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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 6 months ago

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Magnetic pt. 2 - SNEAK PEEK!

Work has been a fucking disaster the last few weeks and I’ve been so stressed & scatter brained so writing has been going by quite slowly but…I am just reading through Magnetic part 2 for the final edits! It’s definitely taken longer than even I expected, so thank you for your patience 🩷 Here's a sneak peek!

Warnings: There is no 18+ content in this sneak peak!

WK: 1.4K

“H, over here!” Paul spoke up and you were suddenly feeling full of anxiety as Harry surely approached the group. You didn’t want to turn around…you couldn’t face him yet. You weren’t ready!

“Hey, thank you for ummm….” He paused briefly as his eyes landed on you, “For waiting.” He finished and Paul nodded and smiled. He then proceeded to greet everyone and you very stiffly hugged him back.

He started talking to Sam about the ballet and how incredible it had been. You were certain that if you had also been able to sit through several hours of Tchaikovsky before this run in you’d be just as composed as he was, if not more. You looked him over and smiled a bit, he was really letting loose. His hair was looking a little messy and he was growing it into some long-lost Gallagher brother-esque faux hawk-mullet hybrid that you were really loving. And his facial hair was looking fuller than before. You wanted to think he was letting himself go a bit because he missed you, but even if that were the case, he still looked infuriatingly good. And well, in his true fashion of always having to do something a little raunchy and edgy, he was wearing a t-shirt that said: I LIKE TO WATCH. If you hadn’t been so anxious about seeing him you would’ve rolled your eyes and commented it on it, maybe even gotten a lot turned on by his brazenness, but you were just trying to keep it together right now.

Moments later you were being guided into the booth and you ensured to stay on the end in case you just needed to leave quickly at som point. Much to your dismay, he was across from you and also doing everything in his power to prevent himself from looking at you. You had soon ordered your drink and everyone else did the same plus some food. Even if you were feeling peckish, you weren’t sure you could stomach anything other than liquids at this moment.

“So what happened with your date, Y/N?” Sam asked and then everyone’s attention focused on you. You felt put on the spot and but responded anyway.

“Ummm…I kind of…messed up a tiny but after our first date.” You explained and then frowned a bit, “That’s…a lie. I majorly messed up. And he was taking some time to think if I was worth the risk, I guess? But as he thought about it he concluded that he’s not ready to see anyone in any serious capacity right now so we’re just going to stay friends.” You summarized your conversation with Joe from earlier in the evening “And well…here I am now.” You shrugged with a tightlipped smile.

“So he asked you on a date to tell you he wasn’t going to date you?” Paul questioned.

“Well, I think I just got excited and assumed it was a date. But ummm…it wasn’t so…” you shrugged before sipping more from your drink nervously.

“So you’ve been single for a while?” Sam asked. You’d known Paul for quite a while, even before he and Sam got together, so while you’d known Sam for a few years now, he wasn’t really in your circle until more recently.

“A while is…putting it nicely.” You mumbled in slight embarrassment, “Try five years.” You chuckled and his eyes went wide.

“Holy shit!”

“Look, it’s not for lack of effort! I go on dates a lot but ummm, nothing has…panned out really.” You shrugged as you glanced down at a little snagged piece of fabric on the table cloth.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Y/N but you give “fixer” vibes.” Sam said and you looked at him in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

“Sam-”Paul started but he brushed him off.

“It’s not a bad thing! But she seems like the kind of person that makes men wish they were single again.” He said and Harry reached for his drink then, “Like look at her! She’s gorgeous and talented and smart and a fucking laugh! So when they inevitably get bored of their girlfriends and end it, they go to her and she shows them life can be fun again.” He said and you smiled slightly at him, “That getting to know someone and being with them can be exhilarating! And being the sweetheart you are,” he glanced to you, “you take care of these people. You nourish them, support them emotionally and physically…You breathe life back into them, you know?” You nodded in understanding, “And then how do they repay her kindness? They leave her high and dry despite all of the good things she did for them. That’s a fixer. Not like she seeks them out to fix them, but they need fixing and they just come to her in order to…feel something again but it’s never reciprocated.” He explained and you were trying so hard not to cry and scream “YES! THAT’S EXACTLY MY LIFE!”

“Jesus…That’s an awful thing to say, Sam.” Paul said with disapproval and he frowned.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/N.” Sam apologized quickly. “I’ve had a lot to drink already and I wasn’t thinking.” He said reaching over Goldie’s hands to grab your own and you just smiled at him and shook your head.

“Aw Sam, it’s alright, I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’m not offended.” You reaffirmed, “If anything I’m…happy there’s a term for it! Thank you!” You smiled sincerely and he smiled at you with a tenderness in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking gracious.” He sighed, completely in awe of you, “I don’t deserve you as a friend.” He shook his head.

“I promise you, we’re so good, Sam. Don’t worry about it.” You reassured him and he nodded. It was still quiet at the table for a few more seconds and it was killing you, “Anyway…why didn’t you two go to the ballet?” You asked Goldie and Sam.

“We weren’t invited. Harry only invited Paul.” Sam explained with a sassy smile as he side-eyed Harry who scoffed.

“I told you I was only gifted two tickets!” Harry said. And well, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was gifted two tickets…why he hadn’t taken his girlfriend along?

“So? You can afford it, Harry.” Goldie said matter of factly, a moment of silence passed before you all burst into laughter at Goldie’s comment.

“Jesus, I didn’t know everyone was so into the fucking ballet.” He mumbled making you all continue laughing.

“You didn’t think maybe your friends would want to spend time with you?”

“Not on my dime.” He joked.

“It’s how the rich the stay rich.” Sam shrugged as you all laughed along.

“I kid…” Harry smiled easily, “Next time.” He assured and Goldie looked at him with raised eyebrows, “I promise.” He chuckled and she grinned.

“I’ll be waiting.” She hummed and then the topic changed again to something else that wasn’t you and you were more than grateful about that.

You were getting tired mentally from going against every single signal your brain would send, tempting you to just stare at Harry and get lost in him. It was like there was this pull that drew you to his movements, you just wanted to sit and admire him. You wished you could scoot in beside him and feel his warmth coming off of him. You wondered if in another world you could do just that. Yeah, you knew that he probably missed you, but he hadn’t picked you. You needed to stop being so pathetic by wishing for a miracle. Especially by staying so hung up on him despite the time that had transpired and the circumstance you two had been in. You just needed to collect yourself for a moment.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back.” You said lowly to Goldie before standing and heading off. You heard Harry say, “Me too.” before the sound of his foot steps got closer and closer to you. You started walking a bit faster to make it there before he had the chance to catch up to you because you didn’t need this right now. You needed the distance so fucking bad, no matter how much you wanted him close by.

READ PART 1 HERE!

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deedala · 1 year ago

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🌿w e e k l y 🍄 t a g 🕯️ w e d n e s d a y🌙

thanks @darlingian for writing this week!! and thanks for tagging me @creepkinginc @energievie @metalheadmickey 💖💖💖

which character from any media would you like to have as a father?: oh hey yeah i am going to have to also say Bob Belcher. He is dad goals.

if money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?: im sorry i have a whole entire me and 2 kids to take care of i dont want anything else lmao

what is your Chinese takeout order?: veggie fried rice and veggie egg rolls!

what's your favourite emoji?: omg i dunno uhmmmm 💖 is probably up there!!

would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?: okay i am a legendary plant killer but i would LOVE to be able to just hang in a greenhouse. thats my vibe. i just cannot be responsible for those plants ok

what childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?: david the gnome!

what was your tumblr like when you first joined?: for a really long time my tumblr was just my silly little artworks, from like 2011 to late 2014. in 2015 it became more of my dragon age artwork and fandom blog. and then a few years ago i just started reblogging whatever the fuck i wanted. and well now its a whole mess huh. my beloved trash pile.

what clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?: cottage core and dark academia

if you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?: Thedas hoo boy

what is your favourite piece of art?: hmmm birth of venus by william-adolphe bouguereau

do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?: aluminum cup with a straw style, its blue and green and has a leaves design on it

what fanfic trope is a quiet fave? uuhhh...i dont know if i have a quiet fav?

do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?: lately its been an addidas black drawstring bag. i just dug through it and found absolutely nothing un-normal haha?? i guess the most uncommon thing in there might be the epi-pens??

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?: what kind of choice is this?? im going to go ahead and be a cheater and say i BFF ship mickey with debbie

what is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?: ack...again i dunno?? i just like all the basic things and i dont know enough about the other stuff? maybe i need to try more things that i think sound unfun lol

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?: lmao hes so inexplicably swole, yes absolutely

who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?: i want debbie to have that, she deserves it.

Okay here's some nuggets who i think might want to play!! @michellemisfit @too-schoolforcool @mickeysgaymom @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @gardenerian @callivich @juliakayyy @mmmichyyy @jrooc @sam-loves-seb @crossmydna @suzy-queued @tanktopgallavich @lingy910y @transmickey @rereadanon @palepinkgoat @sickness-health-all-that-shit @suchagallabitch @thepupperino @sleepyfacetoughguy @tsuga-of-mars and also you person not tagged you can lie and say i tagged you as always i will corroborate~

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game

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bubblegumbarbie33 · 1 year ago

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Shit post shit post shit post time

So. So. So.

I was just listening to a recording of No Children by the Mountain Goats (love them. Love their sound. Stream them. >:( )

So here's the end of the Shameless Finale if I had written it, following the lyrics of this beautiful song. Everything else can happen roughly the same in the episode, I guess, but these last three minutes and thirty seconds are MINE DAMMIT. >:D

(Is it bad that I forgot how Frank ended up in the hospital in the Finale? Anyway, somehow Frank ends up at a payphone while he wanders the streets in a drunken, amnesiac state. He calls the Gallagher house. Everyone's at the Alibi. No one answers.)

I hope that our few remaining friends

Give up on trying to save us

(Frank, frustrated, wanders off into the city. He walks by the Alibi, stares at it for a few seconds, confused. He doesn't remember this place.)

I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot

To piss off the dumb few that forgave us

(He wanders by Sheila's old house. There's a new family in there now, very similar looking to the Jacksons. A little blond girl looks out the window at Franks, who stands in the street. She waves, he waves back, smiling (drunken, confused, delighted). Her mother, seeing Frank, quickly pulls the girl away from the window and shuts the curtains. Franks frowns and continues on.)

I hope the fences we mended

Fall down beneath their own weight

And I hope we hang on past the last exit

I hope it's already too late

(At the Gallagher house, we see that shitty wiring, mentioned by so many people throughout the series, begin to act up. Maybe someone left something on when they weren't supposed to. Maybe the house is just ready to go. It starts a flame, small, but powerful.)

And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here

Someday burns down

And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away

And I never come back to this town again

(Frank stumbles into an unfamiliar place. A cemetery. He weaves through the headstones. Even he doesn't know what he's looking for. Then, he sees it. HERE LIES MONICA GALLAGHER. LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER. BELOVED DAUGHTER. Frank laughs, it's bubbly and childish. He sits next to the grave. Leans against the headstone. His eyes close.)

In my life, I hope I lie

And tell everyone you were a good wife

And I hope you die

I hope we both die

(Quick cuts of all of the Gallaghers in the Alibi, celebrating, interspersed with their rooms going up in smoke.

Ian's sitting by the bar, nursing a beer. Discreetly, Mickey hands him his nightly dosage. Ian sighs, but takes them. Then laughing, he kisses his husband. It's adorable.

Ian's old room, now just belonging to Liam and Carl, goes up. We see the 8-Ball T-shirt, passed down through three Gallagher boys, go up.)

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow

I hope it bleeds all day long

Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises

We're pretty sure they're all wrong

(Debbie sits at the bar while Franny colors. Kev hands her a beer and ruffles her hair. She smiles. Blinks once. Twice. Turns to the door. There stands Sandy. They stare at one another ((the other girl from the finale doesn't exist. I hope you all know me well enough to know she's not in MY finale 😭))

Debbie's room. Her bed goes up, along with the Graves poster from her childhood bedroom)

I hope it stays dark forever

I hope the worst isn't over

And I hope you blink before I do

(Lip sits in a corner booth, staring out the window. He should be having fun, but all the paperwork sitting in front of him says otherwise. Tami slides in next to him, holding Fred. She leans against him. Lip looks down at the kid he's always wanted, and its enough, for now.

Back at the house, his old bunk goes up, along with a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen table.)

I hope I never get sober

And I hope when you think of me years down the line

You can't find one good thing to say

(Carl's sitting at the bar with his cop friend. He's looking around the bar. He seems more serious than usual. He sees Debbie talking to Sandy. She makes eyes contact with him. Smiles. They love each other, but they don't need each other anymore.

At home, an old, fucked up Barbie doll under his old bed melts in the flames.)

And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out

You'd stay the hell out of my way

(Liam stands out on the sidewalk. He's looking for Frank. A streetlight flickers above him. He shivers. He sighs. He gives up. He walks back into the Alibi. A slow pan out. The lights of the Alibi are warm. We see people moving inside. Some drunken laughter.

I am drowning

There is no sign of land

You are coming down with me

Hand in unlovable hand

(Cut to: the Gallagher house is fully engulfed in the flames. A figure stands on the sidewalk out front. We see a firetruck pulling up behind her. It's Fiona. She looks at the burning house. She knows where her family is right now, she was on her way. She smiles. She laughs. It sounds like Frank's

And I hope you die

I hope we both die

(Fade to black with the sound of sirens. One last line from Frank: You can say a lot about the Southside. It's hall on earth, danger at every turn, the American cousin to Sodom and Gamora. But they're one thing you'd have to agree with. We know how to fucking party.

Cue: The Lucky You Got- Roll Credits)

#guys please #writing this felt like a fever dream #please give me validation lmao #and critiques #critiques are welcome #shameless #shameless us #shameless finale

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houndsoul · 6 months ago

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A LIE ALWAYS BEGINS WITH A TRUTH and this was his—that for as much contempt he held for this world, his love for the Watchmaker would always be double that.

