beat tho they probably can learn everything and the couch too.

Vanitas will never learn healing spells. Ever. He's got his Darkness and his big ol' orbs of purple fire, he's good. That said, I like the idea that he is gonna learn a lot of very…protective spells. Eventually. And be insanely good at them. (because protective spells are wiiiiiiind and he can deny his origins if he likes but THEY’RE THERE, TOUGH SHIT)

Sora won’t learn gravity magic and won’t master time magic. I’m actually unsure if he’ll master anything beyond healing and protection spells because he’s just more of a “but what if I just stab it” kind of guy. KH's everyman, the equivalent of FFXIV's Meteor/White Bread Man. Considering Roxas and Xion, he could be more. He just doesn’t want to. Also his “Wish” is kind of off the charts so does he need anything else probs not??? He’s “competent” with most magics but hitting shit is what he excels at.

Kairi and Namine will probably never learn literally anything Dark leaning (outside of corridors for Nams) but considering their “Wish” magic is also off the fucking charts that’s probably for the best.

Donald lol. So he has a super leaning to fire (and lightning he spams this AoE like it's going out of fashion in KH2) and I’m keeping it because Vanitas will never let that go. Mickey is very much like… the taught student, so Light stuff, time stuff, press X to spam Holy. Goofy is legit just like, an AoE buff spammer, and nothing else. His aptitude for magic is super low.

~~~

Fire Magic is the most obvious difference between two people casting at the same level, because it’s very visual. Light wielders will generally create a fire that looks more “natural”, whereas Dark wielders actively have to work to prevent the Darkness from distorting the coloration and effect, since Darkness is ironically more predisposed to heat. Which means Axel summoning a literal room full of naturally coloured fire is a big fucking deal.

Another obvious difference I’m gonna whack in here is that people with elemental learnings are way more liable to affect their magic via emotions, particularly when they’re untrained. So when Ventus is stupid mad he accidentally summons tornados. Aqua freezes shit she’s touching Elsa-style, and the temperature around her drops. Terra makes the ground quake. Vanitas makes the area around him darker, on top of… you know. Spawning Unversed.

[redfurrycat]

🤠🍑👨🐓Daddy Klnk Fic Recs🐓👨🍑🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Acetonitril, Coconutcordiale, Danslasherrr, Davidbyrne, Dracculaura, Earthangel_44, Emseebeans, Ginnydear, Grimjobs, Honestlydarkprincess, Lightwoodsisabelle, Lovelybattle, Mackwinnon, Miiichaaan, Nixie_DeAngel, Perishablealex, Pizzz_10, Reanimated, Renai_chan, SaintClaire, Sam_Haine, Seresins, Shadowdancing, SissySpargo, Theinsouciantknitter, WaffleToaster, Welcome_to_the_Badlands, WhisperingNights, Xo_em.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Sugar Daddy

If You Cling Too Tightly Verse by Earthangel_44 {E}

Hold on loosely

There is nothing Jake "Hangman" Seresin can't handle after he shot down the plane to save the day except for maybe one certain pilot with a taste for Hawaiian shirts.

You Might Lose Control

Three months later.

Have a Drink On Me Verse by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

Have a Drink On Me

“Hey,” Mickey slurred slightly. They all look at him, and Reuben switches out his Malibu Sunset for water. “Someone should do body shots,” he said, very unsubtly glancing at Jake.

Hotter Than Hell

Or, the one with the heatwave and the popsicles.

Take My Hand and Hold On Forever by Earthangel_44 {E}

It happens again like clockwork. Every new achievement or award that Jake gets pinned to his chest. Every time he went to Afghanistan or flew with the F-151, Jake calls Bradley. Every COMM he receives or shiny new ribbon that is placed on his chest, Jake called Bradley. Or: Jake gets a lot of awards and Bradley rewards him for his good flying.

