#he would have called him mickey for the sake of an inside joke that him and one other person in the entire universe (jack) would understand

[nerdyfangirlingbooks]

They had to kill Ricky September because he would've been smart enough to go with the doctor, and then he'd have stayed as a companion, and the doctor couldn't have handled having a friend who's actually called Ricky AND who he doesn't think is an idiot

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 Gold Panel Minncon 2023

Quick psa/reminder that this con took place while the actor’s union, SAG-AFTRA, is on strike. This means the boys cannot talk about any past, present, or future projects. But for the sake of clarity, I will be mentioning projects the boys are referring to by name.

Before the panel starts Jared notices a fan with an I heart Jensen sign, and says he does too.

Jared shows off a bit of his and Jensen's unspoken lingo, he does the sign for a brief pause. They got it from their director, Jensen says they had a lot of different hand signals for communication, and they also had names for certain types of shots. Jared mentions they had a friend in Van who's a larger individual and was always smoking pot so if they start the scene with a high and wide shot they'd call it the Murph. When the camera is on the dolly track and does a creep in if it's a little creep they'd call it a Mickey Rooney then Jensen says there are other ones they won't mention because they're very inappropriate.

Jared reminds fans that actors are currently on strike and thanks the fans for their understanding if there are any questions that they cannot answer. Jensen says that Jared can talk about his gardening skills and Jared says he loves him some zucchini and that he harvested some the previous week...I'm not gonna say it, but you know what I'm thinking 😉

Do they follow the Texas country music scene?

Jared always goes back to when in High School or Middle School Robert Earl King. Or Pat Green.

Jensen mentions Jerry Jeff Walker. He also says Texas certainly has its own country core, it's not like traditional Nashville country. x

The next fan had already asked Jared this question and now they want to know Jensen's answer: what kind of car would he have if money was no problem?

He doesn't have a holy grail and the reason he doesn't is because if he did he'd spend all his time figuring out how to get it; he'll watch car auction shows, used to watch them with Clif, and every one of them he'll want. He did see one car once, he and Jared had the opportunity to go to Concours d'Elegance which is the best, greatest car show there is in Pebble Beach. They close off the 18-hole golf course and line up the cars all along the fairways. It's right there on the coast and they were walking past the pre-world war cars and he saw an Austin Martin that took his breath away. He was like "this is outrageous you probably can't even get your hands on this" but if he ever had the opportunity to own something like that- he took more pictures of that car than any other car. x

The next fan doesn't have a question, they just wanted the boys to wish her a happy birthday and also show the tattoo she has of Jensen's face on the inside of her thigh, which took her 6hrs to get done. Jared jokes Jensen can't last six hours 🤣

What's the backstory behind the bracelets Jensen sometimes wears?

They've all been gifted to him by someone in his life, usually his wife or his daughter but he has friends that he has also traded with; there's always some sort of a back story to what he's wearing he doesn't usually go shopping and just buy stuff.

Then they get told a naughty joke: if a blackbird has black babies and a bluebird has blue babies what bird has no babies? A swallow. Both men have to walk away from the mic 🤣

Jared asks the next fan if they have any babies and even he's wondering why he says what comes into his head 😂

If they had to pick tattoos for each other what would they pick out?

Jensen points towards the fan that has his face tattoed on her inner tigh and says she already has it he would put his face on Jared's and Jared says "yeah I'd be more handsome." Gentlemen 👀

Jensen then says would put a bear growling on Jared's right hand. And Jared's like "why do they exist?" and Jensen just goes "to scare big things like you." Which I found a cute little exchange.

Jared would make Jensen get an enter at your own risk and an arrow pointing to somewhere that he's not gonna say but it would be in an old English cursive writing. Again 👀

Jared asks the fan what they would put on them and the fan replies that they would ask what they love and what describes them

Jensen comments that he and Jared had talked about getting something that represents SPN because when you're in it you're not thinking about how long the show is gonna go and so you know they talked about maybe getting the anti-possession tattoo or there was also talk about symbols of MOL but it's really come down that now that they're a few years removed from it and they're able to look back on it they're able to realize how big that part of their lives was for them and how forever it will be. That's not to say tattoos always have to be amazingly meaningful, some are just fun, but he feels they would because of how that show impacted their lives. x

If they were in Van and had a ping pong tournament with the cast and crew of SPN who would make it to the gold round and come out the victor?

They would. Jared says he thinks it happened a few times and they had to hide said ping pong table from them because they would sweat their makeup off.

Jensen says they would play that game so intensely as if they were running a marathon. They would be called back on set and be out of breath, show up panting- they had very intense games. I wanna make a dirty comment so badly involving the other things they were probably might have been doing on that ping pong table but I'm gonna keep it moving.

Jared says they represented Texas pretty damn well, and they're asked if they doubled up or destroyed the other. Both say it was pretty split, pretty even. It got to a point where they were just exposing each other's weaknesses like Jared would figure out Jensen's forehand was a little weaker that day so he'd send it straight into his forehand. x

Next is a fan wanting to know what they thought of her tattoo, and if they could give her artist a shoutout. They thought it was really awesome and the artist did a great job. x

If they go to a diner how likely is it that they would actually order a salad and a cheeseburger?

Jared says at a dinner he's kind of greasy spoon type of guy so like a burger or something. That's at a diner, but he probably orders salads more than burgers.

Jensen would probably go burger or burrito if they have it. And Jared says that's cause it's probably 2am, probably on the way home. He knows hubby so well 🥰

Jensen comments there's a dinner close to where he lives that they go to sometimes, and he's a creature of habit so they have this big massive burrito that he has no business eating all of but he does.

He mentions it has hot sauce so the fan asks if they like spicy food, they do, and Jensen says he likes jalapeños on his pizza all the time. They also mention Hot Ones and how they'd like to do it. x

J2 Gold Panel Minncon

[restapesta]

"I thought...I thought something bad had happened to you" pls

mickey (17:54 PM): yo, asshole.

mickey (17:54 PM): where the fuck are you?

mickey (17:54 PM): gallagher.

mickey (17:55 PM): you're out buying lube, not fending off world hunger.

mickey (17:55 PM): the fuck is going on?

mickey (17:55 PM): get back home.

--

incoming call from mickey (17:57 PM)

incoming call from mickey (18:02 PM)

incoming call from mickey (18:06 PM)

mickey (18:07 PM): did you lose your phone or some shit.

mickey (18:07 PM): answer it, for fuck's sake

--

incoming call from mickey (18:12 PM)

incoming call from mickey (18:13 PM)

incoming voicemail from mickey (18:15 PM) - 0:39

—"Hey, where the fuck are you? It's lube, you can get it wherever, you don't need to go across the world. Come on, we'll use spit if you can't find it, you know I don't mind. I called Lip. Asked him if he was with you, just in case. If you decided to be an asshole and get drinks with him or some shit. Texted the group chat when he said no. It's making me kinda worried, so. Don't be an asshole. Come on, just...ugh, Gallagher, just let me know you're okay. Call me the fuck back."

--

mickey (18:16 PM): answer your fucking phone.

mickey (18:17 PM): please.

incoming call from mickey (18:19 PM)

incoming call from mickey (18:21 PM)

incoming voicemail from mickey (18:23 PM) - 0:11

—"Forget the fucking lube, you bitch. You won't be getting any, you fucking asshole. Just call me back or I'm filing for fucking divorce."

incoming voicemail from mickey (18:25 PM) - 0:17

—"Listen, I'm really worried. Just, please, whatever in the fuck you're doing right now, it doesn't matter, just text me back. Please, Ian. I love you."