He was never a courteous man. Always with a quip to say, always with an insult to sling. Sarcasm became the language with which he spoke to the world. It makes sense. For a pathstrider of the Enigmata, no one's really supposed to know what they mean. Some veil themselves using flowery words. Gallagher does through wit. No wonder they called him hound—with a bite and bark as magnificent as his, it's hard to not see the wretched dog spirit he embodied. But with Mikhail, something inside him always seems to soften. His words don't land quite as harsh as they usually do. His remarks are never quite scathing. "Old man" grows to be a term of endearment; rolled eyes, a hug. As if mirroring his transformation of the dreamscape itself, Mikhail always manages to turn Gallagher's edge into something sweeter.

Perhaps that's why he grew attached to his mixologist act? Was there something about taking things and bringing out their better flavors that reminded him of good ol' pops?

He can't say for sure. It sounds plausible. Mikhail always did encourage him to try out new things.

Gallagher sighs. He looks out from the precipice he stands on, gazing into the memoria moon. Mikhail's body rests next to him, basking in the same silverlight. Gallagher brings out his flasks, twists off its cap, and has a sip. The taste is bittersweet, perhaps more of the former than the latter. Gallagher is silent.

"Guess I'll be going now." he says to Mikhail. Mikhail says nothing back.

Gallagher takes another sip; heaves another sigh.

"Y'know, it's strange. I was just getting used to all this. To being Gallagher. But now I have to leave."

Silence again, save for the lingering chatter that always rang in the air of Dreamflux Reef. They numbered not too many, yet the people that this primordial dream attracted were always the lively sort. Gallagher thinks about this and laughs. Then he takes another sip.

"You know how it is with us Enigmata folk. Lies can only exist so long as they have the reason to. I don't, anymore, so…"

He moves to drink from his flask but finds that it's near empty. He has to tilt his neck to feel the rest drip into his mouth. After he finishes it, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and lets out an exhale. He closes his eyes and hums.

"It was great, though. It really was. In the end, it all worked out." he opens his eyes. He turns to look at Mikhail's resting body, cradling that dream bubble like a child, smiles, "You sneaky old bastard. Staking everything on a crew who you didn't even know would return here. Was it worth it? Are you happy out there?"

Silence once more. Gallagher sets his flask down.

"I'll just have to find that out for myself. Let me join you, old man. Let me meet you in hell."

He takes a breath that grows deeper, and deeper, and impossibly deeper— then eventually stops.

A lie always begins with the truth, but it also concludes with it as well, and this was his—that all dogs quietly return to their masters in the end.

#DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON — ic #((look i just had to write a drabble ok))#((i just had to get it out))#hsr spoilers

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arrowflier · 3 years ago

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can you write “Hit my husband again and I’ll fucking kill you” but this time Mickey says it 😯 always wondered how he respond to a lip and ian show down

The house was quiet when Mickey woke up from his accidental afternoon nap. He sighed into the pillow, stretching an arm over the space where Ian would normally lie.

It was cold. Of course it was—it was the middle of the fuckin’ day. Ian was probably still at work, at that dead-end job that barely even made a dent in the bills.

That made Mickey sigh for a different reason.

He was thinking about just staying there, going back to sleep until Ian got home. Ian would accuse him of sleeping all day anyway; he might as well make it true.

Then a crash sounded through the house, the outer wall vibrating against Mickey’s extended leg, and raised voices rose up through the floor vent.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Mickey heard Lip shout as he rolled off the bed and scrambled for the closed accordion door.

He ripped it open, stumbled out into the hallway, caught himself on the wall when another thud sounded from below.

“Was thinking I didn’t want to be little bitch like you,” Ian’s voice echoed up the stairs, gravely and rough.

There was a clatter, like dishes falling, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Well, Mickey thought absently. Guess Ian was home after all.

He hurried to the stairs, tripped over the first one, and kept going. When he got to the landing, he stopped, watching the carnage that was Ian and Lip Gallagher trying to pummel each other in the middle of the family kitchen.

Ian was winning, that was for damn sure. He had Lip in a headlock, using his height to his advantage, while his brother flailed. It didn’t last long, though, Ian’s arms loosening when he caught sight of Mickey with wide eyes, and Lip finally got in a solid hit to Ian’s gut.

Ian went down. Lip followed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mickey yelled out, rushing down the steps as soon as Ian fell. “The fuck is goin’ on down here?”

Neither Ian nor Lip responded, too busy grappling on the floor to spare him a glance. Ian kneed Lip in the groin—Lip pulled Ian’s hair. Ian hooked a leg around Lip’s and flipped them, pinning his older brother to the floor—Lip headbutted him, scrambling out from underneath.

Mickey was there when he stood, shoving Lip into the corner of the counter to get to Ian’s side. He reached down to grasp Ian’s arm, help him up, but his husband slapped his hand away, too preoccupied with a freshly bloodied nose to notice whose it was.

“Ian, hey!” Mickey yelped, shaking his hand out. “What are you hitting me for?”

“He does that,” Lip spit out off to the side, cradling his ribs as he leaned against the cabinets. “Likes to take shit out on people that are trying to help him.”

Oh, hell no.

Mickey left Ian there on the floor, holding his nose and staring up at Mickey apologetically, and marched the two steps over to Lip. He stood close, toe to toe, and leaned in even closer.

“The fuck you just say about him?” he hissed in Lip’s bruised face.

Lip blinked.

“He just quit his job, Mickey, he tell you that?” Lip asked. “He tell you he threw away the only good thing this family has right now?”

Mickey paused. Cut his eyes down to Ian without moving out of Lip’s space.

“That true?” he asked, and Ian didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.

Mickey turned back to Lip.

“So he quit that stupid-ass job,” he said. “You started a fight over that?”

“We need the money, Mickey!” Lip cried. “Not like you’re helping out, and we can’t all live off stolen cereal all the time!”

“Yeah? Our contributions not enough for you, college?” Mickey asked. “How’s your job doin’ right now?”

“Mickey,” Ian said from the floor, quiet.

“Not now, Ian,” Mickey responded. “I’m taking care of something.”

He let his voice drop, pushing forward enough that Lip should be able to feel the heat of his breath, the heat behind his words.

“You don’t get to put that shit on Ian,” he growled. “Or on me. You’re a grown ass man, start acting like it.”

“He started it,” Lip said. “Threw a damn bowl at me when I told him he needed to go beg for that job back.”

“Don’t care who hit who first,” Mickey said flatly, not pulling back. “Or why. You hit my husband again at all, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Lip swallowed, audibly. His eyes flitted off to the side.

“Whatever,” he said, feigning disinterest, and shoved at Mickey’s chest.

Mickey let him, falling back a step so Lip could move away from the counter. He watched as Lip left, not bothering to stop and help Ian, just going straight out the back door and letting it slam shut.

Mickey waited a breath, watching, but the door stayed closed. Then he went to Ian, and helped him up properly this time.

“You good?” Mickey asked. He didn’t specify as to what.

“Yeah,” Ian said on a sigh. “I’m good, Mick.”

“You sure?”

Ian offered a half-grimace, half-smile. “I’m sure. Families fight, Mickey, it’s nothing new.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, you think I don’t know that, wise guy?”

Ian’s smile turned real.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sorry, that was stupid.”

“It’s okay,” Mickey told him, then, “I’m kinda proud of you, you know.”

“For quitting that job?” Ian asked. “I know you hated it.”

“No,” Mickey answered. “For beating the shit out of Lip.”

He waited as Ian laughed, watching the way it brought life back into his pained eyes.

“Now come on,” he said as the laughter began to fade. “There’s a warm spot on the bed callin’ your name, man, go get in it.”

Ian skated a hand over Mickey’s hip as he obediently moved toward the stairs.

“Are you coming with me?” he asked, and Mickey nodded.

They would talk about it later, he was sure. About the job, about Lip, about the future. About why Ian felt the need to fight his brother in the middle of the house, in the middle of the day, over something he would have agreed with about just hours ago.

But that could wait.

“Sure, Ian,” he said. “Let’s go enjoy our fucking extended honeymoon.”

#feeling kind of off today but still wanted to write a little #daily speedwrite #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #fanfic #lip gallagher #my laptop added a random tag again i don't understand it

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gardenerian · 3 years ago

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if you’re doing the fic prompts: 5 diary entries Ian writes about Mickey + 1 time he reads them to Mickey, if you would be so kind 😌❤️🍅

look at you with the lil tomato emoji! the way to my heart 🍅 welcome to today's softness, my friend. a return to form for me! i twisted the prompt around a bit in that he's reading them to mickey every time, but i think it's pretty darn cute:

it's during breakfast on a random sunday morning that ian loses his shit over a cup of coffee. or maybe it's the donut - mickey's still not quite sure.

the breakfast isn't even that nice, just a box of donuts and a bowl of fruit, but it's as mickey tops off ian's coffee that his eyes widen and fill.

"you have some powdered sugar on your - holy shit." he launches himself from his chair and sprints down the hall. "holy shit, i was right!"

mickey just watches him go, knowing it would only be a moment before ian was back and rambling on about whatever the fuck just happened.

ian comes rushing back to the table with a shoebox in hand. mickey had seen it when they moved in and assumed it was sex toys. so he quirks an eyebrow when ian flips open the top.

he peers over to look inside - scraps of paper, random junk. not a dildo in sight. mickey turns back to ian, tilting his head in question.

"alright, i'll bite. what is this supposed to be?"

ian fiddles with the box and breathes a nervous little laugh. "these are reminders, i guess? um, things i've held onto. about us."

he holds up a few things for mickey to see: an empty cigarette carton, a couple of mickey's old drawings, a fingerless glove. mickey only recognizes a few of the items, and he chuckles a bit at ian's inscrutable sentimentality.

"you're a sap, gallagher. and the coffee...?"

"right, yeah. well i also have some notes in here?" he digs through and pulls a little stack of papers from the bottom of the box. "these are - they're, uh, they're like ideas i had? or promises, maybe, i don't know. for you."

fucking gallagher. of course they are. mickey feels a surge of affection for his soft, silly man. of course ian lugged a box of decade-old junk and hand-written promises to their new place and tucked it away in their closet. he smiles, raising an eyebrow in assent. go on, then. show me.

the first is written on the back of some old math homework. there are faded red markings all over the page, correcting ian's scribbled graphs and equations.

ian hands it to mickey to read, but mickey shakes his head - he wants to hear ian read it. ian rolls his eyes but acquiesces:

"me and mickey split a donut at work today. well, he stole half of my donut but we ate together over the counter. he got pink frosting all over his mouth and i wanted to reach over and wipe it off. or lick it off. he would have punched me today, but i think one day he'll let me."

mickey could melt into his seat. he remembers those summer mornings: snatching ian's daily donuts, sometimes right out of his mouth, and polishing them off.

ian always let him.

and, apparently, he'd then go home and write notes on his homework about the frosting on his lips.

ian snorts and passes the paper over to mickey. he reads over the chicken scratch and laughs at the note at the bottom, presumably from lip: ian, what the fuck?? focus!

ian reaches over and gently wipes that powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth.

the next one is written in the margins of an essay of sorts. there's a circled B+ up at the top.

"nice one, brainiac."

ian flips him off and reads:

"i'm at the dugouts right now and mickey fell asleep after three beers. we didn't even fuck yet, but he's asleep on the bench. he did look tired. but now i don't know what to do. i can't leave him here and i don't want to wake him. i don't want him to go home. i wish i could lie down next to him and hold him a little. i think about that a lot. what it would be like to sleep next to him and not have to hide at night. i bet we'd sleep really well."

mickey remembers that, too. how tense things had been at home, how bone-weary and scared he'd been, sneaking out that night to meet ian. how relaxed and safe he felt stretched out next to him, how easy it was to drift off. how they'd walked home in silence after he woke an hour later, feeling lighter and steadier.

and ian had sat there next to him for an hour, letting him rest. ian had been so overcome that he scrambled in his backpack for a random piece of paper. wrote under the diamond lights about how it felt to watch him sleep.

mickey bites his lip, touched on behalf of his younger self.

"next one?"

ian pauses a bit on this one. it's scrawled on the inside of a folded up piece of paper, and ian fiddles with it a bit, avoiding mickey's eye.

"what is that?"

"it's, uh. it's a worksheet. that day i went to your house after you - after you got married. mandy gave me some homework i'd missed. i didn't do it, obviously, but - "

mickey nods in understanding. ian didn't do the homework because he never went back to school. ian wrote this note and then he left.

"you want me to read it?"

ian shakes his head. "no, i will. i think i have to." he breathes a little shakily, but his voice is steady when he reads:

"mickey's married now and i saw him today. i guess it was the last time for a while. i'm leaving tomorrow and i'm going away for a long time but maybe one day i'll be back. and mickey will be okay and i'll be okay and maybe i'll see him and we'll smile at each other a little. i hope so, anyway."

mickey smiles and ian smiles, and they're both okay.

"i didn't keep the whole journal," ian says, gesturing to the next piece of paper. "it was too fuckin' hard to look at. so i just tore some pages out."

mickey remembers ian sitting on his tiny twin bed, surrounded by paper and scribbling away in a small, yellowed notebook. stuff, notes, ideas, he'd said when mickey asked.

he should've known some of it would be about him. ian's voice isn't so steady when he reads this time.

"mickey brought me home and he slept in my house and then this morning we had breakfast and he poured my coffee. i'm pretty sure this means something like this has to mean something and i think we're gonna have all our breakfasts together now. i think i'm gonna be something and we're going to have an amazing life and he'll pour me some coffee every day."

and it's so simple, it always has been. starting his days with ian, eating with ian, pouring him another cup. watching him do that annoying thing where he breathes it in like he's in a folgers commercial.

he was right. an amazing life.

ian looks at mickey for a while before turning to the next one, the last one. just studies him, watches him breathe as he looks back.

then he picks up the next paper. a pamphlet, some kind of program. ian holds it up for mickey to see, and his heart drops into his stomach.

monica gallagher smiles at him from the front page.