Poems About Lovers by xo_em {E}

He’s waiting for his favorite sounds of every day: the click and scrape of the front door opening then closing, a few heavy footsteps, the abrupt thud of a bag hitting the hardwood floor. Two boots following. Bradley.

Daddy Rooster Series by Renai_chan {E}

I Want To Hear You Say It Again by perishablealex {E}

The first time Jake calls Bradley daddy.

can you see me glowing by dracculaura {E}

“You know, you’re awfully moody tonight,” Jake taunts as he looks up into Bradley’s eyes. “Think you’d be in a better mood after cheating — I mean, winning earlier.” “Shut,” Bradley says, voice dipping low and husky, as he moves in even closer to Jake, hands now on the wall on either side of Jake’s face, “your fucking mouth.” “Make me.” (or, jake is a brat who craves bradley's attention)

so baby lock that door by dracculaura {E}

Maybe if Bob wasn’t so exhausted, he’d have remembered that Hangman wasn’t at the bar and it was very likely that he’d be in their room. Maybe if he hadn’t had his music up so loud, he would’ve heard the moaning, the slapping, the banging of a headboard hitting a wall. But he is exhausted, does have his music up too loud. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice them until the door is closed behind him and his music is paused, and when he does, he stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Because Hangman is getting absolutely fucking railed by Rooster.

Sub Bradley by lovelybattle {E}

Slow

Bradley knelt in front of him, eyes lidded and mouth parted as he stared at where Jake’s fingers moved. His hands were on his thighs, cock poking up prettily, leaking and hard like it has been for the last twenty minutes. He let out a small whimper, blinking slowly, “daddy…”

Patience

Jake hummed, shifting his hips back just enough for his ass to rub against Bradley’s hard dick, earning himself a whimper as he pulled away again and Bradley tried to chase him with his hips. “Ah,” Jake said, laying his hand flat over Bradley’s chest, the other man immediately falling still against the bed sheets again. “Good boy.”

Give it to me daddy by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley survives the mission only to find one way to thank his savior.

touch you like I do by ginnydear {E}

Dress up, Princess by miiichaaan {E}

Jake looked at himself in their bathroom mirror, at the way the pink lace of the lingerie set he’d ordered some weeks ago, hugged his pecks, his ass, his cock so perfectly. Fascinated he ran a hand over his torso, feeling the texture, following it down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric. He quietly smiled to himself when he thought about Bradley.

Love me one time, could not speak by miiichaaan {E}

“Jake,” Bradley breathed and moved again, ghosting his lips along the line of his ear, pushing his dick just this much deeper inside in return, “Say it again.”

As You Need Me To by perishablealex {E}

It begins with three words. No, not I love you. Who's your daddy?

Unwrap Me by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

“Candy cane? Really,” he asked, chuckling. Jake cracked a smile “You know I love a good theme,” he said, winking.

I'll Treat You Sweet by Sam_Haine {E}

He imagines himself in the woman's position, on his knees in some dirty back alley, mouth wide open and taking someone's fat cock down his throat. No. He alters the scenario so that it's Rooster he's on his knees for.

Jealous Bone by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley gets jealous over an old squad member of Jake’s.

Be Good For Me by WhisperingNights {E}

If Rooster didn’t want him. Fine. He’d show Rooster what he could have had. The banging sounded again “I’m coming, damn!” Jake slung the door open glaring at Javy. Javy’s mouth was hanging open as he took Jake in. “How the hell did you get in those?” Jake grinned at Javy’s statement. Good. He’d put a lot of work into this.

Take it to the limit one more time by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley takes care of Jake for the first time.

But Only If It's With You by theinsouciantknitter {E}

The best way to celebrate surviving the unsurvivable? Sex on a bar pool table, of course.

The Only Hope for Me is You by mackwinnon {E}

“Jake,” Bradley’s voice was gentle, so unlike any other way he’d ever spoken to him, and Jake hated it. He didn’t need Rooster’s fucking pity. He didn’t need anything from anyone, least of all Rooster. Rooster, his rival. Rooster, who thought he was better than Jake. Rooster, who… Who… Rooster, who’d come looking for Jake when no one else had. Fuck. Or: After the mission, Jake disappears. Bradley goes looking for him.