--

mickey (18:27 PM): please just call me back.

incoming call from mickey (18:28 PM)

mickey (18:28 PM): you said you were going to the store. ian, it's been an hour.

mickey (18:29 PM): i'm losing my fucking mind over here

incoming voice mail from mickey (18:30 PM) - 0:08

—"If you don't answer within ten minutes, I'm calling Lip."

incoming call from mickey (18:31 PM)

incoming call from mickey (18:33 PM)

incoming voicemail from mickey (18:35 PM) - 0:06

—"Five minutes, Ian. Five."

incoming call from mickey (18:36 PM)

mickey (18:37 PM): ian.

mickey (18:37 PM): please.

mickey (18:38 PM): this isn't funny.

mickey (18:38 PM): two minutes.

--

He was there in one.

Trudging across the doorstep with sweat coating his face and a gauze-covered hand carrying a plastic bag, barely hanging by the tips of Ian's fingers.

Mickey could now breathe.

It didn't matter if something terrible had happened; if Ian had been hit by a fucking car or kidnapped by a cult, the man in question was here, alive, in front of him, nothing more but bandages covering small patches of skin.

Mickey could worry about what in the fuck happened later. Later when there weren't tears of relief pooling in his eyes, the metaphorical hands of Ian's absence finally lifting themselves off of his chest. They had been squeezing and squeezing until he couldn't catch his breath, lungs heavy as he tried so desperately to pull air in.

Ian was only supposed to be gone for ten minutes. Just ten minutes so they could have lube and after-sex snacks Ian would no doubt pick up on his way to the check-out aisle. But he had been gone for an hour.

An hour that Mickey spent biting his fingernails into bloody nothings. They hurt now—the skin was peeled off around it and his fingers were numbing with pain.

But Ian was here. He was home, and he was okay. His eyes were wild and his hair was ruffled but Ian was in one piece and that was all that fucking mattered.

"Hey," Ian let out simply as Mickey finally stood in front of him, rigid and relieved. He dropped the bag onto the floor beside his feet, and the bottle of lube that had been the cause of all this rolled out of it to the side.

Hey?

Hey?

After the immediate relief upon seeing his husband was alive and well, came the familiar feeling of anger.

"You fucking asshole," Mickey let out as tears of frustration, and worry, and relief finally fell across his heated cheeks, the salt burning his eyes. He raised his palms and pushed them against Ian's chest, hard enough to make him sway on his feet, but not hard enough that he wouldn't be able to ball his fists into Ian's shirt and pull him in closer, so he could bury his face into it.

It smelled of smoke. Smoke so heavy Mickey had to pull his head away from the shirt so he wouldn't suffocate on it. He looked up, inquisitive, the tears drying on his skin, and he gazed into Ian's face, guilt-stricken and slightly shocked.

"What happened?" Mickey's voice was a whisper as he picked up Ian's hands that lay against his sides, inspecting the gauze that covered his wrists and palms.

"A fire in the store. A gas pipe burst and somebody was stupid enough to light a cigarette," He chuckled humorlessly. "There was a lady who couldn't get out fast enough, so I went back in to help. Got burned accidentally while trying to get out."

Went back in to help. Why was Ian always so good that he didn't care what happened to him? Why would he risk his life for somebody he didn't even know?

Stupid Gallagher.

Mickey loved him endlessly.

"That why you were gone for so long?"

"I needed to make a statement. Get the burns checked out."

Mickey eyed the hands in his own. He felt slightly nauseous seeing Ian hurt.

Was he in pain?

Please, let him not be in pain.

"Are they bad?" Mickey swallowed heavily.

"They'll take time to heal."

"The woman?"

Ian's eyes were clearer at the mention. Relaxed; proud. "She's good. If I hadn't been there—if I hadn't come back," He trailed off, leaving the obvious words unspoken.

Mickey resisted the urge to pull himself into Ian's chest again. Instead, he lifted a hand to palm his husband's right cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm sorry you were worried."

"I thought," Mickey's eyes burned again. "I thought something happened to you."

"Just a small hazardous fire." Ian smiled at him, teasing. "It wasn't life-threatening or anything."

Mickey punched him so hard in the bicep, he knew it would hurt for a while. He felt the rope curl around his throat again.

He had imagined it all.

All the worst possible scenarios had drifted through his mind, the worst being that Ian was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, where Mickey couldn't help him for shit—this was no fucking joke.

Ian had no fucking clue how it was. To be so fucking worried for his husband he felt like he'd vomit at any fucking given moment.

"Ow!" Ian yelped at the impact, clearly not expecting it. Mickey was back to fucking pissed again, tasting the tears again. He could've died.

Ian could've died.

"What the fuck do you think I'd do if something happened to you, huh?" He asked, unable to stop the anxiety from settling itself into his belly, unwelcome. "Do you think I'd be able to live with myself if I lost you?"

Ian's eyes softened.

"You didn't lose me, Mick, I'm here. I'm right here."

And the smoke be damned, Mickey let himself get pulled against his husband's chest, the strong arms engulfing him tightly.

Ian Gallagher, running into the fire, ever the hero.

Ian Gallagher, the love of Mickey Milkovich's life.

How would he ever be able to live without him?

I hope I never find out.

"I'm okay, Mick. I'm okay, it's okay."

Mickey inhaled, the feeling akin to cigarette smoke inside his lungs, burning him.

Ian was here. He was okay.

Fuck.

It would all be okay.

[unbridgeabledistances]

I love your last fic so much it got me thinking could you write something about like the gallaghers( +Kev and v and sandy etc) observing Ian and Mickey’s relationship? Like their perspectives of seeing them be soft with each other and just their dynamic? I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense lol <3

hiiiii anon!<3 okay i want to start off by saying that this got WAY too long, bc i loved this prompt a lot- so much that i think i might make this a multi-part thing on ao3! i started with sandy (since i am in love with her) but i’ll also go through the gallaghers/kev & v soon- lmk if u guys want me to continue, and who u would want me to write next if i do (or if u want me to continue with sandy lol i have lots of thoughts and feelings)

this ended up taking place in s10 when we first meet sandy, fyi:) also tw for brief mentions of abuse (as always, bc of terry 🙄) -- and there is a reference to the line in 10x07 that jokes about mickey and sandy for a brief moment

--

When Sandy heard her phone buzz on that Tuesday afternoon, sitting on the stained and lumpy couch in her shithead uncle’s living room while drinking a beer and arguing with Alek about what type of insurance fraud could make the biggest payout, she had no idea what to expect on the other end of the line. The phone kept ringing, the contact info lighting up the screen: MICKEY.

Mickey? Shit. It had been a long fucking time. Between her own various juvie stints as a kid and Mickey’s time behind bars overlapping just as she got released, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey since… high school, maybe? Whenever it was, it was back when Mickey was a grimy kid with spikey hair and dirty fingernails, a kid with an obsession with guns and way too much time on his hands, back when they would hang out by the train tracks and drink beer and get way too high and do stupid shit; all in all, back when everything was a hell of a lot simpler. Sandy assumed Mickey had met Royal and been clued in about her shitshow of a life at some point while she’d been gone, and they’d possibly overlapped at a family party or two a few years ago when they both were in town— but other than hearing about the aftershocks of Mickey coming out and driving Terry up a goddamn wall, so much so that Terry broke his parole and was headed straight back to prison hours after his release, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey in forever.

Which is why this call intrigued her so much— Mickey was supposed to be in prison for at least a couple more years, or at least that’s what his brothers had said, so why the fuck was he using a cell phone right now?

Sandy nodded her head towards the cellphone, cutting Alek off mid-sentence and sliding her thumb across the screen to pick up the call. Before saying anything, she rose off the creaky springs of the couch and speedwalked out to the front porch before answering— whatever the fuck Mickey wanted, she assumed he was calling her because this conversation wasn’t for the ears of any other Milkoviches. She lit a cigarette and leaned against the post of the front stoop, listening to the silence hanging heavy on her phone’s speaker.