"it's from her service," ian murmurs. "i don't know why we had them, it wasn't like there was any order to it."

he laughs, and it's bitter and sad and wet. mickey reaches out and grasps his wrist, rubbing his thumb over his skin and squeezing for a moment. ian smiles when he lets go.

"mickey should have been there today, he would have been there if he could. but mickey's there and i'm here but he's always gonna be with me. i'll carry him around with me and he'll be there for everything because i'll never fucking forget him."

it was easy, mickey thinks, to imagine that ian had just forgotten him. in juvie or prison or mexico, he just let himself think that ian wasn't clinging to memories as well.

but ian never fucking forgot him, and ian never fucking forgets him.

mickey takes the program with gentle hands and runs his fingers over ian's words. turns the paper over and looks at his mother.

"she was beautiful," mickey tells him. you're beautiful.

"she was," ian agrees.

and, son of a bitch, ian was right in all of it, even in his grief-stricken, manic, youthful dumbass ways.

"so why am i just now seein' this?" mickey asks as ian gingerly packs up the box.

"i always knew i was right," ian says softly, but still somehow smug. "but, i don't know, i didn't wanna jinx it?"

mickey hums. he gets it, they've had a lot of shit luck. but their luck has been shifting, and their lives are unfolding, and maybe ian finally felt like it was safe to come clean.

"you were right," mickey agrees.

"if i had a dollar for every time you said that, i'd have maybe three dollars."

"will you shut up, i'm tryin' to be romantic here," mickey groans, "don't make me regret it."

"sorry," ian laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. "please continue."

mickey rolls his eyes but stands, taking ian's face in his hands.

"you were right," he tells him. "i am here for everything, you are something, and i absolutely would have punched you in the nose if you'd tried to lick pink frosting off my face."

🍩

#brought to you by my obsession with that s4 scene with the coffee #i don't see ian as someone who regularly journaled #but just that he would have these bursts of thoughts #and he'd write them wherever he could #hmm now i am soft AND sad #thanks for this prompt anon i hope you like!#shameless #tumblr writing #also they didn't have programs at her funeral i just made that up

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

Text

hi y’all<3 here’s a new section of the gallavich as seen from alternate POVs fic, this time featuring lip!!!! (i wanted to wait til after the ✨lickey drama✨ in the new ep before posting, but then i decided against it bc i didn’t want to re-write this lol)

i started to have way too many feelings while writing this so it’s a little lengthy and contemplative, but rest assured it features some domestic fluff/ian and mickey being disgustingly in love- i hope u enjoy<3

Lip shuffled into the kitchen of the Gallagher house, opening the fridge door and reaching past the clanging beer bottles to grab a metal soda can on the way back of the shelf, hearing a faint fizz escape as he popped the tab. It was late, the moonlight streaming in across the kitchen through the worn curtains and pooling on the kitchen floor— after Tami had crashed in their bed at the apartment after a long day at work and Freddie was sleeping soundly in his crib, Lip had come by the Gallagher house, without really knowing why. He just needed to clear his head, to get some distance from Tami and all her relentless nagging about moving and apartment hunting and his colossally obvious fuck-up with the bikes— he just needed some space, some less stifling air to breathe outside of their half-packed apartment crammed with boxes lining the walls.

It was funny; no matter how much energy Lip had poured into he and Tami’s first apartment, into painting the walls and agonizing over their kitchen backsplash like it was his first-born son, whenever Lip thought about home, whenever he felt that pit of uneasiness growing in his stomach and he just needed a place where he could lie back on a couch and loosen the knots in his shoulders and breathe in familiar air that would fill him up, instead of the too-clean smell of Tami’s flowery potpourri that she’d placed on the expensive coffee table in their living room— Lip always found his feet leading him across the slabs of sidewalk and past the chain link fences towards the Gallagher house, no matter the time of night. He had only been in the house for a few minutes before he felt the tight-knit something in his chest begin to unfurl— he didn’t even want to start to think about what was lodged there. This had been a crazy fucking couple of months, and he wasn’t going to start getting sappy about selling the house now, not when they were so close. He’d dug a hole too deep this time, and he needed the money. He couldn’t fuck up again— not with Freddie to take care of. No matter what it cost him.

So that’s how Lip ended up sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table at 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, sipping at an overly-sugary pop that was no substitute for what he really wanted to be drinking right now—he could imagine how it would warm the insides of his stomach, how it would cushion whatever weird fucking ache was in his chest right now. But— no. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to do that now. Everything about selling the house, about moving on, was about getting his shit straight— about leaving the bad parts of this sagging roof and these stained floorboards behind him.

Lip slouched in the wooden kitchen chair, scrolling on his phone and finally letting out a breath he didn’t really know he had been holding in all day, when he heard a creaking of footsteps padding at the top of the stairs— too heavy to be Liam or Debbie, too careful and unfumbling to be Frank dragging himself through the house. Lip flickered a glance up from where he was sitting and met Ian’s eyes as he turned the corner of the stairs, his skin looking translucent and overly pale in the moonlight like the ginger motherfucker he was.

Ian nodded his head towards Lip in acknowledgement, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that his older brother with a whole ass family and apartment of his own was decidedly squatting in the kitchen of his childhood home, drinking a pathetic-looking can of Dr. Pepper. Ian slid open the fridge door, grabbing a beer and swiftly popping the cap off by knocking the bottle on the side of the counter—and then in an instant it became one of those quiet, familiar nights when it was just Lip and Ian in the kitchen, sometimes letting easy conversations flow between them, but other times, just like this— just sinking into each other’s presence in the silence. Ian’s shadow mingling with the moonlight on the kitchen floor immediately snapped the atmosphere from lonely and self-pitying and stale to something lighter, something familiar—like the worn, buttery leather of a baseball glove that fits just right.

Instantly Lip was brought back to so many nights before this, of he and Ian orbiting each other in the kitchen at night— when they were kids and would creep down the stairs and eat fistfuls of junk food that Fiona had forbidden, or steal warm sips of the open beers Frank had left on the counter. This was where they’d processed Monica’s return, late at night while they passed a cigarette between them and Ian hadn’t tried to hide the tears that were freely rolling down his freckled cheeks, back when they were both just confused kids who clung to each other— this was where they’d processed Frank’s alcoholic meltdowns, too many to count, and all the love and loss and confusion that had passed between these walls, all the collateral damage of living in this fucking neighborhood. And Lip felt a sudden pang in his gut, sharp and present, when he realized that it might be one of the last nights that he and Ian got to spend in the kitchen like this.

Lip immediately shoved the thought down with all his might, a hydraulic press squeezing out any sentimentality. He had to do this— for Freddie, for Tami. He had to man up and move on, even if it meant physically wounding the crumbling walls to ease the pain of the parallel jagged wounds somewhere deep in his chest, or screaming and shouting until veins popped in his neck, so loud that he knew he was radiating his pain outwards like a fucking atomic bomb.

But tonight, Lip had no more fight left to give. He just wanted to let these four walls hold him one last time, without even realizing that was what he had needed until this moment. Ian slid a chair out from the kitchen table and sat beside him, leaning back and dragging out a slow, sleepy breath.

Lip cleared his throat, softly. “Where’s Mick?”

“Passed out upstairs.” Ian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lip raised his eyebrow, almost involuntarily, and Ian immediately jutted his chin up in a half-nod, an affirmation, as he leaned back even farther and took the first sip of his beer. No, he wasn’t manic and yes, he was fine. After all the years that had passed since Ian was still figuring this shit out, Lip sometimes forgot that checking in on him wasn’t really his job, not anymore.

Lip took another sip from his soda can, a movement to fill the easy silence. “How was your guys’ night?”

Ian shrugged non-committally, his shoulders still slumped back in the chair, his lips puckered around the mouth of the bottle as he stared off into the distance at the peeling kitchen wallpaper. “Eh. It was fine. I dragged Mickey out to try and make more gay friends. Ended up being a mistake.”

Lip held back a laugh, taking a sip from his own drink to mask his smirk. He had ample auditory evidence that Mickey was plenty as gay as Ian, but it was still hard to imagine Mickey leaning into all of this shit— Ian used to wear golden underwear and frequent gay clubs and go to social justice brunches, but none of that really seemed like it was Mickey’s scene.

“Oh yeah? Mickey not the easiest person to befriend?” Lip said it with his eyebrows raised, like the joke was obvious.

Ian looked up at him, like he’d been snapped out of a sleepy train of thought, staring earnestly like Lip’s jab had flown right over his head. “Actually, it was kind of my fault. I was the one who made us leave this dinner party thing we got invited to. They were all talking shit about the Southside, about how they hated their families, and I couldn’t really… connect with them, I guess.”

Lip pondered that, taking a breath and stretching his arms above his head. God, he was sore— he hadn’t even been fucking working, aside from hauling those bikes from place to place to avoid the cops, but all the pent up stress and tension was starting to linger in his bones.

“Yeah, it was the same for me. In college, or whatever. Joaquin was the only person I really talked to, because he got all the shit I was always going through.”

Ian nodded contemplatively—but he was staring off into space again, almost like he was half asleep. Lip took another sip of his soda. He could bring up the house shit again right now—it was all that they’d been talking about for the past few weeks—but for some reason it felt too raw, too intense to bring up right now, like it would cut through this peaceful moment, this island in the vast sea of uncertainty Lip knew he was bringing down on all of their heads. So in this moment, he opted for smoother waters.

“Why’d you guys go looking for new friends, anyways?”

Ian finally broke out of whatever drowsy, pensive trance he’d been in, his lips sloping into a smile. “Mickey kept giving me shit for always doing what you do, after breakfast today. I figured… I don’t know, I just got all pissy and tried to prove him wrong.”

Lip felt the corner of his mouth tick upward at that. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Ian grinned, and held out his beer bottle, stretching his arm across the table. Lip tapped it with his soda can with a light “Cheers,” then took the final sip. He crushed the can to a disk on the table, pressing it down firmly with the heel of his palm and watching the sides compress. Ian’s eyes were cast downward at the table, watching his movements.

“How’s stuff with you and Tami going, all the packing and shit?”

Lip turned the flattened can on its side, contemplatively spinning it like a top on the table and fidgeting with it between his fingers.

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.”

He could hear the breathiness as he said it, how deflated his own voice sounded. And Lip knew could make himself say more— he knew if anyone would get it, Ian would.

“It’s just… fuck, man.”

He looked up and Ian was staring directly at him now, his expression unguarded— listening. Listening like he always did in these moments. Lip let out a low chuckle, trying to shield his own vulnerability.

“How’d we get so fucking old? How is this… it, y’know? Finally leaving the fucking nest, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, placing his beer on the table. “I think you already left the nest when you had a baby and moved into an apartment with your girlfriend.”

Lip shrugged, fiddling with the crushed can again between his fingertips. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“And you are the one making us do this, for the record.”

If Ian’s tone wasn’t as playful or as tentative as it was, Lip would have worried that he was upset— but judging by Ian’s still-comfortable slouch and his steady expression, Lip knew he was fine— he was weathering the storm, just like Lip was.

Ian leaned forward.

“Hey. Mickey was giving me shit—but it is true. You’re my best friend, even though you can be a fucking asshole sometimes.” Ian’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Ian’s eyes flickered around the kitchen as he spoke, and Lip heard everything that was unsaid. Even though you’re kicking us out of the house. Even though you’re changing everything. Even though there isn’t a focal point to our lives anymore.

You’re my best friend.

And Lip felt that pang in his gut again, sharp like a dagger.

He’d said it before, and he’d had no problem saying it over and over again in Mickey’s absence, up until the months before the wedding— Ian did always go a little bit “loco” when Mickey was around.

Which, fuck him, I guess, for caring about his little brother with an undiagnosed mental illness who was off living in the Milkovich House of Horrors slash meth lab with Mickey fucking Milkovich, the bully with greasy hair who Lip wrote papers for in high school and who now was a literal, actual, godforsaken pimp. Lip had seen a teenage Ian bruised and drunk and curled into himself crying over Mickey too many times to ever think that this shit was a good idea— and years later, when Ian almost threw away everything, almost threw away stability and sanity and his fucking family to follow Mickey Milkovich across the Mexican border, Lip knew he had to say something, even though it was an unspoken rule that he and Ian didn’t really critique each other’s love lives since the Mandy-and-Karen fiascos of years past.

So he’d said it, that day in the kitchen, after Ian had returned on a Greyhound bus and they were still processing the dull pain of Monica’s loss— and Ian had taken the feedback with a closed-lip smile, like his head was somewhere else, as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle label with his thumb.

And then less than a year later Mickey was released anyways, and ended up standing in a tank top and boxers in the middle of the Gallagher living room, when the house was crawling with strangers and Freddie was barely two weeks old— and Lip had taken in a sharp breath, a bundle of hesitant nerves sprouting for whatever the fuck this situation was going to become; but not one that he could really give attention to, with all the other bullshit that was pulling at his focus, like the desperate screeching of his newborn kid and the mascara running down Tami’s face.

Later that night, when he’d had a spare moment to breathe and Tami was finally calmed down and sleeping in their cramped bedroom, he’d run into Ian in the moonlit hallway as he was stumbling his way out of the bathroom, drowsily rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up. And Lip had stopped him with a whisper, placing a hand to tap Ian’s shoulder as Ian blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey. So uh… I see Mickey’s out.”

He’d seen the defenses immediately raise in Ian’s eyes, like he knew what Lip was going to say next.

“Yeah.” Ian had said it soft, quietly, like he was afraid of someone waking.