it's not in the way that you hold me from old men in love Series by davidbyrne {E}

jake and bradley discover new things together in middle age

Maybe This Time Is Forever by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake hasn’t slept in days. Three days, to be exact. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees an outdated F-14 going down in flames into the ocean.

Say The Word by perishablealex {E}

Bradley leaves instructions for Jake. Jake follows them. - The praise begins to trickle in. “Well done, you’re so beautiful like this.” Preening at the words, Jake squirms, clenching his fingers against the sheets and inhaling shakily. Bradley’s voice is low. Jake can almost feel the brush of his voice against his ear, the ghost of the mustache tickling his lobe. “You know I can’t let you touch yourself yet, baby.”

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) by davidbyrne {E}

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

Heat of the Moment by theinsouciantknitter {E}

It’s a hundred degrees in Texas, and Bradley finds that he hates it, hates the oppressive air pressing down on him, the humidity making him feel like he’s swimming with every breath he takes. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to come back to the homestead with Jake for their leave. They’re barely even friends, let alone the kind of people who spend their time off together.

What's my worth? by WaffleToaster {E}

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… These were the only thoughts that rang through his head. Twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths. One and two. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other and whatever they had going between them meant nothing. And then the mission happened.   Or how Bradley and Jake went from hating each other to caring a little too much.

Rivalry On A Learning Curve by SaintClaire {E}

A couple of simple definitions: Rivalry: Competition for the same objective or for superiority in the same field Archnemesis: One who is hostile to or opposes the purposes or interests of another Jake thinks about how best to define whatever the fuck it is he's got going on with Bradley. Yep. Definitely the above.

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

Darkness on the Edge by theinsouciantknitter {E}

There's always room for firsts in a relationship, and this one's full of them.

Priest 'verse by theinsouciantknitter {E}

One Look From You (And I Would Fall From Grace)

Jake didn’t expect this when he moved in with his grandmother. He expected to be roped into attending church with her, that’s all fine and dandy. He didn’t expect that the priest would look like that, though. He didn’t expect that he would be funny, and quick-witted. He didn’t expect him to be that young. He didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Like a Little Prayer

Bradley has a difficult decision

Before This River Becomes an Ocean

Conversations must be had, and this is one Jake wants to avoid.

It Goes Like This (the Fourth, the Fifth)

Jake just has to get through the planning of the wedding, and then they're home free.

the Minor Fall, the Major Lift

A steadfast resolution

if you're looking for absolution (well get on your knees) by seresins {E}

Jake comes home to Texas for the summer, where he meets his church's new priest. Tempting him feels like the best kind of bad idea.

take you like a drug by coconutcordiale {E}

Murder. Jake is ready to commit murder. It’s fine. He’s a lawyer, he can represent himself in court. Because he just fell asleep. Yet here Jake is, staring at the atrocious popcorn ceiling in his bedroom, jerked awake mere minutes ago by the shrill moans of some undoubtedly gorgeous brunette and the repetitive banging of his neighbor’s headboard against the wall that he shares with Jake. * aka the neighbors au

Fucked up and pretty by pizzz_10 {E}

There’s a reason why jake is always getting under bradley’s skin, he just wants some attention.

chat with you, baby (flirt a little maybe) by acetonitril {E}

"Come on, give me a little more to work with here. How are you doing? What are you doing? Who are you doing?" The last thing, he says in a teasing tone and Bradley reacts without a second thought. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life with you, Hangman.” “And yet that’s the one thing you chose to comment on." Bradley, Jake, and accidental phone sex.