“Mickey? You there?”

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Been a long time.” Mickey’s voice sounded the same; punchy and snarky, maybe a little gruffer and raspier after years of cigarette smoke. Sandy waited a moment for Mickey to give more of a reply, or an explanation for his call, but it was clear that Mickey wasn’t going to give one right away— it was like he was testing the waters, like he was deciding if making this call was the right move. Soft static echoed on the phone line.

Sandy totally got it— reemerging from a life of cinderblock cell walls and barbed wire fences fucking sucked, especially when you were a Milkovich and the moment you got out you were faced with a choice, an opportunity: did you want to go back home, or did you want to start fresh, erase your own name, and forget this dysfunctional family ever existed? Sandy knew she felt the same way when she got out. Mickey deciding to call Sandy was a big fucking move, and she realized that— reclaiming your life as a Milkovich on the brink of a new beginning took guts.

“So, I take it you’re out of prison?” Sandy asked after a moment, inhaling another slow puff of her cigarette.

There was that laugh again— Sandy had weirdly missed it. Honestly, Mickey hadn’t ever been too bad to be around— they’d both felt like outsiders in the family, had both always had a strong head on their shoulders and a fucking moral compass, unlike the rest of Terry’s sheep who did his bidding and got swastikas tattooed on their chest. When he was younger Mickey used to follow Terry and his older brothers around like a lost puppy, and he even got those fucking knuckle tats—but later in high school, Sandy remembered seeing something deep snap inside him, bleeding out in “STAY THE FUCK OUT” and “FUCK LOVE” signs taped onto his bedroom walls. At the time she thought it was the fucked-up shit with Terry and Mandy driving him up a wall— but now she realized the constant bombardment of homophobia, coupled with the cuts and bruises blooming on his cheeks and the cigarette burn scars on his arms, must have been signs of Mickey realizing the rude awakening that was inevitably going to come if he wanted to be who he was. Sandy couldn’t even imagine— no one really gave a shit who she fucked, and her cousins didn’t know anything about her sex life—but she couldn’t fathom being Terry’s son, the pride and joy of the Milkovich clan, and needing to outwardly admit those deeper parts of herself.

“Yup, I’m free to join civilization as of this morning. Overcrowding or some shit.” Sandy could hear Mickey also taking a drag of a cigarette on the other end of the line. She smirked to herself. Guess we both didn’t break the Milkovich nicotine addiction.

“So, uh, listen,” Mickey continued, and Sandy immediately knew he was in deep shit if she was the one he was calling to ask for a favor. “I’m in a bit of a… situation. Don’t wanna go into too many specifics, but there might be a massive fucking Mexican cartel after me right now.”

Sandy barked out a laugh before she could help herself. Fucking Mickey. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you’re feeling thrilled to be a free man again.”

Mickey chuckled again. “Fuck you. But hey, d’you think you can bring my shit by to me, so I don’t have to stop by the house and get fucking killed? You don’t gotta rush or whatever, just didn’t wanna show my face quite yet.”

Sandy could feel all the unsaid things wrapped in the way Mickey’s sentence ended. Didn’t want to show his face quite yet because of this cartel bullshit, or because of Terry? She decided it didn’t really matter— Mickey was a good guy, she could spend an hour or so rounding up his shit and bringing it to him if that’s what he needed.

“Got it.” She blew out more smoke, watching it curl and drift over the wasteland of the front yard on a gust of summer air.

Mickey cleared his throat, like he was gearing up to say more. When he spoke, his voice was softer around the edges, more genuine than before.

“I’m, uh. I’m sure you heard everything about me while I was gone. About Terry flipping his shit. Probably not the best idea for me to come around the house quite yet—my brothers n’ I haven’t really talked much since then either.” He paused, inhaling another drag of his cigarette. “I figured you’d get it. And hey, if you can bring the stuff by, I’d love to hear all the badass shit you’ve been up to the past few years.”

Sandy nearly winced—yeah, if by “badass shit” you mean getting forcibly married to a douchebag and then couch surfing for months— but she tried to keep her shit together for Mickey’s sake. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing of the porch, straightening from where she was leaning.

“I’ve got it Mickey, don’t worry about it. Where are you right now, anyways?”

She could hear the hint of relief bleeding into Mickey’s voice when he replied. “I’m at the Gallagher house? The grey one by the tracks.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “I was in jail for a couple of years Mickey, not braindead. I know where the Gallagher house is.”

Mickey huffed out a breath, but there wasn’t any sharpness in it. “Excuse me for tryin’ to be helpful, smartass.”

“Why the fuck are you there, anyways?”

“I’m, uh, crashing with my partner for now. Ian?”

Holy shit, Mickey was still fucking Ian Gallagher? Sandy had pieced together that Ian was the reason Mickey came out months after getting married to some Russian bitch, and according to Iggy the whole reason Mickey went to jail in the first place was some love-crazed revenge plot on Ian’s behalf— but since getting locked up Mickey hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, other than a shady-as-fuck message to his brothers after he’d busted out of prison letting everyone know that he was in Mexico, despite getting thrown back into jail in Chicago a couple months later. Sandy didn’t really know the details, and she especially didn’t know anything about Mickey’s love life— but it was wild as fuck that someone as unsettled and ruthless and batshit crazy as Mickey could’ve been with the same person all this time, especially someone as seemingly bland as Ian Gallagher. Huh. Wonder if I’ll get to see Ian.

“Got it. I’ll round up your shit and bring it by the Gallagher house later today. And don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know you called til you’re ready.”

Mickey exhaled on the other end of the line. “There shouldn’t be much, just check the drawers or whatever. “

Sandy knew for a fact that most of Mickey’s lingering possessions had probably been taken, sold, or thrown out by a zealously homophobic Terry by now, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Mickey over the phone.

“I’m on it. See you in a couple hours.”

“Hey, Sandy?” Mickey blew out a long breath, and this time Sandy couldn’t tell if it was because he was still smoking or because he was riding a wave of relief, releasing the floodgates of anxiousness he’d been holding in the whole conversation. “Thanks. I fuckin’ owe you one.”

Sandy smirked. Maybe Mickey being let out of jail early was a good thing, despite how fucked his whole situation seemed— maybe, for once, someone in her family would be fun to be around, wouldn’t set her teeth on edge every two seconds by making a racist comment or forcing her to be something she wasn’t.

“I’ll text you when I’m almost at your love nest.”

She imagined Mickey’s grin as he replied. “Fuck you. See ya soon.”

**

After scraping through every rickety dresser drawer in Terry’s house for nearly an hour, Sandy could barely come up with anything that was reportedly Mickey’s: a couple of tattered shirts, an impressively overused-looking bong, and a single sneaker she’d left behind because she couldn’t find the other one. She threw it all in some shitty burlap rucksack she’d found on one of the bedroom floors, assuming no one would miss it— it dawned on her that maybe her cousins were lying, and some of the other stuff in the house was still Mickey’s, but she’d collected what she could based on the whispered directions Alek and Iggy had given her when Terry was out of the room.

Sandy unlocked her phone, and typed a quick message to Mickey. “Out front.”

Mickey’s reply came quickly, and Sandy noticed the front curtains rustling on the top floor of the Gallagher house.

“Coming down”

The front door creaked open, and Mickey walked out onto the front porch. He looked good; he looked cleaner, sure, but also like a fucking adult—like he’d grown into himself, like he actually carried himself with confidence instead of just pretending to. He nodded his chin up at Sandy in acknowledgement.

“Long time no see.” He smirked, leaning on the banister. “You make a good delivery service. All those hauls we did with Terry must’ve been good training.”

Sandy lazily walked up the front steps, reaching the bag out in front of her for Mickey to take. “Here’s all the shit I could find. It’s not much.”