You sure that’s a good idea? Lip could feel the words itching on the tip of his tongue, and he was aching to say them again, all these years later— and yes, maybe his head was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn’t really have the authority to be doling out relationship advice to his little brother right now, but so much of this reminded him of things that had happened in the past, of Mickey Milkovich crashing on Ian’s bedroom floor until he inevitably couldn’t anymore, until the pressure cooker of his presence mingled with Ian’s inevitably exploded— or at least that was how Lip saw it. There were too many wounds, and they were bound to leave scars— Lip was honestly surprised as fuck that the Gallagher house was Mickey’s first stop out of prison, after everything that had gone down between the two of them.

But, for Ian’s sake, Lip tried to reign it in—despite the fact that they’d just been commiserating about “being in love with crazy people” as they crouched on the living room stairs the night before as Ian sipped on a beer, sputtering out a “fuck no” when Lip asked if he was going to marry Mickey (which was an equally as batshit question as if Lip was going to marry Tami). Despite all of this— now that Mickey was back, Lip could see that this was something Ian wanted, that this was something Ian was treading carefully into, one more time. He was definitely stronger now; even Lip could see that.

“He gonna be hanging around here a while?”

Ian had given a gentle, sleepy smile. “Yeah. Think so.”

And Lip had just reached out, and clapped Ian’s sleep-warmed body on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man.”

Ian had walked the remaining length of the hallway, opening the bedroom door— and in the shadows, Lip could see that Mickey was curled on the old, concave mattress of Ian’s single bed that he’d slept on since they were kids— and Ian had lifted the thin blanket and pressed up next to him, the mattress sinking beneath their collective weight, settling in and pressing a kiss to the top of a snoring Mickey’s head without a second thought. Huh.

That was the beginning of Lip starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time with Mickey would be different— and it was. As Mickey started to become a daily fixture in the Gallagher house, constantly pinned to Ian’s side, Lip had noticed how something solid had shifted—they weren’t reckless kids anymore, for starters. He hadn’t really seen Mick and Ian physically together since Ian was catapulting off the deep end, in the weeks after Ian had gotten dragged away by the P.I.s and Mickey had gotten locked up for some crazy fucking stunt trying to murder Sammy. Things were too intense then, too technicolor—for some reason, Lip thought Mickey being back meant that they’d return to being that way.

But now here was this guy, placing a gentle hand on Ian’s chest and saying “Woah, wait a minute” to protect Ian from the batshit P.O. that had just barged through the door—and Lip couldn’t help but realize that was something that he would have done to protect Ian, in a universe where Mickey was still behind bars.

After then, Lip just kept seeing it— the ways that Mickey showed up for Ian. Not even in the ways that he used to, like forcing Ian to take his meds back when everything was uncertain and Ian was slipping through their fingers like sand in a sieve; but in a more solid, adult way, in a way that made Ian buzz whenever he was around him, in a way that made Ian happier and lighter. And maybe it was just the sex—part of it had to be the fucking sex, considering how loud they always were— but Lip realized, after a couple of weeks of Mickey’s presence in the house before their whole eventual engagement fiasco, that Mickey was Ian’s friend, in addition to all the other things he was. After all the years of uncertainty, they’d finally grown the fuck up— Mickey was someone who brought out the best in Ian, and it was like Ian had been waiting for this moment, for Mickey by his side, before he could fully and totally bloom.

And it was weird how emotional that made Lip— after seeing Ian as a hollow shell in a jumpsuit pushing garbage cans around a college campus, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t who wore patterned button-up shirts and threw around fucking useless five-dollar words that Lip didn’t understand like “gender identity” and “intersectionality”— Ian had finally made it, beyond being the bruised, scrawny kid getting sexually abused by a creepy 30 year old man in the back room of a mini-mart, or getting high off his ass every night and starving himself to fit into a golden thong, or wearing a baggy janitor suit with dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. Ian had done that shit on his own, and made himself into something in Mickey’s absence, sure— but so much of him being the full, happy person he was in this moment was because of Mickey, and Lip could see that now.

Ian was himself— he wasn’t a shadow anymore.

And that was why Lip had said he thought he should marry Mickey, in the end— because there was no doubt in his mind that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.

Lip could still see it now, in the way that Ian was lounging comfortably in the living room, like he had his whole life— but now Mickey was resting just as comfortably beside him. It was a few weeks after that night in the kitchen, and Lip had just pitched the FOR SALE sign in the Gallagher front yard— now everyone was huddled in the living room, for what they now knew was one of their last lingering nights in this space. Liam was sitting next to Lip, pressed into his side, seeking the comfort that Lip knew he needed through all of these massive fucking changes— Franny was playing on the floor and Debbie was sitting beside her, and across the room Ian and Mickey were pressed side-by-side on the fraying loveseat, scrolling through the lease document for their new apartment on the battered laptop. They were murmuring things to each other that Lip couldn’t really make out— but Mickey was pressed against Ian, slouching into him slightly, and Ian’s eyes were light. In his flicker of a glance towards them, Lip noticed that Mickey was playing with Ian’s hand, swiping a finger over his wedding ring, as Ian scrolled through the paperwork and started to read all the contract information out loud— and Lip smiled to himself as he tried to tune out all the sappy bullshit that was going on in that corner of the room.

Ian was going to be just fine.

Hour later Lip strode out the door to the front porch, a cigarette he’d bummed off of Ian wrapped in his fist— he didn’t smoke anymore, especially not under the same roof as Tami, but there was something about the gravity of this night, of the flimsy red and white sign rooted in the front yard, that made Lip’s fingertips itch for a cigarette and made his brain buzz with the want of nicotine to dull the sharp edges of everything he was feeling—for smoke to float in front of his face while he sat on the front steps just one more time.

He perched on the front steps as the sun was just starting to set, the fish-scale shadows of the chain link fence encroaching further and further into the yard as he flicked at his lighter.

He heard a light cough from somewhere in front of him— and saw that Mickey was outside too, blowing smoke out of his mouth and leaning against the fence in the front yard facing the house. Lip nodded at him in acknowledgement, then took the first drag. Fuck, he’d needed this.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Mickey said it into the open air, like he isn’t really talking to Lip— his eyes were off in the distance, staring at the paint-chipped front façade of the house. Which was fucking bullshit—why would Mickey be staring absentmindedly, almost fucking wistfully, at the Gallagher house?

It’s not like he and Mickey didn’t talk— they definitely did, pragmatically flinging banter across the kitchen to each other at breakfast when coordinating rides for Liam or grocery list items when Debbie was off at work, existing in the same space every morning— and Mickey helped him haul literal tons of iron when he’d helped him steal the bikes, had haggled over his cut. But never like this—never with any weight, never in a way that was this casual, or this familial, about fucking feelings.

Part of that was probably because it was hard as fuck to worm your way into the Gallagher family—as wide open as their door always seemed to be, with people filtering in and out and crashing on hallway floors or the lumpy couch, this house only continued to function because of its nucleus— because of Lip and Ian and Carl and Debbie and Fiona and Liam and yes, even Frank. Everyone else was a passerby, an impermanent blip crossing through the way station; Jimmy-Steve, Sean, Carl’s slew of girls, Mandy and Karen.

Monica.

None of them were Gallaghers— none of them considered this place to be home, or got all the privileges that came with that. The Gallaghers, the real Gallaghers, had seen every one of these people come and go— and something slippery suddenly crept into Lip’s realization that despite all the odds, despite all of his doubts about him—Mickey had chosen to stay close to these four walls just as much as Lip had.

“Mickey’s family.” Ian had said it over a mouthful of bacon at breakfast a few weeks ago, and Lip had immediately shot him down; but maybe there was some truth to what Ian had said, some truth to the oddly unfailing consistency to Mickey’s ten years. Which meant that maybe…

Maybe it was time to make a fucking peace offering, or whatever.

Lip hummed in acknowledgement to Mickey’s question, pulling himself out of his train of thought.

“Hey. Mick.”

Mickey looked up at where Lip was leaning on the porch, his brows furrowing like he was bracing himself for a confrontation. “Yeah?”

“My head’s been too far up my ass the past couple of months to say it, but, uh. I’m glad you’re family, y’know?”

He’d been passively thinking it for months— but he’d never said it to Mickey, never this directly. He hoped Mickey got it, without brushing it off or shooting him down with some snarky fucking comment like he always did. Lip meant it— he was glad, he was grateful, he was ready to let Mickey Milkovich keep being a part of his fucked up familial life. And he hoped that Mickey saw that.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette—but he didn’t say anything in reply, not for a moment. And then:

“You’re as sappy as your fucking brother, Phillip.”

#i’ve said it once and ill say it again nothing makes me more emo than ian and mickey sharing ian’s old bed #also sorry this was kinda ANGSTY what can i say #lip is Too Much #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Note

"you're not helping..."

CW: Teenage OCs (Izzy is 17, Jamie is 14), children of whumper and whumpee, trauma response, referenced past captivity with parental whumper/child abuse but the references are vague

Jax Gallager (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee

Izzy is seventeen years old when she grabs the post to bring it inside on her way in after school and comes to a sudden stop just outside the door, staring down at the envelope, battered and beaten after its long journey not just across a country but over an ocean and through customs, too.

Her little brother Jamie very nearly walks into her, lost in his own game on his phone, and he just barely swings to the side to avoid her. “Iz!” When she doesn’t react, he pauses. He’s taller than she is already, and sure to be even taller before he’s done growing.

Where Izzy is all skinny knees and sharp elbows, her brother has the sort of bulk that’ll turn to muscle with time. He’s a gentle sort of giant, and it’s concern and not annoyance that shifts in his expression as he reads the wide-eyed stare in hers. “Izzy? What’s up?”

Izzy swallows, her throat clicking so loud she’s surprised the flock of birds lurking in the gutters and on the roof of the place next door don’t take off startled by the sound. She can’t, for a moment, remember how to speak.

She can’t remember how to breathe.

She just holds the card out for Jamie to look at as heat burns behind her eyes, her heart racing. She feels inside her the absurd urge to be polite and sweet and well-mannered. To somehow try to ensure safety in an unsafe space.

But she’s not there anymore.

She’s not there. She’s here.

And still...

Jamie takes the envelope slowly, looking over it himself, his lips moving as he reads the return address. Then he pales, lips thinning. “How-”

“I don’t know,” Izzy whispers. “She’s not supposed to know where we live, Jamie. She-... she’s n-not allowed, but that’s... that’s her handwriting, that’s-... she isn’t supposed to know-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Iz.” Jamie glances towards the door - Jax is inside, and he’ll know if they’re more than ten minutes late either way, he’ll be looking at the clock and thinking about their safety, worrying over them the way Izzy worries over everything, too. “Look, hide it and we’ll look at it in your room, yeah? I’ll handle Dad.”

She nods, a jerky sort of motion, but she stuffs the envelope into her school bag and the two of them head inside. Izzy blames a headache for being quiet and if their dad suspects, he doesn’t say anything, just lets her go to lie down in her room. Jamie takes more time, talking about his day, getting something to eat and drink.

His skin prickles with impatience, with the need to go look. Izzy’s terror doesn’t translate to him - he mostly feels curious about the woman who makes up half his genes, who he has no memory of at all. Curious, and angry on behalf of a father and sister who struggle with what she did to them. Maybe a little angry that this shadowy woman built the boundaries of his life and made the fears that keep his father and sister up at night, and he doesn’t even remember her.

Plus, he doesn’t want Izzy to be scared alone. That’s been their deal his whole life, their agreement - Izzy doesn’t have to be scared alone. They’re scared together, and brave together.

His lips move in memorized words like a prayer as he heads down the hall. He’s been prepared for them to have to be brave together his entire life, urged on by Izzy’s careful planning, the go-bags they still keep hidden from their fathers, just in case.

My name is James Timothy Gallagher and my sister is Isabella Nicole Gallagher...

Please don’t let this be something like that.

She’s not on the bed when he comes in with a bag of crisps and some water. He finds her pushed against the wall under a blanket between the bed and her desk with a flashlight, still staring at the writing on the envelope.

“Someone e-else wrote the address,” She says when Jamie pulls up the edge of the blanket and sits beside her, squeezing into the tiny space as best he can. Her voice is shaking and her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. “Not M-Mom. She wrote my name, but... but that’s it. Oh, God, she started writing Isabella M-Marcoset and had to cross it out-”

“Bint,” Jamie says amiably. “Everything’s Gallagher now. But there you go.” He nudges her with an elbow. “She doesn’t know where we are, still, right? Someone else wrote it for her.”

“That’s n-not helping,” Izzy says, and sniffs. “That means someone helped her send it, someone who does know, someone w-who-... I can’t. I can’t look.”

“Probably her lawyers or something, they’d have our address I guess. If we tell Dad he’ll rip them to shreds over it, you know his lawyer chews them up for breakfast. If you can’t look, I can.” Jamie takes the envelope from her before she can stop him and tears it open, casually ripping half the envelope apart to get to what’s inside.

When he finds it, he blinks. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t let Dad hear y-you say that,” Izzy says automatically, with a weak smile.

“Like he’s one to say much. I think you mean don’t let Kie hear me say that.” Jamie’s eyes roam over the contents of the envelope. “Iz, this is a card for you.”

Izzy looks slowly over, peering through her fingers.

On the front, it’s pastel pink bordering a black-and-white print of a child’s chubby hand against a polka-dot dress.

It’s okay to miss your mom, the outside of the card reads.

Izzy’s lips pull back from her teeth in a snarl.

Jamie opens the card to read what’s inside, in his soft voice. He might look more like the Marcoset side than his sister does, but his voice is nearly indistinguishable from his father’s when he speaks softly like this. “... Because she sure misses you. Though we've grown apart, I really do miss you. I remember my sweet little girl on her special day. Happy birthday, Isabella. And she wrote in here her prison address to write back. Tell me about you. Love, Mom.”