 unglued (thanks to you) by emseebeans {E}

The first time Jake says it, it’s an accident. It’s Bradley’s fault, really. It’d always been a secret Jake held onto so tight, but Bradley brings it bubbling to the surface. He pulls Jake into his orbit. He’s smooth. He’s overly sure of himself. He’ll appear to be completely uninterested one minute, to looking like he wants to devour Jake the next. And he has soft edges. He’ll say the filthiest shit in bed, and then call Jake his baby, his sweetheart. It’s no wonder the word slips out.

hits like ecstasy (comes up and bangs the sense out of me) by davidbyrne {E}

It’s a plug. Slenderer than the few they have in their collection, and a deep green. Jake opens his mouth to say something, but Bradley holds up a finger. Jake shuts his mouth. The plug starts vibrating in his palm, slow, steady pulses that build. Jake sucks in a breath.

all in by honestlydarkprincess {E}

If you had told Rooster a week ago that he would be stumbling into his base housing with Hangman, making out against every surface Rooster could push him into, he would have called you a liar. As it was, he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, even though Hangman’s tongue was currently in his mouth. Or, the one where Hangman and Rooster hook up and Hangman slips up, admitting his daddy kink. Rooster goes all in.

G.U.Y. by reanimated {E}

Bradley finally slips. Jake is cautiously intrigued. Until they both throw caution to the wind.

just a touch of your love by lightwoodsisabelle {E}

“Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?” “Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

Show Me by danslasherrr {E}

"You danced on that man like a bitch in heat but you were looking at me the whole time. You wanted me to watch you and why's that, Jake?", he ran a hand down Jake's cheek softly. Or: Jake makes Bradley jealous and then apologises by giving him head

viewing pleasure by SissySpargo {E}

jakes a porn star. bradleys the director. they're also married.

Your Body Is My Alter by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes Jake just needs to wring every ounce of pleasure from his husband as he can.

all you're giving me is friction by grimjobs {E}

Come on, daddy long legs, move your feet so I can sit down,” Hangman said, it was innocuous enough, but Bradley felt his blood heat all the same; he was grateful for the sun beating down on his skin, hoping that it hid the flush he could feel blooming across his neck and chest. or, 5 times Jake called Bradley 'daddy', and one time, he called Bradley 'daddy'.

that's my good girl by shadowdancing {E}

Jake Seresin is known for being an observant man. He sees the hand prints on Bradley's waist and the hickeys on his throat. He sees the way his eyes light up when he's praised. And based on the frustration in his body, Jake knows he isn't getting fucked like he wants...like he deserves. Bradley Bradshaw is known for being an intelligent man. For years, he's been letting sexual encounters mark him up, just so he can get Jake's eyes on him. He knows Jake sees them, determining that under Bradley's bluster, he's desperate for Jake to fuck him, to give him what he needs in a way no one else can. This is the story of two men pushing and pulling at their desires, figuring out their feelings, and satisfying each other in the way they've been desperate for since they met.

Whose your daddy now? by WaffleToaster {E}

“Remember when we set the rule that any ‘life-changing’ decision is to be decided by the both of us?” “How is my facial hair suddenly a ‘life-changing decision’ that affects the both of us?” In other words: a shaving accident, a bad day and an attempt to cheer someone up that goes just as expected.

[em-harlsnow]

the scene where ian leaves mickey to cross the border alone will always hurt so fucking badly.

because mickey has no one. he’s all alone, he ditched damon a long time ago and any family he had is either long gone or not people he would want to associate with. all he has is ian, and ian doesn’t want to follow him.

i think ian left him for a million different reasons. ian must have known on some level that the life mickey would lead in mexico would be far from a legal one - aside from the escaped convict part. ian has only ever known mickey to be a drug dealer, or a pimp, or a scammer. so he assumes mickey will be doing the same thing in mexico, which he does (maybe it would be different if ian had gone with, but who knows) as he joins a cartel.

ian can’t do that illegal life anymore, it’s not enough for him. he needs stability, he needs a purpose and he had only JUST found it in the EMT work. he had his family, who he would miss so much and maybe end up resenting mickey for losing them.