Mickey jerked his head to the open door behind him. “You wanna come in for a sec?”

Sandy grinned. Why the fuck not. “Sure."

So that was how she found herself perched on what was presumably Ian Gallagher’s bed, watching Mickey ruffle through the burlap bag, his brows furrowed as he realized just how much of his shit was actually gone.

“This everything?”

“As much as I could find.”

They comfortably chatted back and forth about how everyone was— Sandy decided to divulge the fact that Mickey’s brothers were idiots who tried to crawl in bed with her every night, which is something that she had to joke about so she didn’t go fucking insane sleeping under the same roof as them.

“Fuck ‘em, chop their nuts off next time they try it.”

Sandy smirked. Finally, a decent fucking relative. She made some hollow joke about staying with Mickey, alluding to the extra-shitty night decades ago when their cousins had forced them to make out when they were way too high on something.

“Or I could stay here with you. Have fun like we did when we were kids.”

“You know that’s fucked up, right? We’re fucking cousins!”

“Plus he’s taken.” A voice came from around the corner.

Ian Gallagher looked bigger, taller, and more solid than Sandy remembered; he was definitely miles away from the scrawny kid with the bangs who worked at the Kash N Grab that Sandy and her cousins endlessly used to fuck with in middle school. Ian’s shoulders were wide, his body imposing in the tiny room; immediately, Mickey’s aggravated stance softened when Ian walked in, wrapped in a towel from the waist down.

“Oh right, you.” Sandy grinned as Ian hunched over the bed and grabbed his deodorant from the nightstand.

Mickey had turned back to the bag of clothes. “Hey, I had shampoo and shit, is there soap anywhere?”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “You’ve been gone for years, you think your brothers would save that shit for you?” she bit out— and okay, maybe she was a little pissed at Mickey’s brothers for the constant-sexual-assault thing.

Ian just applied his deodorant and leaned in close to Mickey as he passed by the bed towards the doorframe. “You can use mine. We’ll hit Costco later, I’m getting paid.”

It was stupid, but Sandy felt something soft pang in her chest at Ian’s words; it was just now that she was realizing it, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen someone take care of Mickey before, or so… automatically factor Mickey’s needs into a situation. Being a Milkovich was all about scrounging and scraping, and guarding what little you had; a Milkovich would never let someone use their fucking soap just because they cared about them, or not as an immediate reaction anyways.

“Nah, I can’t, man. PO texted me when you were in the shower, he’s got a job for me.”

Ian kept looking at Mickey from where he was leaning in the doorway. “Then give me a list of shit you need, and I’ll pick it up for you,” Ian said in an overly simple tone, like he was mocking the fact that Mickey didn’t realize Ian would run an errand for him.

Sandy smirked. Jesus, Gallagher is whipped.

“Isn’t that cute, little domestic bitches,” Sandy crooned before she could help herself.

Ian stepped into the room again and leaned in towards Mickey, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek while Mickey aggressively tried to uncrumple one of the pile of shirts from the bag.

“Mm, thank you,” Ian said in reply, his voice muffling as he smushed his face closer to Mickey’s.

Mickey instantly smiled smugly as Ian’s lips pressed against his cheek—then he noticed Sandy was staring, so he flipped her off and smiled even wider. What the fuck? Sure, Mickey had flipped Sandy off, but he was practically fucking beaming in a way that Sandy had never seen. God, wonder if I’ll find this shit someday.

Ian detached himself from Mickey and walked out of the room, Mickey’s eyes lingering on his torso. Once Ian had turned the corner Mickey snapped back to attention, fixing his eyes back onto the small mountain of clothes spread on the bed in front of him. Mickey lifted the bong off the bedsheets, and met Sandy’s gaze. 

“You have to go, or d’you wanna hang for a bit? I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours, and it’s gonna suck enough that I should probably be high before I get there.”

Sandy grinned. “Hell yeah, I’m down.”

**

They sat on the rickety back steps of the Gallagher house, silently taking hits and passing the bong back and forth. It had been years since they’d been in the same space, but Sandy and Mickey easily sank into a comfortable silence, passively surrounded by the shrieks of kids playing across the alleyway and the bubbling of water as they inhaled. Mickey blew smoke out of his nose, then sat back so he was leaning against the banister and passed the glass pipe to Sandy.

“So,” Sandy started as she held the lighter to the bong and inhaled deeply. “Ian Gallagher.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh. “Yup. That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit for ya.”

Sandy smirked as she exhaled. “You really fucking love him, huh?”

Mickey eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly as he looked towards her. “Yeah. Guess I do.” He took the bong from Sandy’s outstretched hand. “Took me forever to get shit straight with him, though.”

Ah. So their road to domestic bliss wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Sandy’s curiosity was growing.

“Because of shit with Terry?”

Mickey stiffened, coughing a bit as he exhaled smoke, like Sandy’s question caught him off guard. “Shit. Yeah. That too. Let’s just say there were lots of fucking ups and downs, and we both had a lot of shit to unpack.”

Sandy snickered. “You sound like a fucking couples therapist.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “If you wanna see couples therapy, I should tell you about the months me and Ian were sharing a fucking cell. We nearly ripped each other’s heads off. We literally stabbed someone so one of us might get sent to fucking solitary.”

Sandy’s laughter grew. “Are you fucking serious?”

Mickey grinned, and passed the bong back to Sandy again. “Fuck. Yeah. I fucking love him, though. He’s fucking crazy, and I still can’t let him go.” Mickey looked off into the distance across the alleyway, and either the weed was really hitting him right now, or he was being a very sappy motherfucker.

Sandy nudged Mickey’s knee. “You guys are cute together.” Mickey’s eyebrows raised when he heard the word “cute,” and Sandy quickly tried to rephrase. “Not cute, but y’know. Good for each other. You seem happy. Happy is... good.”

Mickey nodded pensively. “How’re you doing, anyways?”

Sandy shrugged noncommittally. “Eh. We can talk about me another time. How the fuck did you and Ian end up sharing a jail cell, anyways?”

Mickey let out a throaty laugh. “I heard Gallagher was getting locked up when I was down south, so I essentially pulled some strings and fucking snitched on the cartel I was working for. Hauled my ass back up here so we could be together.”

Holy fuck. Sandy’s jaw nearly dropped. “Mickey, you’re batshit crazy.” She shoved him squarely in the chest this time. “Are you fucking serious?! You evaded the feds, were living in Mexico, and you came back for Ian Gallagher?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, placing the bong on the steps. “I can’t explain it, man. I just didn’t wanna be anywhere else, I guess.”

Sandy leaned back onto the banister. “Shit.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask the next question. “Do you… want me to tell anyone you’re back?”

Mickey glanced over at her, his eyes alert. “Nah. Not yet. That okay with you?”

Sandy nodded. “Of course.” Mickey pulled out his phone, checking the time and presumably looking for a distraction from tiptoeing around talking about Terry— but Sandy had to tell him, had to let him know one more thing.

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey looked up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really know the details of what went down with Terry, or whatever— but I just wanted to let you know that… if you ever wanna come home, I’m on your side. No questions asked. And I think a lot of the others are, too.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upward. “Thanks.”

Sandy stood, checking her phone and zipping her leather jacket. “Well, I’d probably let you sober up a bit before your big parolee first day of work.”

Mickey raised a middle finger up to her from where he was seated, but then rose to stand.

“Thanks for comin’ by. And hey—you’re free to crash here anytime. There’s a million fucking kids running around all the time, but there’s always a couch or something open if everyone at home’s giving you too much shit.”

Sandy felt something warm growing in her chest. It had been a long fucking time since someone offered to take care of her, just because they could, just because they wanted to— maybe being a Milkovich wasn’t half bad. Maybe there were some good ones.