He sits there for a second in silence and then says, slightly dumbfounded, “Well, shit.”

Izzy starts to cry, hands pressed over her mouth to keep it silent.

The tears run in a waterfall, burying themselves in the minute space between hands and skin. She tastes salt at the corners of her lips. Jamie slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her chopped-short hair, starting to slowly grow out on one side.

“Oh, Iz. D’you want me to get Dad?”

She shakes her head viciously, little hitched sobs and half-sounds coming from her and little more. Even if Jax had his ear pressed to her door, he wouldn’t hear her, Jamie thinks. His big sister learned how to cry silently, to keep herself safe by not doing anything to bring her mother’s attention on her.

She knew how to be silent out of fear before she learned how to speak in full sentences. Jamie heard someone say that, once, he can’t remember who. He wasn’t supposed to hear it.

They tried not to let him see how hurt she was, but Jamie has always known his sister was shattered and he wasn’t, and he’s always felt like he has to be the one who stays whole for her.

“Please, Iz. He’ll know what to say. I, I don’t know what to do-”

“It’s not my birthday.”

Her words are muffled behind her hands at first, and so quiet he nearly misses them even in the stuffy silence under the blanket.

“What?”

“The-... the c-card said happy birthday, but my birthday was... was seven m-months ago.” Izzy’s tears turn to bitter, cynical laughter, no less worrying than the crying had been, still nearly soundless. “She doesn’t even know when my fucking b-birthday is. You’d think since s-s-she’s the one who fucking made me-... oh, my God. She doesn’t even know my birthday.”

“No, I-... I guess she... doesn’t.” Jamie opens the card again to look it over. He hadn’t even thought about that, but now looking, he can’t help but start to laugh, too. “Iz, why’d she-... she could have just asked someone when your birthday was, it’d be in the court stuff, right? Birth certificate and shit?”

“Right. She wouldn’t want people to kn-know she didn’t remember. Or she just didn’t care.” Izzy’s shoulders shake, now, laughter or tears or both. “She doesn’t want to know me, she can’t even bother to know my fucking birthday. She’ll just-”

“Ask about Dad,” Jamie whispers.

“Right.” Izzy stares down at the card, then hands Jamie the flashlight and takes the card right out of Jamie’s hands and tears it right down the center, then again, and again, and again. The sound of the thick cardstock paper shredding is the loudest sound in the room.

“She doesn’t fucking know me, she doesn’t know anything about me, she doesn’t know she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t even fucking want to try-”

Finally, when all that’s left is a scattering of little bits of paper with the occasional visible word, like the world’s most irritating puzzle, Izzy shoves the blanket off entirely, picks up the pile in both hands and throws it up into the air, giving another bitter laugh as the pieces float down like confetti.

“She can’t even be scary right,” Izzy declares, and Jamie watches his big sister force down her fear to mock the monster under the bed, the nightmare mother who never quite leaves her mind. “That’s how awful Mom is. Even when she’s trying to scare me, she can’t do it r-right.”

“I don’t think she meant to be scary,” Jamie says, a little hesitantly. “I think that was her trying to be our mam and fucking that up.”

“Well, she’s not a mam, is she? She’s not. She’s a fucking... she’s... Fuck her!” Izzy sweeps up the scattered bits of card and dumps them into the little bin she keeps by her bed, covers them with some tissues to hide them from anyone who might see.

She turns to look at Jamie. “Don’t tell Dad, okay? He doesn’t need to know about this.”

“Iz...” Jamie stands and reaches out to pluck a piece of card that had gotten stuck in her hair. There’s a clearly recognizable Isab- visible on it. “You should tell him.”

“But you won’t.” Izzy’s eyes search his, looking up at her younger brother. They’ve always trusted each other, been each other’s backup more than anyone else, in the way of children who know they might have to keep each other safe when adults can’t. “Promise, Jamie. Promise you won’t tell Dad.”

“I promise,” Jamie says, uneasily. “I won’t tell, Iz. But you still should. Or at least tell therapy, or... something. Not just sit on this like it didn’t happen.”

Izzy doesn’t say anything either way, half-chasing him from her room so she can duck into the little bathroom and wash her face, wiping away the evidence of her tears, leaving only the hint of red in the corners of her eyes to give her away.

She comes out and blames it on her headache, promises Jax she’s taken something for it, disappears back into her room. He can’t tell if Jax believes her - their dad is hard to read sometimes. But... Jamie thinks maybe he knows something’s up.

Jamie settles down to play his game on his phone a while longer in the living room, and he wonders if she’s in there digging the pieces of the card back out to put in the box under her bed she thinks nobody else knows about.

But he knows.

He’s seen the CD cases, printed out photos from old interviews, an old magazine she’d nicked from a hair place after getting her hair cut once. Their mother’s face again and again and again, younger or older, in prison and before prison and between prison, too.

The monster literally under the bed.

He should tell Jax, probably. It can’t be healthy, to keep all those things. Right? But he can’t bring himself to break her trust, when Izzy trusts almost nothing and no one outside her own home. He can’t be the one to wreck even that for her.

He can’t.

He promised.

Jamie glares down at his game, the little tinny sound coming from his phone’s speakers, a repetitive melody, the soft sound of explosions.

He should tell Jax.

He should tell Kieran, maybe.

But he swore he wouldn’t, and they’ve always been there for each other even when no one else could be, and so Jamie doesn’t tell anyone at all.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @eatyourdamnpears @pretty-face-breaker

#izzy fucking gallagher #jamie gallagher #I love Jax #comfy-whumpee #trauma response tw #trauma recovery tw #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #fear response tw #familial whumper #parental whumper #child of whumpee #panic response tw #whump #caretaker and whumpee

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scoutdrafted · 3 years ago

Note

4, 8, 14, 18, 24, 2, 11, 18 (one for each of your characters, you choose who gets which question)

What is your least favorite childhood memory?

AINSLEY: Um, is there a reason you want to know? I mean... I just don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I don't think I had a bad childhood or anything, after all. But anytime my mom would comment on my looks. Or my grades. Or what I liked. Or- I mean, I really didn't have it that bad, so many people had it worse, but- you know what I think I should stop talking now. Sorry.

What do you think had the biggest impact on you growing up?

BECCA: Definitely all the things my dad said about what Mom was like. He didn't say much, but the things he said stuck. I don't think I would have gone down the path I did without everything he said. Even when it was a lie. Maybe this is just me being sentimental, but I wouldn't have it any other way either.

What are your favorite music genres?

AGNOR: Classical, when I do listen to music, which is rarely. No disco. No matter what some people may say.

What’s the best way to cheer you up?

NOELLE: Okay so, like, I know that this is kinda strange and all but if you start talking to me about history that'll always, always cheer me right up. Especially if you tell me things I don't know! But also especially if you tell me things I do, mostly because then I get to add onto it and that makes me feel happy because I like to talk to people about history and have, like, discussions and stuff.

What would you consider your main love language?

MARISE: Physical touch, if you catch my drift. [eyebrow waggle] ...and also words of affirmation.

Who is your best friend? Tell us about them!

PROCTOR: It’s probably a copout to say that Wes is my best friend considering he’s my fiance, but I couldn’t ask for a better person in my life. He’s smart, funny, and just so caring, and he always looks on the bright side. He makes me better. If he doesn’t count, I don’t really think I have a best friend right now. I would like to get closer to Marise Gaumont and Noelle Gallagher though.

What is your favorite type of media (TV, movie, books, etc)? Name some specific favorites (which shows, movies, books, etc do you like)!

ELENA: I guess I’d have to say I love theatre considering I have a whole two thirds of a degree in it at this point. Um. I really love Shakespearean stuff. Twelfth Night is my favorite. The Tempest is pretty good too. And Hamlet. I don’t really like Romeo and Juliet. Is that enough? Can I go now?

What’s the best way to cheer you up?

GABE: Tell me that Warden St. John is going on an extended vacation. Or send me on an extended vacation instead. I’m not choosy.

#thank you for the ask!#aurora hearts #long post

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cloudygeorge · 4 years ago

Text

twin check

summary: You lose weight over the winter holiday, and the boys at school do not like how sure of yourself you are, but Carl’s there to save the day.

warnings: pretty bad descriptions of assault, language

pairing: Gallagher!Sister x Carl, platonic

“Hey, new girl!” At first you thought he was talking to you, but that was impossible. You weren’t even a new kid; you had been attending this school forever. You mentally shrugged it off as you continued to make your way to your locker. You didn’t have time to converse with anyone anyway if you were going to meet your brother on time.

“Hot stuff!” Okay, you didn’t become a whole new person. You lost some weight, and your new confidence had you wearing better clothes, sure, but you weren’t changed into someone else entirely, even if that’s what your school seemed to think. You spun your combination into the lock, frowning. They may not be talking to you but that didn’t mean you liked hearing. As a girl, it was terrifying, especially since you kept hearing phrases like that throughout the day.

“Hey, bitch!” The moment you opened the door to your locker, a hand slammed it shut again, punctuating their words. You immediately glared at him. You knew him, of course. He had been an ass in third grade, and he was an ass now. “Hello, Jackson.”

Despite the chilling tone of your words, his smirk widened as he leaned against your locker, his eyes roaming over you and his offended look at being ignored gone. You suddenly wished you were wearing sweats and hoodie instead of the tight softball pants you had on for practice. “You know who I am?”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah, I know you, Jackass.”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been in the same homeroom as you since sixth grade. You used to call me your favorite curse word of the day.”

His face washed in realization. “Fucking Y/N?” He snorted. “You grew up gorgeous.”

You scoffed. You knew you did, even before you decided to start working out and stuff. Really, when you’re a Gallagher, you didn’t really get to be self conscious when they always told you the truth. “I became athletic and grew boobs. I didn’t turn into Scarlett Johansen.”

He smirked, attempting to grab your hand, but you batted him away. His eyes flashed in annoyance when you let out a blunt, “Don’t touch me, I don’t like you.”

The look in his eye went away quickly, though as he uttered, cockily, “I can get you to be into me.” You decided to be quiet, and let him talk while you did what you needed to do. You spun the combination into the lock for a second time while he continued. “I mean, you’re just standing there with more curves than a Nissan ad.” You looked at him in disbelief, and he rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying that you’re hot, and I would really like to see those pants on the floor.”

You nodded, sarcastically as you pried your locker open. “No, see, I know that. Just like I know you’re an ass.”

He shook his head reaching out for you. “Come on, don’t be like that.” Your ignored him grabbing your bag, and laughing drily as you shut your locker, noticing the change in his stance. “Look, I have to meet my brothers, so if you’ll just exc-”

You cut yourself off when his hand latched on to your wrist, pulling you closer until his hand could wrap around your hip. You glared up at him, but the asshat’s smirk only widened. “See?” His hand started to trail lower down your body, hovering just above your ass. You didn’t care about what gross comment he had up his sleeve. “Get the fuck off-”

He cut you off, by tightening the grip he maintained on your wrist. “Stop talking,” any amount of kindness- even if causing by being a horny teenage boy- was gone, as his hand moved from your hip to your hair, yanking on it. You gasped as he let out, “I’m sure you could do better things with your mouth than complain.”

Your breathing was shaky, but all you could think was that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t happening easily. You stomped your foot onto his, and brought your other knee up to ram into the crotch of his jeans. He let out an immediate groan of pain, dropping his bruising grip on you. You took that opportunity to back away from him, turning around to take off, but his hand grabbed you pulling you back with a yank. You stumbled to floor, and rolled over, kicking at Jackson as he grasped your ankle.

He slid you toward him, moving so he sat on top you, but you weren’t done fighting. Your hand shot up, your fist connecting with his jaw. In return, his fist collided with your cheekbone, twice.

Your head snapped to side. “Fucking bitch,” he muttered, his hands moving to your belt, but you let out a loud scream. It was late after school, and now you were desperately wishing you hadn’t stayed late after practice. His hand clamped down on your mouth. He leaned down in your face. “Stop being so goddamn difficult!”

You responded by slamming your head into his, and the moment of weakness he had, you didn’t slow down. When he sat up, gripping his head, so did you turning until you got your legs out from under him, kicking him again.

You picked your bag up as you ran, not stopping until you were in your front yard and out of breath. That was only the first time it had happened. Your older brother, Lip, had asked what happened when you showed up with a bruise around your wrist and one on your jaw, but if there was one skill you had, it was being a good liar. “Oh, I just hit myself on someone’s locker and fell, and I guess the person who helped me up must not have known their strength.”

The next time, it was Ian and Debbie who asked. “Y/N, what happened to your ribs?” just as Ian walked in. He frowned at you from where you laid on your stomach on the floor, your shirt riding up. Debbie had fingered the purplish bruise, making you hiss. “I hit myself in the back when I was batting,” you winced. Debbie and Ian shared a glance, like they didn’t believe you, but they let it go.

You could lie to each of your siblings but they knew you, and they could see you were changing. You weren’t eating anymore, you came home from what they thought was practice more worn out and marked up than ever. Your grades were dropping, and you sunk into yourself. You weren’t eating as much and you didn’t talk unless you were spoken to. After Fiona asked Carl what was up with you, his twin, he decided to figure it out.

He couldn’t ask you, because all he would say is, “I’m fine, just tired.” That was bullshit, and he was going to prove it.

“Hey, Y/N, meet you at your locker after school?’ He called at you guys left in the morning. You shook your head. “Uh, no. I-I have to meet someone to tutor.”

That was an obvious lie, considering your grades had dropped so low and you didn’t tutor people. Carl let it go, though.

As soon as the last bell rang and people started moving to go home, Carl went to find you, and he did not like what he found.

You were pressed against the wall outside the gym, wincing as Jackson’s arms dug into you. “You cry like it bothers you, but we both know I’m helping you.”