ian can’t put his disorder on mickey alone, it would be too much. ian doesn’t know how he’ll get meds in mexico, doesn’t know if they’ll be the exact same and he can’t do it to mickey and hurt him again, in a foreign country without his family to support him.

but ian wants mickey to know he loves him, but he just CANT. and mickey knows that, knows he can’t, gets that. i think mickey u derstood from the beginning that ian wouldn’t go. i dont think mickey expected ian to come at all, but when he did mickey believed him, which is the saddest part, because he was let down.

i don’t know if ian ever intended to cross the border. no idea. he could have expected to cross and realised at the last moment he couldn’t, or knew it all along.

i don’t think mickey believes ian loves him as much as he does. i think mickey thinks ian loves him like ian loves everyone, because ian is a loving person. ian does love him, though, but he can’t go with him.

it sucks, but it’s true.

and it clearly hurt ian badly. the deleted scene of ian and lip shows that, and the acting my cameron in that scene is AMAZING. you can see every thought that crosses his face.

anyway, this is my rant about shameless season 7 episode 11 because i didn’t have a chance to talk about it a few days ago.

[daylighteclipsed]

@generatedreflection Hope you don’t mind if I respond to your tags this way, since my og post is already kind of long! So running on the assumption that KH is a video game, or at least fiction/a story, in-universe and the characters are waking up and changing when they’re not “supposed” to…

I guess it depends on when the initial divergence from fate/the narrative/the program happened and how much it affected. Was Riku supposed to be our player character? If so, did Sora and Riku only swap physical places/external roles, or did their writing or programming adjust their personalities to fit their new places in the story/game so as to keep the narrative from diverging too much? Is this the first run through the story, or have there been multiple past loops we’re not privy to and that the characters don’t consciously remember but which still affect their hearts?

I’m thinking of ReCoded specifically, when Data Sora and Data Riku go on this whole adventure that’s similar to KH1 but different enough to shape them into their own people. Even after they’re reset to follow what’s written in the Journal, we know those memories remain in their hearts and in the hearts of their newfound Disney friends from the ‘real’ world, Mickey, Donald, and Goofy. So data KH1 will never truly reflect KH1 as we know it.

If ReCoded is spelling the big picture out for us, do Sora and Riku only start awakening during the one run of KH1 that we play… or have they been waking up because of one or more resets before that we haven’t seen? Is fate, destiny, the narrative, the program trying really hard to make this story play out the way it’s “supposed” to, but the boys keep swerving, developing more awareness and free will with every reset? Or is this the first run where things are different because of something the Master of Masters most likely set in motion? Or maybe what he set in motion has taken all these resets to come to fruition?

It’s a lot to think about. And I don’t have any answers. Certainly it’s interesting to consider all the different ways the story could go/is maybe “supposed” to go… If Sora and Riku’s roles are supposed to be flipped, with Riku as the champion of light and Sora as the one who falls to darkness… then it’s kind of ironic that they seem to be circling back to that now. Like rather than completely changing or swapping destinies, they just took a detour. They took the long way around, but the road still leads to the same place. Fate is fighting to correct course.

But I also think, you know, Sora could’ve always been meant to be the Hero and embody that archetype even if the Keyblade was not “supposed” to be his. I don’t think the one who wields Kingdom Key Light is synonymous necessarily with the Hero of the story or even the main protagonist. It’s also possible for Riku to pass on the Keyblade to Sora without falling to darkness.

Either way, the idea of Riku giving his crown/destiny to Sora, rewriting the story and essentially acting as the narrative for Sora in this sense, usurping fate, is interesting. Especially when you compare this to Data Riku’s role in ReCoded. He’s the vessel for the Journals, for the entire digital universe they create, and he protects it. He protects Sora’s story, the one we see in the games, which plays out how it does because Riku gives Sora the Keyblade.