Sandy nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to walk down the creaky back steps. Wow. If Sandy was sure of one thing right now, it was that Mickey really, really fucking loved Ian Gallagher.

[popculturebuffet]

House of Mouse Review: Not So Goofy or The Ungoofy Is Upon Us!

GG

Welcome back to the RIDE OF THE THREE CABLLEROS. And i’m hitting the ground running to continue the trek after some lessened activity over the holiday weekend. Especially with Christmas season already there.. and.. things to take care of. 

Your time will come, you blighted hell of an episode. But no today we’re talking about something actually good! It’s Not So Goofy! It’s back on in to the house of mouse as this was only one year after the previous episode. We’re on to season 2 though frankly i’d have to re-watch more of the show to spot a difference. The show really didn’t change all that much between seasons. The only difference i’ve heard of is Pete is ENTIRELY absent this season, so my long spiel on him being on the show continues to be worthless and I continue to not regret it. But since I covered most of the stuff I knew about the series and how much I liked it last time we can dive straight into the episode> And this one was a treat for me as Goofy was my faviorite watching this show back in the day and is tied with donald now as my faviorite of the classic characters.. not that it’s hard competition but still I love both. Goofy is kind, clumsy, and a loving father, he’s who we are and who we want to be all in one. As with last time, which you can find on the disney tab on my blog, i’ll be reviewing the host segment seperate from the short’s for coherency’s sake. So with that in mind...

NOT SO GOOFY: Hot Goofy on Beast Action We open with Mickey intorducing the show and everyone chanting house of mouse, house of mouse, which makes me want a version of the show that’s a disney fight club, with over the top smash bros or scott pilgrim style battles. God that’s a project I never completed.. reviewing that series... maybe some day i’ll just start from scratch and do that.. HINT. Point is instead  of Disney Fight Club, we get goofy breaking a bunch of shit, because this episode he’s extra clumsy. Though thanks tot his I am reminded the HOM’s jaintoral staff is the brooms from fantasia, which is a nice touch and we get a nice bit of Minnie sending all of them after Goofy keeps breaking stuff. So despite Mickey being the one interrupted constantly, everyone else is hte one to point it out, Minnie politley everyone else just sorta barging in. I was going to give out about them giving out when none of them were effected but.. really bad wait service really dose impact them all: Donald is co owner so if goofy injures someone he has to help pay the setlement, Minnie runs the staff and has had to have her brooms work double to clean up, Hoarace has to clean up structural damage, Daisy is guest services so she has to hear about it, Clarabelle only heard a rumor and Gus is chef so he has to remake the food. So i’m sympathetic to all of them.. except Gus. Gus your only gimmicks are your lazy, you eat things, and in animations case you only communicate by honking obnoxiously. You don’t get to insult a comedic genuis for doing his bit. 

But Goofy overhears this and is upset, saying they want him to be the oppsitie of goofy, ungoofy. I mean technically your right, but an ungoofy would be something more like this. 

“I WAIT INSIDE YOUR HOUSE UNTIL THE CRESENT DAWN THEN ONE BY ONE YOU’LL ALL BE GONE. “

See nothing like goofy. But no ungoofy in this episode’s case is just goofy acting refined and posh. And to help with that after the first cartoon, aka half the episode as i’m now realizing is standard, is...

I will never get tired of doing that. Rob Paulsen is back as Jose, and does a MUCH BETTER job this time. Though really that’s also because he has more to actually work with this time, so he can actually play the character. Him being a white guy playing a Brazilian is still unfortunate, still not his fault, and was covered more last time. We’ll get into how Jose helps goofy after the cut. 

So Jose helps goofy try to ungoofy himself.. which as established isn’t how that works but hey. So we get a funny montage of Goofy learning the ropes of being significant, getting a turkey on his head, and backslapping jose so hard he flies into the next room and goofy wonders where he is. I don’t have much to add, it’s just funny. It’s why reviewing comedy is hard. Besides being subjective sometimes that’s the most you can say. 

So it works, and Goofy helps everyone in a dignified manner.. and this is where the plot starts to slip up slightly, as for starters Goofy’s apperance is the same, he’s just closing his eyes a lot. He’s also not really doing anything wrong... the closest he gets is massaging bugs out of the beasts hair when he has an itch. 

And that’s because he didn’t ask if they have an open marraige.. I mean they probably do, Belle’s open minded and beast has needs, but still, he should’ve asked. Otherwise it’s going great.  As for where it goes wrong.. it’s because he dosen’t really DO anything bad. He isn’t an uptight jerkass about it or anything, he isn’t mean or tyranical to the customers or dosen’t transition to that he’s just.. not himself. Which isn’t good, btu the most he does in that regard is just not give the goofy laugh. Mickey and Minnie just suddenly kind of decided “Whelp this is bad let’s fix that”. And Disney would do this better, one of the Mickey Mouse shorts had Minnie, swooning over a sophisicated gentelman type on tv, give Mickey finishing lessons which turned him into a snobbish monster who broke up with her for daring to serve Bologna and not having a waiter. That WORKED.. and not just because we got Donald and Goofy kidnapping Mickey. But because we were shown there was nothing wrong with him in the first place, and there was something bad with the change. 

Here Goofy’s just.. compitent at his job. he’s not cruel to say max or clarabelle, he’s just refined. He should be himself, i’m entirely on board with that, but he’s not shown being worse off. I’m not saying he should stay posh, just give him a clear reason why his life is worse off this way is all. It’s basic storytelling.  But since Jose can’t just.. undo his training because he dosen’t know how they bring in Panchito! And we get another delightful song as Panchito tries to give a good lesson on being yourself with the help of his fellow cabs by explaning his long ass middle name... with Rob Paulsen’s voice. Yeah while Rob dosen’t play Panchito outside of song, he does end up voicing him for the number, likely because of his signature rapid fire delivery in music, but still does a GREAT job at that too. Serously I wasn’t just trying to placate people calling him a legend last time, he REALLY is fantastic, he was just given nothing to work with and here the diffrence shows as the song is really catchy, really beautifully animated and really fun and really plays to Rob’s strengths. Again casting a white man as a Latino is .. pretty sketchy, but it’s not Rob’s fault and i’m sure if Carlos was even offered the song, or even if he wansn’t, Rob apologized for it and made sure it was okay> Wether it actually was I don’t know but I can’t genuinely see Rob Paulson as the kind of guy to be racisit or steal rolls or any of that stuff. It’s likely they just knew he could sing fast and wanted to do that and dind’t think through implications. 

The song dosen’t quite work so they play a short, and when that fails Mickey closes the show sincerly thanking everyone and apologizing to Goofy. Goofy is restored.. horay? What do you think ungoofy?

“SOON THE APOTHEOSIS WILL BE APON THEE AND ALL WILL BE GOOF. ALL WILL BE GOOF. “ Oh you always say that Final Thoughts on Not So Goofy Wraparound: Not terrible, but it’s really thin plot wise. but joke and song wise it’s REALLY good, so overall i’d say i’ts just okay> Not a great or memorable plot, or an original one really, btu the use of the cabs is FAR better this time around, the song is really damn good, and there are some good jokes, so overall it works. Like the last one the wraparound is nothing specail, but it’s still deeply entertaining. Speaking of entertaining, let’s talk shorts. 

Roller Coaster Painters:  It’s one of those old “Mickey, Donald and Goofy” have a buisness deals, where all are hired to paint a rollercoaster with the person who does the most getting a free pass for life and Donald naturally being the only one who cares. A paint war insues between Donald and Mickey... mostly because Donald wants the prize real bad and Mickey wants to “give him a run for his money” instead of just helping him because he’s a dick I guess? I dunno, but it escalates to them paiting each other and, in my favorite part, Donald stealing shit from the park to create a paint arsenal for himself, forging the prize to get his revenge. Fun paint base fighting ensues, and Goofy inevitably wins and rips the thing. SImple, but really charming with really fluid and wonderful animation helping accenutate the hyjinks. Really good slaptstick stuff and a VAST improvment over the last episode’s longer short. 