You let out a cry, struggling in his grip and his hand moved to the waistband of your jeans, the other gripping your jaw painfully. His left hand moved up to hit you across the face sharply, snapping, “See? I’m helping y-”

Carl had seen enough, flying forward to tackle Jackson off you. You sunk to the floor, as the tow boys grappled in the floor. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Carl spat, managing to grab the upper hand. His fist slammed into Jackson’s face.

Jackson scoffed. “Call me a helping hand, asshole.” He threw his own punch, while Carl spluttered. “She was a such a bitch before, and she does anything I want. She doesn’t even complain when I put my h-”

Carl saw red. He didn’t know what Jackson was going to say, but the way he was talking about controlling you gave him more than enough motivation to repeatedly slam punches into him, until he was out cold.

Carl’s chest was heaving as he looked over at you, and his heart broke. “Come on, Y/N,” he called, slowly walking over to you, and helping you up. You were his younger twin sister, and here you were, crying into him as he helped you walk home. All of this because of some guy that couldn’t handle the word no.

He managed to make it all the way until they were in front of the gate to your house before he asked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You laughed drily, “Yeah, because it’s so easy for me to tell my older brothers that some guy won’t leave me alone, when my whole life you guys have taught me to handle my own shit.”

Carl just nodded as he helped you inside. “You can tell us anything.”

You just sighed, “I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to take care of myself.”

Carl groaned. “Y/N, he was harassing and assaulting you. How long has this been going on for?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Too long.” You sighed. “i just wanted to be able to handle myself, and- and I couldn’t even do that.”

Carl sighed, pulling you into a hug. “Listen to me. You are easily the most badass person I know.” When you snorted he continued. “No, seriously. Didn’t you hear him? He did all of that to knock you down a peg, because your confidence threw him off. You handled him, and he had to attack you for you to not be able to. Just because he’s an asshole, doesn’t mean you’re weak. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

You sighed, pulling away and wiping the tears that had fallen. “Thanks, Carl. You’re the best brother.”

He smiled. “You’re my badass twin.”

#aimee grace writes #shameless #shameless x reader #shameless imagine #shameless us #shameless us x reader #shameless us imagine #lip gallagher #lap gallagher x reader #lip gallagher imagine

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gallavictorious · 4 years ago

Note

How do you think the conversation went when Mickey slept in Ian’s bed for the first time in s4? Maybe just a late night and Mickey passed out? Or the hard floor was just too uncomfortable. That seemed like a drastic decision because it made Carl instantly ask if it meant Ian and Mickey might be in love. Like Carl went straight to the idea of love so he must have noticed they were in a relationship before seeing Mickey sleeping in Ian’s bed. It kind of confirmed for the gallaghers something was going on between them.

I had such fun thinking about this, nonnie, so thank you so much for this delightful ask! <3 <3 <3 (It also “forced” me to re-watch their season 4 Gallagher house scenes, and that is never, ever a hardship. XD) In the end, this is probably one of those situations where I could see it go any of several ways and I don’t actually have a firm headcanon about it. But as far as possibilities go, I’m reasonably fond of this fairly understated version:

After they suck dick and make up there's no more talk about Ian going back with Mickey to the Milkovich house. They both realize that not sharing a home with Mickey's very pregnant and threatening wife is probably a good idea – plus Ian's siblings might well have a bunch of questions about it if they do and while Ian's ready and willing to answer them, Mickey... is not. So he crashes on the the floor and Lip's not thrilled but no one else gives much of a damn because they're well used to all sorts of people coming and going; friends, relatives, partners, whoever Frank dragged home... It's no biggie. Mickey helps with money and stuff, and is no more annoying than anyone else they know.

Ian and Mickey sneak kisses and blow each other and bang whenever they get the chance, and hang out and chat and banter whenever they don't. At night Ian climbs into his bed, and Mickey gets as comfortable as he can on the floor. They don't talk about Svetlana or the baby or the status of their relationship, but that's okay (for a while). They've been seperated for too long; for now they'll take whatever they can of touches and time together, and be glad of it.

And they are glad; Mickey is, and Ian is, too.

Only...

Only there was that night at the loft party, the one that ended with Ian and Mickey falling asleep next to each other on a pull-out couch because Mickey was drunk enough and tired enough that he didn't protest when Ian said that they should stay because everyone else is, that's how Ryan's parties usually go actually, 'sides it's fucking cold outside, Mick, and look, the couch pulls out, it's really comfortable, I swear, I've slept on it before, c'mon.

It was only the second time they've ever shared a bed, and even though they barely even touched Ian can't quite stop thinking about it; how nice it was, and how he'd like to do it again, and do it properly. (And yeah, of course Mickey's thinking about it too, but he doesn't allow himself to linger on it; he's never been as quick as Ian to entertain notions of what could be and what would be really fucking awesome if.)

But then there's another night, a day or a week or two later. Ian's been working, Mickey's been watching Ian work, and it's late when they stumble through the front door. Liam and Carl are fast asleep in their beds, soundly enough that our boys dare go for a quick, quiet round of rolling in the sheets. (I mean, they obviously had sex at whatever halfway private spot they could find at the club once Ian finished his shift, but they're young and horny and very much in love and that was like half an hour ago, so.)

Once they're done and have taken a moment or two to recover and maybe bask just a little, Mickey sits up, ready to climb out of bed. Ian is still on his back, but his eyes follow Mickey's every move.

On an impulse, he says: ”You don't have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Mickey's eyesbrows rise dramatically as he glances back at Ian. ”Yeah? What about your siblings, huh? Don't think they gonna fucking wonder if they find us spooning in the morning?”

They already know, Ian doesn’t say, even though it's true. They know, or they suspect – but that’s another thing that can’t be talked about. Plausible deniability. So important to Mickey, still, and Ian can't deny him that, not yet (though there's a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that he's sick and tired of living a fucking lie, and that voice is growing louder by the day).

“They won’t give a fuck,” he says instead, and that too is true. Fiona would have asked once, but now she’s busy with her own shit; Debbie too, and Liam’s too young and Lip already knows. Carl… well, who the fuck knows about Carl. ”If they ask, we'll just tell them you have a bad back.”

It's a shit excuse, and they both know it. But it is an excuse, and maybe that's all that they need; all Mickey needs.

Still, he looks away. ”Your bed's fucking tiny, man.”

Getting up on one elbow, Ian catches his eye; stares him right in it. ”Guess we gonna have to get pretty close then.”

Mickey's lips twist and Ian knows him well enough to know that it's not disgust or reluctance; it's Mickey struggling with the idea of how much he wants this – how good the idea of getting close sounds to him. Also, it's Mickey reacting to the challenge in Ian's voice, because he's always been shit at backing down from those – which Ian damned well knows; it's not like he said what he said by accident.

”Fuck you,” Mickey says at length. He, too, knows what Ian is doing. Still, he doesn't move to get back on the floor; he simply leans down to grab the pillow and his blanket, and then shuffles to lie down next to Ian, on his side and with his back turned towards the other boy.

Because of that, he can't see the way Ian's face lights up with a smile that is equal parts awed and triumphant and soft as he slowly eases back down onto the mattress, shuffling back a little to make room.

Ian doesn't wrap his arms around Mickey; he doesn't press a kiss to his neck; they don't quite spoon. (They won't, not until a night not very far from now, when they're both bloody and broken and so very, very happy.) But they're there, together, sharing space and sharing heat, and though they don't cling to one other, they still touch; the bed really is too small to allow for anything else – and they are both thankful for it.

---

If anyone reading this has other ideas, I would really, really love to hear them, so please don’t be shy about sharing (or about reccing me fic or meta that deal with this issue)!

#i also can't promise i won't revisit this whole thing in the future #if i am suddenly struck by inspiration #such a fascinating and complicated period in their lives #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #season 4 #asks #meta ficlet #my stuff

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Riding On

Ch 10- When Three Became Four

Summary: Baby Bean makes his arrival and Frank and his mother reach a significant turning point in their relationship as a result. Well, they always say that births, deaths and marriages are the 3 things that can bring a family together, right?

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Ok, so not gonna lie, I made myself cry with this one. It’s ridiculous, if anyone could have seen me I’d have been sectioned. Just a note, I’ve never had a kid before but been there when both my god children were born so I hope this is as realistic as it could be! Love to hear your thoughts and comments.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 9

Blue eyes laughing in the sun, laughing in the rain. Baby's got blue eyes, and I am home, and I am home again

Once Frank's initial mad 30 seconds had finished, the panic turned to excitement as he dressed and quietly carried Fliss' hospital bag down to the truck. When he came back Fliss was out of bed and dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt

"You OK?" He asked, she looked at him and nodded. "Just a little uncomfortable." "Do you wanna stay up here or..." She shook her head "No, it’s supposed to help if I can move around." Frank nodded "Alright, let's head downstairs." Together they made their way slowly to the living area, Frank making sure Fliss was comfortable before he set about making them a drink, only to be cut short when he heart Fliss let out a little groan. He stopped what he was doing and headed straight over to the sofa, kneeling in front of her as she was doubled over, one hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly. He softly ran his hands up and down the outside of her thighs as she breathed through the latest contraction. "That one was the worst yet." She mumbled and Frank smiled sympathetically. They sat together, vigilantly timing the contractions, the world outside growing light as they did and when it got to half six, a few hours since they had woken up, Fliss decided she needed to pee. Frank watched her make her way to the bathroom, leaving her to it at her request until five minutes later she gave a yell. He jumped up, running down the hall to see her stood in the doorway. "My waters just went. Well, I think they did, I mean, I don't know, I was peeing and..." "Hey, calm down." He urged her gently "Do you need to change your clothes?" She shook her head. "Alright, let's get you sat down and then I'll go wake mother and we'll head in, ok?" "What's going on?" A sleepy voice said and they both looked up to see Mary padding down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. She stopped and looked at them both, understanding flooding her little face and she beamed.” Oh my God, is he on his way?" "Sure is." Frank nodded. "Can you keep Lissy company for a moment whilst I grab Evelyn?" Mary nodded eagerly and jumped down the last three steps, slipping her hand into Fliss' as they headed back into the living room. Frank jogged over to the garage, up the steps at the side and banged his fist against the door to the guest apartment. It took his mother a few moments but she appeared in a robe and looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "Lissy's waters have broken." He was unable to stop the grin which spread across his face as Evelyn smiled at him. "I told you that appointment wouldn't be needed. Give me five minutes to dress and I'll be over." He bounded down the stairs and hurried back inside. Fliss was now stood by the island in the kitchen, both hands flat on the surface, breathing through another contraction as Mary sat on the stool besides her. Frank gently moved towards her so he could rub her back and she turned to him, clutching at his blue and white plaid button down, pressing her head to his collar bone. "Fuck it hurts, Frank.” "I know, Honey." He gently soothed even though he didn’t know. In fact he had no fucking idea how much it hurt and he didn’t even want to insult her intelligence by pretending he did, but it was the only thing he could thing to say. “But we'll be on our way soon and when we get to the hospital they can get you more comfortable" A few minutes later Evelyn entered the kitchen and glanced at Fliss, giving her a soft smile. "I won't insult you by asking if you're okay." She said and Fliss gave a soft chuckle. "Can we go now?" Mary asked hopping down from the stool. "You're staying here." Frank informed her softly and Mary stopped, looking at him.

"Why?"

"Darling, once he is born you won't be able to go in and see him for a while." Evelyn jumped in. "The doctors have all sorts of things to do, and Fliss might not feel ready for visitors for a few hours." "But I want to be in the waiting room." She looked at Evelyn then to Frank who was gently rubbing Fliss’ back. “Like we did that time, remember?"

Frank paused as he and Fliss exchanged a look How could they forget? "I wanna be there when you come out and tell everyone he's arrived.” Mary finished with a whisper, her eyes brimming with tears. "And you can be.” Fliss nodded as Frank crouched down in front of Mary.

“You don't need to be there just yet. It could take hours. You and Grandmother can have some breakfast and then Poppa Bill and Nanny V will pick you up a little later, okay? Then you can come and wait." "'Kay." She mumbled a little as Frank rose to his feet. "Go." Evelyn looked at him, her hand dropping to Mary's shoulder. "We'll be fine." He nodded, gave Mary one last hug and a kiss on her head before he looked at Fliss and the pair of them made their way outside.

Once he had helped Fliss to sit in the truck, and made sure her belt was fastened, he jogged to the driver’s side and jumped in. "Ready?" He looked at Fliss. She turned to him and shook her head. "No, not at all." "Me neither." He said aa he started the truck up with a grin. "I’m excited though." Fliss smiled softly "yeah, me too." **** They called Fliss' parents on the way, Verity's sleepy voice laced with excitement as soon as she answered the phone and realised what was going on. She promised Frank they would bring Mary and his mother up in a few hours and after he also promised to keep them updated on progress, Frank hit the button on the steering wheel and cut the call. Fliss had gone quiet again, and she bent forward slightly, breathing deeply. He moved his spare hand over to take hers and she gripped his fingers, as she let out a low groan through grit teeth, her head falling back against the head rest.

“Jesus.” She eventually mumbled once she could speak again. “I don’t like this labour bollocks.” Frank chuckled “I’m sorry, Baby.” “So you should be.” She glared at him “You did this to me.” “Yeah, and I would say I’m sorry but that would be a lie.” He grinned, raising her hand to his lips, brushing his mouth over his knuckles.

“Wanker.” she shot back, before she smiled a little and looked out of the window.

“Does it feel any different?”

“Does what feel different?”

“Just it, you know, everything in general, once you’re a parent I mean?”

Frank took a deep breath “I don’t-“

Fliss shot him a glare and he cut himself off from his protest, taking a deep breath. She was right, he did know. In a way anyway.

“When I took charge of Mary, everything changed. Suddenly it wasn’t just me to look after. I had this tiny, little person that needed me every single minute of the day. My entire outlook on life changed, what was important before paled into insignificance because that little person became my world. It’s hard work, but so worth it.” Frank glanced at her and smiled “But you already know that too.”