The one thing I feel for sure — a lot of this, the story changing and characters waking up/coming alive, comes back to Riku. From what we see of him as a little kid, Riku’s always been more “awake,” it seems, than his peers. Always questioning things and possessing a wisdom beyond his years. It’s like he almost knows (or remembers) things he shouldn’t. As Sora puts it, Riku says “some weird stuff sometimes.” And I think Riku is the one who starts waking Sora up. He encourages Sora to think about things that it doesn’t seem Sora would think about on his own. To ask questions. To see their world differently. And to consider worlds beyond their own.

I think he’s why Sora’s first line in the series is about awakening. “I’ve been having these weird thoughts lately. Like — Is any of this for real or not?” And I think Riku’s why Sora’s able to connect with and awaken/bring to life so many characters in the story. That might even be canon, actually, if Riku encouraging Sora to open his heart to Ventus when they’re little kids is what teaches Sora how to... By empowering Sora, Riku is the catalyst for a ripple effect of change that defies destiny and universal law. And it culminates in his KH3 sacrifice which allows Sora to rewrite how the Book of Prophecies ends.

I think that’s what Riku has always represented: Awakening. Truth. The outside world — whether that means adulthood, reality, new perspectives, or lands yet untraveled. He makes the darkness conscious by bringing it to light. Especially for Sora. Riku quite literally wakes Sora up after CoM and in DDD, and his light pulls forgotten/repressed memories up from the depths. Riku’s often associated with the sun — the kind of bright, harsh light that hurts to look at. That makes it hard, if not impossible, to fall back asleep.

Riku’s the sudden light in your eyes that has you groaning and rolling away when someone has to get you out of bed in the morning lol He’s the rude awakening. The truth is often not pleasant or easy. It often hurts. But inevitably, it becomes known. Inevitably, the sun rises and illuminates the dark. Dawn breaks, and the day and all its challenges must be faced. No slacking off. Chop, chop. It’s time to wake up, Sora. Destati!

Even Data Riku in ReCoded is the one who lifts the curtain for Data Sora and ‘reveals the matrix’ so to speak. “It’s time for you to learn the truth.” Riku offers the truth, perhaps quite literally sometimes if that’s what his iconic outstretched hand gesture represents — and it definitely seems to given how KH3’s tutorial/awakening parallels Sora’s dream in the KH1 opening. But it’s up to Sora to accept the truth. To face it. To take Riku’s hand and awaken. It’s Sora’s choice.

Anyway. Whether Riku is “supposed” to be the Hero or was always meant to be the Rival, he’s not supposed to love Sora as much as he does, and certainly not in the romantic way the games suggest he does… I understand your hesitation about gay intent in KH… But it really feels like the “missing”/unspoken piece here that makes so many people scratch their heads over Riku’s character arc. For Sora, it’s less clear (especially in English), but I do think Riku is in love with him. And I truly believe so much of “destiny” changing and characters awakening, Sora awakening, comes back to that.

Destiny in this case would be the typical formula of Disney fairy tales and the expectations of our heteronormative society. And awakening would be developing awareness of these limitations and smashing them… Perhaps reflected through Riku and Sora exposing the flaws in the Light and Dark binary that’s dictated Keyblade society and caused many of the problems their generation has to contend with.

Perhaps the door to the light, to truth, to awakening IS the closet door, then (insert joke here about Riku literally being the gay awakening)… But it’s a lot of other things as well. Awakening is discovering any truth. Every truth. It’s knowledge of the systems that limit and control you, of any unseen force that holds you back. It’s power to see through illusions and lies, distortions and distractions. It’s free will and independent thought. It’s self-actualization and true freedom. After all, you cannot break free of chains you don’t know are there.

That certainly makes the Master of Masters an interesting fellow… It seems like he wants change. He wants the characters to deviate from the script, to awaken, to develop free will… But at the same time, he’s pulling all the strings. He’s the eye always watching them... Does he truly want freedom, or does he want to be the one who decides what freedom looks like?