Goofy’s Extreme Sports Wakeboarding:  Just a fun, silly skit of Goofy wakeboarding, my faviorite bit being him doing the tantrum, which his him doing a child’s tantrum in mid-air. What was your faviorite bit UnGoofy?

“BEHOLD MY SEED, THE SEED OF YOUR DOOM, THE SEED OF ALL WORLDS AND THE SEED OF ALL BLOOMS!” 

Awwwwww.... he has a kid now. 

How to Wash Dishes: Another How to Bit. Not as strong as the last one but still fun and throughly relatable as Goofy’s a dishwasher, which having been one twice now, I can relate to his surly disposition at the narrator guy talking it up. The Narrator then.. has goofy run up credit card debt because he’s a terrible person, hijinks ensue, and Goofy ends up.. washing dishes. Overall a fun short, and again relatable as Washing Dishes is not great. Not quite as good as the other two, but still enjoyable because well. it’s goofy after all. 

OveralL Thoughts: This was more like it. While the plot of the main segment was kind of thin and nonsensical in places... it worked because this is more of a comedy show and the wraparounds are more focused on jokes and crossover gags than a real plot, and worked SLIGHTLY better. The shorts were also really great, making this a hell of a lot more fun to watch. Highly recommend it to any cabs or house of mouse fan or if your intrested in house of mouse, this is a good one to try out.  If you liked this review, reblog it, like it, comment etc etc, and if you have an episode of house of mouse, another disney show, or just another show in general you’d like me to cover you can comission episodes by sending me a direct message on here or an ask to get my discord to hash things out there. Right now comissions are ONLY 3 bucks through monday, so get em now while their hot! And until next time there’s always another rainbow.  NEXT TIME: It’s Don Rosa again! Horary!. 

[mxtantrights]

˚ · . · ✵PART THIRTY-THREE

word count: 2k

warnings: crying ( happy tears) and winer hats??

HAWKINS, INDIANA

APRIL 1985

It was nice day for lounging. And that's what I was doing. My eyes closed, taking in the soft wind coming from the open window.

Jonathan and I were hanging out around the school even though it was over for the day. He was using the dark room for his pictures still and wanted to develop some before the day was over.  We have plans to get some food after, so I'm just chilling inside his car until he's done.

Well not chilling per say. College acceptances would be going out soon. I was freaking out on the inside- for me, Steve, Nancy and Jon. I know I didn't need to worry about everyone but it just happens sometimes. I wanna see everyone get what they want you know?

"Jessie?"

I sit up and open my eyes at the sound of my name. I recognize the voice even though it's not one that I've heard in a while. Or one that I wanted to hear.

Billy Hargrove.

"Hi?" It comes out more of a question- because the last time we talked it ended with him almost punching me and him being knocked out.

"I just wanted to apologize to you, formally. I know that night I-" He begins to explain himself. Like I wasn't there. Like I wasn't there when he beat on Steve, almost beat on Lucas and me. So I cut him off.

"I don't forgive you. Honestly I don't know if I really can," I start and I see his face drop. He doesn't look sad, instead he looks just like understands. "We can't be friends Billy. But we can be civil for your sister."

He nods his head. "Right. Civil."

"We've only got two more months until we don't have to run into each other in the hallways, or the parking lot. Seems fair doesn't it?" I ask him even though it's rhetorical. All I ever was going to be was civil with him.

"Yeah Jessie, it's fair. See you around." He puts swiftly and then he's gone like he never appeared.

I sit back in my seat but I keep my eyes open. Not that he's gonna come back and punch me or something. Just to watch him actually leave. It wasn't easy seeing him in the hallways after that night happened.

But I dealt with it because he and I didn't talk to one another.

And it's not like were gonna be friends now. Just civil for Max's sake. I don't need bad blood spilling onto me and Max's friendship. Or her and Mickey's.

-

"I swear you guys are so cute. If everyone in their right mind could see it, they'd vote you as best couple." I speak as I dip my fries into the ketchup.

He laughed in between bites of his burger.

"So when are you expecting the acceptance letters?"

I almost choke on my fry. It was like he could read my mind or something. I look over at him a little shocked at first. "Dude are you in my head?"

"It's written all over your face today."

"Yeah well, I think they're coming soon. And I really don't know how I did, I didn't even apply to schools for music-"

"What? Why didn't you apply for music? It's all you do." He cuts me off and asks.

I wince a bit at having admitted that out loud and I grab handful of fries. I didn't tell anyone except my dad. I had missed the pre-screening additions for most of the schools. And that meant that I had no chance at auditions.

So basically applying as a music major was out the window. I had to apply to just the schools instead of both the school and the music school. Which meant that I could still get in but I would have to wait to audition again.

Also meaning that I'd be going someplace far away from here for no reason yet.

"I missed the cut off. But it's fine, I still applied. I can take care of the rest if I get accepted." I explain with a mouth full of fries. Jonathan is giving me a look like he didn't catch what I said so I say it again. This time with my mouth not full.

"I think you mean when you get accepted." He corrects.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks Jon."

"No thank you, I can't believe I'm friends with the soon to be Famous Jessie Glendall."

-

"I figured I should get a job-" I begin to explain but the sound of forks and knives clattering onto plates makes me stop and flinch a bit. What was so shocking about me getting a job? "Me getting a job isn't breaking news."

My dad clears his throat and picks back up his fork. He's blinking oddly for a few seconds. "Wow I mean, I just wasn't expecting it. Not to say I didn't think you could get a job- you know I wouldn't think that. It's just.."

"That means I can go places by myself." Mickey sort of mumbles loud enough for us to hear. When he looks at the both of us and sees that we did in fact hear him he stands from his seat. "I have freedom!"

"Hey!"  I yell at him, picking up a piece of broccoli from my plate and throwing it at him.

I miss him by an inch because he swerves.

"No- Jessie-" My dad starts to scold me.

But it's too late. I'm picking up another piece and throwing it. This time it impacts with Mickey's head. He of course plays the dramatics and makes drops to the floor in 'pain'.

I roll my eyes at his performance. "Oh bite me, get off the floor."

"Jessie can you please not throw vegetables at your brother," My dad points his hand to my seat, for me to take. I take it as he then looks at my brother. "Mickey can you sit down and not wave your possible new found freedom in front of your sister's face?"

I watch closely as Mickey gets up from the floor and slides into his seat.

"That mall is gonna be opening up soon and I think I'll apply to a few places and see which one takes me." I continue.

Mickey snickers. "Are you gonna work at a Weiner place?"

"Jessie please don't throw anything at your brother."

I squint my eyes at my brother. "I'll give you a wedgie so hard that you won't have a wenie."

"Hey!" Mickey yelps and I see the fear in his eyes. "Dad! She can't say that!"

I mock him in another voice.

"Jessie please don't apply to any weiner places, for the sake of the house."

"Fine."

HAWKINS, INDIANA

APRIL 1985

I'm fiddling with my hands again. I don't know what to say. It's like I didn't want thing same things for myself as I did before. Before everything happened. And I feel like if I say that then I'm gonna be told that I'm holding back, or not letting go.

"Tell me what's on your mind." Lisa's voice calls out.

I look up at her now.

"I want," I begin but my breath hikes in my throat. "I just want to be with my family. Music is important to me but not as much as them. At least for the first year."

Lisa nods her head at me and holds her finger up. She ducks down into her cabinet and pulls out a piece of paper. She slides it over on her desk towards me with a small smile on her lips, then holds her hands together.

Hawkins Community college?

"You dad filled out a copy in early January before the deadlines. This is a photocopy. " She explains to me as I pick up the paper. It's an application form like the ones me and her filled out together in December.