“Well, not really…I mean, yeah, okay I love Mary like she is my own.”

“She is yours as much as she is mine.”

“…but she’s not a baby and…”

“She’s harder work now than when she was a baby, trust me.” Frank chuckled and Fliss smiled.

“It’s just kind of a big deal.” She spoke again after a little while.

“Huge deal.” Frank agreed, checking his mirror as he changed lanes to swing up onto the freeway.

“I mean I’ve known that this was gonna happen, that one day he would actually be here but I guess for the last seven months or so I’ve never really thought about what that means.”

“You’re already a great mom to Mary and you will be to Bean.” Frank assured her gently “Don’t worry about that, not one bit. We’re in this together okay. It’s gonna be fine.” Fliss shook her head, “I swear to God at times you can read my mind.” “No, I just know you inside out.” He replied, kissing her hand again.

***** Once they arrived at the hospital they were settled in the room quite quickly, Frank helping Fliss change into a gown. From then on it was an hour and a half or so of the contractions progressing, each one seemingly getting longer in duration and more painful. Fliss was managing reasonably well on the gas and air, at some point offering Frank some so he could "join the party" so to speak which he declined with a chuckle.

“Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?” Fliss moaned after another contraction had finally subsided.

“I don’t remember there being much thinking about it at all.” Frank quipped and she looked at him, raising an eyebrow as she crunched down on some of the ice chips she had in the cup in front of her.

“OK, so that’s true.” She conceded. “He certainly wasn’t on the agenda, so to speak.”

“But I wouldn’t change it for the world.” Frank smiled, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Hmmmm.” Fliss looked at him as he sat back down, letting out a chuckle.

“And neither would you.” He arched an eyebrow, squeezing her hand gently. Fliss smiled and shook her head.

“No. He’ll be worth it.”

“That said, next time we go to Boston, maybe you need to remember to take your pill.” Frank suggested and Fliss rolled her eyes.

“I’m getting an IUD fitted as soon as I can. That or we just don’t have sex again. Ever.”

Frank shook his head “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“Silly me, of course, Frankie has needs…well I got news for you mate.” She pointed at him as he raised his eyebrows. “It’s gonna be a very long time before you get anywhere near me again.”

Frank snorted and shrugged. “Suppose I best get re-acquainted with my hand.”

Fliss let out a bark of a laugh “You’re disgusting”

He shrugged, “Hey, look, you nearly bust my balls when I came back from Vegas.”

“You deserved that.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I didn’t say otherwise, was jut pointing out a fact. I’m sure Blue Balls Syndrome is a medically recognised condition.” Fliss opened her mouth to shoot back a reply but instead her face contorted into pain once more and she took a huge inhale of the gas and air, gripping Frank’s hand as another contraction washed over her. Frank waited with her, as her grip became almost painful but he wouldn’t have dared comment on it. He’d rather let her break every finger of his hand than suggest she was hurting him because, at that moment in time, he was convinced she’d find something to beat him to death with if he did. At roughly ten am, round about six hours after she had woken Frank up, the contractions were coming roughly five minutes apart and Fliss finally gave in and asked for an epidural. The midwife examined her, and then with a smile and a reassurance she headed off to call the anaesthetist. He arrived some thirty minutes later and explained to Fliss what he was going to do. Once the formalities were over, Frank helped Fliss to sit up, and she shuffled to the edge of the bed ready for the epidural when all of a sudden she squeezed Frank's hand tightly and looked at him, her eyes wide. "Oh...God, Frankie I think…”

“What, what is it, Baby?” he asked, crouching a little so he could look her in the eyes.

“I think I need to push." She took a deep breath and Frank swallowed a little, but before he could say anything else, one of the junior midwives cut in. "That's impossible." Her voice was laced with an air of ridicule "You were only four centimetres half an hour ago. There's no way you could have gone so far so fast." Fliss let out another cry, this one panicked and Frank felt a surge of anger at the fact she was being dismissed. "Listen..." He glared at the woman straightening up as he kept hold of Fliss hand. "If she's saying she needs to push then she clearly does. She's hardly gonna be fucking making it up now is she?" Thankfully the more senior Midwife took over and looked at Fliss kindly. "Okay Miss Gallagher, let’s get you lay back down and we'll take a look, alright?”

Fliss gave a little nod through her tears and Frank helped her move back to the middle of the bed as she gave another cry out. Her hand still in his, he smiled at her softly as the midwife moved to examine her. After a moment the woman straightened up, nodding. "Yep, we're fully engaged." She turned to the anaesthetist. "It’s too late. She's gonna have to manage on the entonox" "What?" Fliss looked around as Frank gently shushed her, his hand running over her hair. "Over the last half hour things have progressed faster than we thought.” The midwife explained “So we can't give you the epidural." "Well you best give me something because I swear to fucking God..." her voice trailed off as she grabbed the mouthpiece to the gas and took a huge breath in, gripping Frank's hand as another contraction washed over her. "Ok, Fliss..." the midwife looked at her, completely unabashed at Fliss’ tone. “Next time you feel the urge to push I want you to go with it ok? Nice and gentle, do what your body is telling you. Can you do that?" Fliss nodded, swallowing slightly. Frank smiled at her, encouragingly. "You got this, Honey." He said, kissing her hand. "You got this."

***** Twenty minutes of pushing later, Fliss was convinced she had anything but got this. She was now on all fours as this was the comfiest position she could get into. Laying on her back was excruciating, so when this had been suggested to her as an alternative by the midwife she had gladly tried it. Frank was stood by her head, his hand softly rubbing her back, giving her all the encouragement he could as she gripped at his arm, her face pressed into his shoulder. She felt another wave, and the Midwife looked up at Frank with a smile. “He's crowning. Fliss, you're almost there." "Hear that?" Frank crouched down, looking at her, smiling. “Nearly done, Sweetheart." "You are never doing this to me again." Fliss seethed at him from between grit teeth. Frank smiled "Well we got two now so I'm okay with that. Least you didn't say I couldn't ever touch you again." "Don't tempt me." She groaned, before she grew silent and let out another loud scream, gripping Frank's bicep so hard he almost winced. After a monumental effort she sagged forward a little and the midwife called out. "Okay, his head is out. One more Fliss, good girl. Come on." At that Frank took his cue. "Hear that? One last time, Lissy." He beamed at her, still crouching down, her hand in his. "I’m so tired Frank." She shook her head, sobbing "I can't..." "Yes you can." He remained calm as he smoothed her hair back off her sweaty forehead. "One more and you're there. You've done so well, Sweetheart." Thirty seconds later, after digging as deep as she could, Fliss' screams were joined by a high pitch crying and her entire body succumbed to exhaustion and she slipped forward slightly, Frank jumping to his feet to catch her. "Lissy, you did it." Frank felt the tears stinging his eyes as he and the junior midwife helped her to lay back down. He could see from her face she was dazed and exhausted as she rest her head against the pillow, her breathing deep. "Is he okay?" She gasped, as her baby's piercing screams rang out round the room. "He's absolutely fine." The midwife beamed, as their baby was placed on Fliss chest and the new parents both got a first look at their little Boston Bean. "Hey, Baby!" Fliss gasped, through her tears as she held him close, his cries softening slightly. "Oh my God, look at him Frank." "I am." He swallowed, his voice cracking. "I can't take my eyes off him. Oh fuck, Lissy, I'm so proud of you." He stuttered, pressing a kiss to her head as he gently ran a finger over his baby son's cheek, perching on the side of the bed next to them both. A perfect little nose, round little cheeks, a spattering of light, downy hair, two tiny hands and tiny feet...he was the most beautiful baby boy Frank had ever laid eyes on and he felt his heart swelling so much he thought it might burst from his chest. "He looks like you." Fliss glanced at Frank who tore his eyes off his son to look at her. "You think?" He asked, glancing back down. "Yeah.” Fliss nodded. "Same nose, cheeks and eye shape. He's an Adler alright." As the various medical staff bustled around, neither of them paid any attention to them at all, both wrapped up in their previous little bundle, who, after a few minutes, opened his eyes, blinking a little against the light. Frank smiled as those sparkling little globes flickered around at his surroundings. The lump in his throat seemed to be growing by the second and he rest his head against Fliss' the pair of them mesmerised by those baby blues until she nudged him and told him to take a few photos. Standing up on wobbling legs, with a shaky hand he did as he was told, until a doctor apologetically said that then needed to take him for his scores and what not. "Take him?" Fliss asked, instinctively clutching him closer as she glanced a Frank. "He won't be gone long." Frank reassured her. "They told us about this, remember? Mary was gone ten minutes, tops." "Actually we can do it here." The doctor smiled. “We have the facilities in the room so he will literally be right over there. And we can get you cleaned up properly, Miss Gallagher" That placated Fliss a little, but she was still reluctant to hand him over and when she finally did she insisted that Frank go with him to watch what they were doing. Having been fully intending to do so anyway, Frank followed over to the far side of the room, hovering as his baby son was examined and given a vitamin shot before being tenderly cleaned up.

“Do you have a specific blanket for him?” The midwife looked at Frank and he nodded, turning to grab the little white blanket they had bought which was decorated in stars. He handed it over and the midwife took it with a smile. "Does he have a name yet?" The doctor who had been doing his scores looked up from where he had been making notes and Frank nodded as he swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, erm, Alexander William..." "No." Fliss suddenly cut in and Frank turned to her, wondering if she was still slightly out of it. "Honey?" He frowned, "What-" "His name." She sat up slightly. "Alexander Francis William." Frank blinked. “I don’t…we didn’t discuss that?”

And they hadn’t, but it had come to Fliss the moment she had held him in her arms. It just felt right.

"He's the most important boy in our lives, Frank." She smiled, sniffing a little "I want him named after the best man in mine." Frank felt the tears prick his eyes at her words and he hastily blinked them away, smiling and giving her a nod to say he understood.

“Is that agreed on?” The Doctor gave a little smile and Frank took a deep breath.

“Yeah, erm. Alexander Francis William Adler.” He spoke his baby’s name for the first time, more tears welling in his eyes which he blinked away as he watched the midwife attach a tiny tag to Alex's right wrist sporting his name and an identity number before he was wrapped up in his blanket.

"Ready for a hold, Dad?" The midwife looked at him and Frank nodded, swallowing. "Are you doing skin to skin or..." "Yeah." Frank nodded again, loosening the top four buttons of his pale blue shirt before Alex was handed to him, the midwife helping Frank to gently arrange the blanket so his son's chest was pressed to his.

“Oh, shit.” He whispered softly, his eyes misting over. "Hey son, how you doing?" Alex burrowed his face slightly into Frank’s chest, his eyes wide as his dad’s large hands tenderly held him close, one on his back, the other underneath him. He walked over towards the bed as the midwives finished cleaning Fliss up, and carefully sat down, looking at his girl as she watched them both, smiling softly. "I fuckin' love you." He blurted out, this time not bothering to even try and hold his tears back as a few fell down his cheeks. "Look what you gave me." Fliss gave a little splutter of a happy sob as Frank gently moved one hand to tighten around hers, his other keeping his son secure to his chest. "You curve balled me on the name." He smiled and Fliss shrugged, reached out to gently smooth over Alex's head. "I mean it." She looked up at Frank, her eyes swimming. "You are. You fixed me Frank, you took those last broken pieces and..." "Liss…” Frank struggled to keep his composure as his fingers tightened around hers. "…and you showed me, just what..." She stuttered a little, her breathing ragged through her sobs "...what a normal love with a kind and gentle man is, what it's like to be with someone who would do anything to prevent me from being hurt instead of..." She swallowed, her eyes looking deep into his which were now freely spilling tears down his handsome face. "I can't even begin to explain how much I love you." Frank took a huge, shuddering breath, conscious his son was still clutched to his chest as he leaned forward, pressing his head to Fliss', running his nose against hers before atching her lips softly with his. "You gave me everything I didn't know I needed." He sniffed, and she smiled, glancing down at their baby. "You fixed me too, when I didn't even know I was broken." Fliss reached up to cup his cheek, but their moment was interrupted as Alex began to fuss. "Think he might be hungry." Frank glanced down at him. Fliss sat up as Frank handed him over and with a little help from the midwife and a few missed attempts soon he was latched on to her breast and suckling happily, his little hand curling into a fist, resting by his cheek. Frank sat still on the bed, watching Fliss nurse him for a while before he leaned over and kissed her head. "Suppose I best go tell them all he is here." Flias grinned before her face stilled a little. "I err...I don't really want them in just yet. I’m tired and I wanna get cleaned up and changed and..." She trailed off. "But Mary could come I suppose if she starts to get upset." The fact she was still putting Mary's feelings before her own made Frank's chest warm and he shook his head, cutting her off. "She'll be fine" Frank assured her. "Leave her to me."

With a last glance down he kissed Fliss’ head, then Alex’s before he jumped off the bed and headed down the corridor. In the elevator down to the waiting room he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His eyes were red from all the tears and his hair was stuck up on end as well from the amount of times his hands had run through it. Hastily flattening it down, he turned back as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor and he strode out, heading down the corridor before he pushed open the door into the waiting room.

He instantly spotted Bill, Verity and Mary sat on the chairs, but not his mother. He’d text them an hour and a half ago to say that Fliss was getting towards the end of her labour and as such they’d obviously headed straight over. As he walked towards them, Bill spotted him, his face breaking into a huge smile and the man gently nudged Mary. She glanced up from her book and Bill nodded towards Frank. Mary’s head turned in his direction and she gave a yell, running across the floor to him, grinning ear to ear. He picked her up, hugging her tight as she kissed his cheek before he moved her onto his hip, grinning around as Bill and Verity reached him.

“Mom and baby doing fine. He arrived about Thirty minutes ago.” Frank beamed “7lb 4 and, shit guys, he's perfect!”