Except it's in his handwriting. And it's for Hawkins Community college.

"He filled this out for me?" I ask.

She nods her head. "Now he wasn't supposed to, but I may have helped and sent it in. You father was supposed to tell you, so you would know. Since, you know, what we did was not really legal."

I can't help to laugh at that. My dad and my college counselor possibly committed a minor crime for me. It sounds a little crazy, but trust me I know crazy.

"But why would he fill it out if-" The doubt starts to sink in quickly.

"He does believe in you, don't doubt that for a moment sweetheart. I had to pry it out of him but he told me it was because he wanted you close," She gets up from her swivel chair and takes a seat next to me, and takes my hand. "Said it was awfully selfish of him, but a big part of him just couldn't stand to see his little 'Jess Odess' go so far away."

"He's such a smother sometimes." I laugh at my own joke and so does she.

"Look, let's wait until you get all your options first. Then you can decide. And if you choose to tay here the community college is a great start for music. It could be your launch pad whenever you're ready to launch."

"Thank you, thank you so much Lisa."

-

"Why do your eyes look puffy and red?"

If it were anyone else I would try to hide it. Try to sniffle my nose and rub my eyes to get rid of the evidence that I was crying. Not that I don't like crying. I'm just not the best at accepting more than a hug from someone.

But it was Steve. I knew he wouldn't give me any shit for crying.

He sits next to me on the outside bench, shoulder to shoulder.

"I was just with Lisa, talking about schools and stuff." I answer.

"Is everything okay?"

I nod my head vigorously at him and I can even feel my eyes watering again. "Yeah Steve. Everything is fine."

He pulls me into a hug and I do the same to him. "These are happy tears? We love happy tears."

I can hear my laugh a little bit over the commotion of outside. It was lunch so that meant the middle school was playing outside. And the highschoolers were hanging around or trying to skip to get real food.

"Yeah we do," I pull away from him and his face reminds me of what I wanted to ask him. "Oh I almost forgot- I'm gonna be applying for jobs in the mall."

"Really?"

"Okay what is it with everyone being surprised that I want to get a job?" I let out a playful sigh. It was kind of funny that people were shocked that I'd want a job. Maybe because they thought I was some superstar.

"No no no- it's not that I'm surprised, I'm more happy than surprised actually." He starts of sputtering like a car engine until he gets it right. I nod along to his answer.

"Happy for me possibly working at a place where I'd have to wear a hot dog on my head?" I rest my hand on the top of my head with a finger pointing up. It's really creative imagery, as creative as I can get.

His face scrunches up as he laughs at my impromptu weiner hat.

"I mean yeah, I might be working there this summer too." He adds and that makes me shocked. I figured if Steve ever wanted a job he'd just slum it at his dad's place. I know he probably wouldn't want to but it beats wearing a weird job outfit.

Steve in a weiner hat.

I laugh at the mental image in my head. "I just imagined you in a weiner hat and I have to say, not too bad."

"Not too bad, what about my hair?"

"Calm down pretty boy there's more to you than your hair."

[hacash]

last man standing

summary: June 1947. After a particularly bad day, Meyer realises he’s the last one left.

-

It occurs to him, sitting out on the balcony in the sticky-sweet miasma of Miami heat, that there’s no-one left he can talk to about this.

Oh, he has friends – it’s funny how many people want to be pals with the little man when he, more or less, owns Cuba - and associates, and a wife, God bless her, asleep in the next room. Still, Meyer thinks as he pours himself yet another scotch, it’s not the same.

It’s not…the people who were there, they no longer…look, it’s one thing to know people now when you’ve made it, but the people who knew you then, still running in the Lower East Side, still reaching for it all…well, it’s just not the same, is it?

One by one, the old faces seem to melt away, and now… Well. People like them don’t plan on growing older, and if you don’t plan for something it never happens.

Fucking Benny. Never the world’s greatest planner.

Another scotch. Shit. He finds himself remembering, as if he were an old man already – alter kocher, comes Benny’s voice, and he nearly vomits over his shoes -  that afternoon down at Atlantic City, when the world spread out before him like some sort of fucking dream and everything was theirs for the taking. The big man, he thinks sourly to himself, your first time around the table like some kind of damn equal instead of waiting at the door for A.R. and Charlie to finish their yammering, and you thought nothing could possibly go wrong.

Look how well that little escapade went. In the long term, barely worth the trouble. Damn, they’d all been kids back then. Taking on Chicago, Atlantic City, New York, it’s all ours, gentlemen, the old way of doing things has passed – how long ago was that? Years; fucking years ago.

I thought I was invincible, and all my friends with me. I thought no-one could make me do anything I didn’t want to do ever again. Some fucking joke that turned out to be, huh? Look at where he is now. And there he was still…knees to the ground, gasping little immigrant kid, doing precisely what he didn’t want to do.

They were meant to be invincible. Look at them now. Jimmy Darmody, abandoned in an unmarked grave. Al had been barely recognisable as the man that ruled Chicago by the time they buried him, thanks to all that cocaine and his whores. Richard Harrow, the quiet one – Meyer remembers flicking through an ancient newspaper and finding out they’d found him beneath the boardwalk riddled with bullets. As for Mickey Doyle…well, he’d always said one day that man’s lip would get him in trouble, and Charlie proved him right.

(Benny wanted to come with them to Atlantic City back in ’21. Charlie had nearly had a fit at the idea. Jesus Christ, Benny had snapped, I won’t embarrass you in front of your new fancy friends; as far as dangerous goes, I’d like to meet the guy who can get the drop on me. At the time Meyer had thought it was funny.)

And Charlie? In fucking Palermo, of all places. What fucking use is he in Palermo? He doesn’t even like Italy, had been Meyer’s first thought when the news came, as if the elevated minds of the US government concerned themselves with where a criminal would like to be deported. He’s a New Yorker, not an Italian. He came from Sicily anyway, it’s a completely different land mass, you’re not even sending him to the right place. As if Charlie would have cared, all that shit was for the Mustache Petes who actually thought which village your grandfather was born in determined who you were as a man. But at the time it seemed important that they gave a damn where they were sending him. Recognised just who they were dealing with – not just shipping a parcel back to where it came from, whoops, wrong address, just toss it back to the post office with the rest of the scrap and let those dagos sort out the mess for us….

He’s drunk, Meyer realises – not just drunk, but wretchedly, miserably fucked, the sort of drunk he hasn’t been since Charlie’s deportation, or since they dug up A.R. in that alley outside Park Central. Sweat creasing over his skin, head reeling; maybe he was in better shape to deal with grief as a younger man. Maybe tragedy has a sense of timing, like some punk kid in an alley; wait until a man is nice and relaxed and stupid and thinks life’s going his way, then bam – over the head with a blackjack, and suddenly the world’s not the place you thought it was.

He’s in Florida. Charlie’s in Italy. And Benny…

And there’s no-one left who knows them as they were. That’s the thought that tears him apart from the inside. He’s spent so long crawling out from that tenement basement flat, dragging himself from the Lower East Side step by step, and now the thought of no-one knowing him as he was – as they were, hungry young men always searching for the future – nearly breaks him open.

Atlantic City. 1921. A memory flickers clumsily in him. The graceless twin impulses of grief and alcohol drive him to grasp for the telephone, cradle it as if it were a life preserver.

The operator says it’s an Illinois number. Funny that. Then again, Meyer wouldn’t have expected him to stay in New Jersey.

“Yeah?”

“Mr Thompson? Eli. It’s Meyer, Meyer Lansky. From New York.”

A clunk, the sound of someone shaking off the remnants of sleep. “For fuck’s – ” There’s a muffled burst of expletives on the other end of the line. “What the hell do you want?”