He dropped Mary down to the floor and pulled his phone out, scanning through to a photo. He handed it to Mary whilst Verity pulled him in for a hug and then Bill shook his hand furiously before yanking him towards him, slapping his back.

“Congratulations, lad. How's my little girl?”

“Fine, just tired.” Frank assured him. “He arrived a little too fast for an epidural but, man, she did so well. I’m so fahkin proud of her.” “You gone all Sweary-Boston again!” Mary teased, as Verity took the phone to have a look at her grandson, her hand flying to her mouth before she showed it to Bill whose own eyes started to water.

“Where's my mother?” Frank asked.

“She’s at home.” Verity looked at him. “She says she didn't want to crowd you.” Reading between the lines, Frank knew that to mean she wasn't sure she was wanted or welcome. She hadn't been at Mary's birth, in fact she hadn't laid eyes on Mary until she was seven, and he knew that would be playing on her mind, wondering if she had a right to be here after everything. But they were past that now, or so he had thought anyway. In his mind this certainly wasn’t the time for bad blood or raking over old ground. It was time for her to step up and make the amends like she claimed to be so keen to.

“I’ll drop her a message.” Frank nodded after a moment’s pause and Verity smiled. “When can we see him?” Mary demanded. “In a little while, Stack” Frank’s hand dropped to her head “Fliss is feeding him now and then she needs to clean up properly and get settled, maybe take a nap because she's exhausted.” “Why don’t we go for some lunch?” Bill suggested and Frank could have kissed him. “Then Frank can call when they’re ready for us to come back?”

Mary looked around for a moment, pondering the idea before she nodded “Okay, can we go to the Shack?” “We can go wherever you want.” Bill beamed.

"If Evelyn decides to come up once I’ve spoken to her, could you swing by and pick her up, if it’s not too much trouble?" Frank asked. "Course." Bill assured him with a wink and Frank nodded mouthing thank you. “Can I tell them his name yet?” Mary demanded Frank hesitated. He hadn't asked Fliss that, but as he thought about it, he knew she would want to be there when they found out so he shook his head. "Not yet. We can do that together later, okay?"

“Okay.” Mary nodded.

He gave her another hug and then promised to call them as soon as Fliss was feeling up to it before he turned and headed back to his girl and his son.

His son.

Fuck.

When he reached the room, Alex had finished feeding and Fliss had him held up over her shoulder, gently rubbing at his back. She looked over to him, smiling as he crossed the room.

“How’s he doing?”

“Fine.” She smiled “He’s fed…seems a little sleepy now.”

“You should take advantage.” One of the midwives spoke. “Put him down for a nap, eat that sandwich and rest yourself.” “Sounds like a good idea.” Frank said, then he cheekily added “I’m whacked.”

“You’re whacked?” Fliss glared at him as she sifted Alex back so he was once more lay in her arms.

“Well you woke me up early!”

“God you’re a dickhead.” She shook her head, snorting as he laughed.

“Love you.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he looked down at Alex whose eyes were definitely growing heavy.

“Can we dress him now?” Fliss asked and the midwife smiled.

“You can do whatever you want now. I’m officially heading out of your hair, unless there’s anything you need?”

Frank looked at Fliss who shook her head “No, we can manage, thank you.”

“Well then, if you do need anything someone will be in the office. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you and see if you want anything more to eat”

“Can I take a shower or…”

The midwife nodded “Absolutely, as long as Mr Adler is here.” “Yeah, I will be.” “In that case then I suggest a nice bath, change into your pyjamas and relax.” She smiled “Honestly, when I had both my kids, there was no better feeling.”

With that she gave them another small smile before she left the room.

“Can you pop him in the basinet?” Fliss looked up at Frank.

“Course.” He smiled, reaching out and gently picking his son up. He gave his head a soft kiss before he gently placed him down and then moved to help Fliss stand up. She was a little shaky at first but after a few steps she seemed to be fairly steady. With a grin Fliss selected the baby grow they had bought the day of their first scan and Frank chuckled as she gently popped the studs down the front. Frank watched as she tenderly dressed him, smiling to himself as she picked him up again, holding him to her front.

“I don’t want to put him down.” She whispered, her face concentrating on her now very sleepy baby.

“Then you don’t hafta.” Frank chuckled

“But what if I make him clingy…” “Lissy, he’s like an hour old.” Frank smiled “And I hate to break it to you, but babies are kinda fucking clingy. Why don’t you sit down and hold him for a bit whilst I draw you a bath?”

“Okay.” She nodded. Frank dropped a kiss to her head before he turned and walked into the bathroom.

Once her bath was ready he asked if she needed a hand getting in. She shook her head and with an almost wistful look handed Alex over to his dad and disappeared into the bathroom. Frank held his son close, looking down at him as he slept contentedly in his arms. He wandered over to the window, looking out over the bay, smiling to himself.

“I’ll take you out there as soon as I can.” He said, looking down at his baby “You’ll love it. Wind in your hair, spot a few dolphins…”

After a moment or two of gently rocking Alex as he stood watching the day outside, he turned and placed him down again, making sure he was covered by his blanket before he grabbed the bag and pulled out the pale blue lounge set Fliss had packed. It had been a gift from Roberta, pattered with tiny little stars and was a button down for ease. Mary had a matching pair as well, not one to miss out.

Checking Alex once more he pulled out his phone, snapped another quick photo before he fired it off to the Circle of Truth WhatsApp group along with the photos he had taken before. As the messages of congratulations began to flood in, he suddenly remembered that he had someone else he needed to speak to.

His mother answered after two rings “Frank?”

“Hey, so…er…he’s here!” He grinned as he spoke. “Safe and sound. Fliss is okay, she’s in the bath so…” “Oh, that’s…” His mother took a breath “That’s great, I’m really pleased.” “You weren’t in the waiting room before.” “I know, I didn’t want to crowd you.” “Well, Bill, Verity and Mary are coming back later to meet him. You should too.”

Evelyn paused before she spoke again, her voice cracking slightly “Are you sure?” “Mom, you’re his grandmother.” He sighed gently. “Look, I know what you’ll be thinking, all sorts of shit about Diane and Mary but, none of us can change the past.” He took a breath “This is your chance. Step up. Enjoy the moments you missed last time.” He heard her sniff a little, and he was surprised to feel himself becoming a little emotional. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I err…just…” She took a deep breath “I’d love to come meet him. Let me know when and I’ll organise a car…” “No need. Just give Bill a call. He said he’d bring you.”

“Thanks.” She replied gently. “Did you take any photos yet?”

“Yeah…I’ll send you one.” “Please do. I’d like that.” She paused again. “And I’ll see you later I guess.” “Sure.”

“Give my love to Fliss, please.” “Will do.” With that Frank cut the call and, once he’d sent the photo to her, he put his phone back in his pocket and smoothed down the blanket to take a look at Alex again, his conversation with his mother rattling through his brain.

He’d been right, she was feeling guilty. Guilty at how she was here for Alex but hadn’t been there for Mary or Diane for that matter. But he had meant what he said, none of them could change the past, it was how they moved forward that counted, how she took the second chance she had been given.

Frank knew his relationship with his mother was as good as it was probably going to ever get. But he could live with what it was, dare he say, he actually kind of liked it if he was honest. She was still far enough away not to piss him off on a daily basis, or try and interfere, but she visited regularly enough and when she did it was easier than he had ever anticipated. She’d certainly upheld her side of the bargain with Mary and if she did the same thing with Alex, he’d be happy. She was his grandmother after all, just like he’d told her.

“Mom, you’re his grandmother.”

As he recalled his words he felt his breath catch and his eyes mist over once more when he realised he’d called her mom, and for the first time that he could remember, she hadn’t corrected him.

***** After her bath, Fliss had emerged to see find Frank still quite emotional. He explained to her about his conversation with his mother and she’d listened as they lay on the bed, her head on his chest. Eventually the pair of them had drifted off and managed a few hours sleep before Alex had woken them both crying. He fed again and then Fliss smiled at Frank and told him she wanted to see everyone. With a nod he headed off to find a midwife to see if everyone was allowed into the room at once, and she had suggested that instead of doing it that way they used it in the family room within the birthing centre.

“We can do that?” Frank questioned and she nodded. “Of course.” The woman smiled at him. “In fact we encourage everyone to use the room as soon as they feel up to it. It's designed to give new moms and dads a space away from the recovery suites, somewhere to walk to and just chill out in, a bit like you would do if you were at home.”

“And Fliss is okay to walk down there?”

“Sure, in fact her being a little active and walking around is the best thing. All helps with her recovery and psychologically she'll feel like she has done something other than sit or lay down if that makes sense?”

Frank smiled and headed back to the room telling Fliss what the nurse had said.

“You up to that?” he asked and Fiss nodded eagerly.

“God, yes.” She grinned “I know it’s only been a few hours but I’m getting twitchy just laying here.”

Frank smiled, he should have known. She wasn’t the best at sitting still and had been active right up until going into labour.

“Okay, well I’ll call everyone, get them in.”

“I think we should let Mary in here to see him first.” Fliss looked at him and Frank beamed at her, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Half an hour later Bill called to say they had arrived and Frank gave him the directions up to the room having already booked them in. Fliss stood up and he held out her robe so she could shrug it on over her lounge set, before she shoved her feet into her flip flops.

“Ready?” Frank asked and she nodded. With a quick kiss he headed off to the lounge, opening the door. He smiled round at his family before he held his hand out. “Come on Stack.”

Mary jumped up and slipped her hand into his and, after promising everyone else he’d be back shortly, he led her down the corridor.

“Now you need to be quiet.” He instructed as he paused outside the room. Mary nodded and Frank smiled at her as he pushed open the door.

“Hi!” Fliss grinned from where she sat on the edge of her bed, Alex in her arms. Mary stopped dead, simply staring at the baby. You ok?”

“Yeah…” Mary breathed, her eyes focussed on Alex as she walked towards him. She peered down at his face and then grinned up at Frank.

“He has your nose.” “So I’m told.” Frank smiled “You wanna hold him?” “Can I?” “Course you can.” Fliss nodded.

Mary hopped up onto the bed, Frank settling besides her and he showed her how to position her arms as Fliss placed Alex down into them. Frank moved so his left arm was curled round Mary, his hand gently supporting her left elbow as she peered down at Alex. He heard her give a soft sniff and he looked at Fliss before he turned to Mary.

“You okay, Mary?”

“Yeah, I’m just so happy.” She said, her voice wobbling slightly and Frank felt his own eyes watering for what felt like the thousandth time that day. No one said anything else, just let Mary have her little moment before Fliss softly suggested it was time they went to introduce him properly to everyone.

“You helped do the gender reveal.” She looked at Mary “You wanna tell everyone his name?”

She thought about it for a moment before she shook her head “I think that should be yours and Frank’s job.”

Fliss leaned down to give Mary’s head a kiss before she gently stood up and took Alex from her, Frank also standing as Mary jumped down from the bed and slipped her hand into his. He curled his other arm around Fliss waist and the three of them made their way down the corridor. Mary opened the door to the large lounge area and they were met with everyone turning to face them.

“Hey guys!” Fliss smiled as her mum hurried towards her.

“Oh my baby girl!” Verity cupped her face “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay mum.” She smiled, before she glanced down at Alex in her arms and then back up at her mother. “Say hello to your newest grandson.”

Verity gently reached out to trail a finger down his cheek.

“Oh Bill…look at him.” She breathed out as Bill moved towards them, placing an arm round Verity’s shoulders as she gave a loud sniff.

“He looks like you Frank.” Bill said, his eyes not moving from the baby as he smiled down at him, Alex peering up with bright blue eyes.

“Here nanna.” Fliss smiled, passing Alex over to Verity who took him, letting out another soft gasp before she began to coo over him.

“Steve said he’ll pop to see you tomorrow with the gang.” Bill looked at Fliss “He thought this would be enough to cope with today. Says if its okay he’ll come here or to yours, wherever you are, on his way to the airport before he drops Sian and the kids off.”

Fliss nodded and then watched as Verity offered Alex to Evelyn who took him gently, peering down at his face.

“He does look like you.” Evelyn smiled gently, looking up at Frank. “And I’ve got the photos to prove it.”

“Sure you do.” Franks looked at her as she glanced back down at the baby and he didn’t miss the tears that were pooling in her eyes.

“I’m glad you came.” Frank looked at her and Evelyn raised her face to meet his eyes, swallowed and nodded.

“Me too.”

“Did you call Roberta?” Mary asked.

“No, but I sent her a photo.” Frank assured her. “She sent me back a load of heart eye emojis and a photo of a mojito, said she was toasting the new arrival over at her sister’s place.”

“Now THAT sounds like a great idea.” Verity mused, looking at Evelyn “What do you say we all go back to ours later?” “That’s so not fair!” Fliss folded her arms.

“We can have another party when you’re home.” Verity waved her away as Evelyn chuckled slightly.

“Sounds great.” She agreed, before she turned to Bill. “I believe it’s your turn to hold the baby so to speak…” “Yeah, come on.” Bill nodded, gently taking Alex from Evelyn, a huge smile crossing his face. “So what’s his name? We can’t keep calling him Bean.” Fliss looked at Frank who smiled at her and she turned to her dad. “It’s Alexander Francis William. Alex for short.” "What?" Bill breathed out softly, glancing down at the baby in his arms. "You named him after..." "Your dad, my dad, and his." Fliss looked at Bill, as his eyes filled with tears. “The best men I’ve ever known”

As the room began to chatter about what a nice name it was, along with a few more tears being shed at the pure love and emotion shared across the family, Frank looked down as Mary pulled on the bottom of his shirt.

He picked her up, perching her on his hip.

"You added Francis?" she asked and he looked at her, smiling. "Fliss did." Mary blinked before she shook her head, snorting. "Poor kid."

**** Chapter 11

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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