He finds himself spluttering, sniggering like a schoolboy in on the joke, because the bottle of scotch currently pickling him from the inside out finds it very funny indeed: ringing up some poor bastard – must be pushing sixty, sixty-five – in the middle of the night to unburden his soul like some Catholic kid with their, what-you-call-it, confessionals crap. Well, fuck you, he thinks cheerfully, you and your fucking brother, everything you did. You always wanted to survive above all else, well congratulations, you did it, which means you’re the one who has to listen now.

“My apologies. The late hour, of course,” he forces out, trying to inject whatever clipped good manners he used to rely on back in the day – anything to stop richer men, bigger men, from shooting him in the head. It was always a shield, but right now it isn’t working; his voice is shaking and Jesus, why does it feel like he’s dragging every word up from his guts? “I hope I didn’t disturb.”

“You’ve got no reason to call me. I’ve had nothing to do with the business since my brother…Fuck. My wife’s going to wake any minute. Why’m I even explaining to you?”

Good point. Why exactly is he on the phone to someone he hasn’t spoken to in over twenty years: save that it’s the middle of the night and his oldest friend is dead and he doesn’t know what time it is in Italy, and all he knows that if he doesn’t speak to someone who knew him as he was back in the old days, even as an enemy, he’ll go mad.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“I’m sorry, Eli,” he says hastily, tripping over the scotch. “For disturbing you, your wife, and all that. You’ll come down to Miami, my expense, isn’t that how you Thompsons used to do things? I just…” - his tongue’s running away from him and God, he’s so tired, when was the last time he slept? five days ago maybe, when he finally gave the okay to…to what happened – “Felt like talking to someone …and I just had some news. About an old friend.”

There’s a grunt from the other line. “I’ll bite. Who?”

“Benny. Your brother kidnapped him once, back in the day.”

A snort. “Bugsy. Little shit, I remember him. Nucky told me he was the screwiest little wiseass he ever came across. What about him?”

“He died today.”

Silence. Meyer hasn’t given the hows or the wherefores; still, maybe there’s something in their line of work that enables you to sense it, that dead doesn’t just mean the tragedy of a car crash or a sour bout of pneumonia. Sheriff of Atlantic City: probably Eli visited no end of widows to tell them that someone was dead, in that particular way. “My condolences,” he says finally. “But you fellas all sign off on that sorta thing these days, don’t you? Do it polite, civilised. So who gave the okay for Siegel to go?”

“I did.”

I did. Me. I thought I could hold them off for long enough, I got careless – kidding myself that as long as I asked, they’d listen. You thought you were a big shot, didn’t you? Benny could do whatever he wanted – spend other men’s money, fuck around in the desert, none of it would matter if you were protecting him. How many times did you tell him that? How many times did you lie?

‘Fuck’s sake, Ben. You’re a grown man now, you need to take some responsibility for what you’re doing out there.’

‘Christ, hocking me with this again? You’re worse than my mother, Meyer.’

‘I’ve been taking care of you for long enough. I’ll sort it, alright, but get it together.’

Big joke. Thinking you can do it all, and you can’t even protect your oldest friend. What does that say about you, Little Man?

Eli hasn’t spoken, he realises, for a good while now. Just breathing on the end of the line, like a death rattle.

“Jesus Christ.”

A half-laugh, contemptuous. “I don’t know him personally. Maybe you could put in a good word.”

“Huh. Well.”

“You’re right though,” the words come gushing out of him, the way they always do when Meyer’s frightened, or angry, or drunk, or all three, “we do keep things civilised. So when Benny started getting in over his head, borrowing big money and looking as if he wasn’t going to pay it back, well, we thought – I,” he gives a bitter laugh, “thought it could be kept from getting out of hand. So I talked, and I talked. And they listened,” another laugh, “for a while, at least. But the project – the hotel – he was putting together, it…well. Didn’t look as if it was going to pan out. You remember what the business was like, back in your day.” For a moment his voice turns sour. “Everything has to pan out right. And Benny. Jesus. There was no reigning him in one way or another. And everyone else was gunning for it, and I – ” Fuck. “I couldn’t see another way out. So.”

“Sounds like you did the best you could.”

“If I did the best I could Ben Siegel would still be alive,” Meyer spits, a hot line of anger running through his voice.

“Why aren’t you talking to your partner about this? The Italian one, the asshole?”

Good point. He has the number after all, there’s no excuse. Charlie ought to hear it from a friend. But that would involve telling Charlie what he’s done. Admitting that at the end of the day, he had no choice.

A sigh. “Alright then. Why call me?”

“Because you’re the only one left. I wanted to talk to someone… who remembers what we were. The work we did back then, with Jimmy and the others…” God, he doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Maybe he just wants to be reminded, even for a second, that there was a time when they was young and fierce and had it all still to come. “And you’re the only one who knows what this feels like.”

(Sitting there in Darmody’s ballroom suite, or near enough, in a new suite he’d had made that week and feeling like a fucking king – watching Jimmy hem and haw and feeling nothing but pitying contempt for this little schmuck who’d gotten in way too deep with no way of backing out. Eli’s voice, rough and cynical even then. Jesus Christ, just kill him.)

There’s a chill on the other end of the line. “You ought to watch what you’re saying.”

“I’m not judging you. I’d have killed your brother myself, given the chance.”

“Is there a point to this, Lansky?”

“The point is…” he feels himself sway, or rather slip, down below the depths of what is sensible or real, down into the mire; there are waters closing over his head with the truth that his oldest friend in the world is dead because he gave the all-clear for the trigger to be pulled, “when you’re the one whose back is against the wall and you can’t see a way out, and you say those words – and it’s your friend – how do you come back from that?”

“Think you already know the answer to that.”

He does. Doesn’t want to though. That would mean accepting the fact that matters have changed irrevocably, that outside forces have changed him against his will, and he’s powerless to stop it. He doesn’t like being powerless.

“Twenty minutes afterwards my associates took control of the hotel. One of them called me to say the Sidecars were the best he’d ever tasted.” Fuck, he wants to be sick.

“Get some sleep, Meyer. Then call your friend.” Eli’s voice is almost gentle, as if it were one of his kids calling up over a skinned knee or an ugly date. “Oh, and Meyer?”

“Yeah?”

“If I ever see you near my family again, I’ll gut you myself.”

The line goes dead. Well, Meyer thinks as he replaces the receiver, that’s fair enough. He doesn’t respect Eli for a hell of a lot, but he supposes he’ll credit him with that much: he knows how to be a father.

Sipping Sidecars in the Flamingo while Ben Siegel bled to death. And twenty minutes after you gave the order, he remembers, you were drinking at the Regent, because Moe Sedway invited you and you didn’t want him to see how rattled you were. How’s that for class, Little Man?

Would Benny have known? If they gave him time to think before that last bullet snuffed him out, surely he would have realised. Benny might have been reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. For him to be killed, the right people had to give the order.

Fuck. Fuck it all.

And he has no choice. Again, he knows precisely what he has to do. It’s out of his hands. Again.

Clumsily he fumbles for the telephone. Mutters his name when it’s finally picked up.

“Meyer? Jesus, what time is it over there?”

“Charlie.” He draws in a breath, closes his eyes. “We need to talk.”

[baphometsss]

Finding the floor

Pairing: Ian x Mickey

Rating: E

Word Count: 3,879

Trigger warnings: Discussion of Depression, Anxiety and Bipolar Disorder, plus talk about meds

A/N: My first (and probably only) time writing bottom!Ian. I would call this ‘PWP’ but honestly the sex is not that… sexy. It’s meant to be kind of realistic (i.e. awkward). It’s just soft, hurt/comfort-y smut that I decided to write after having a crappy day. I hope you enjoy it.

AO3

-

It had been a rough few months.

After a bout of depression triggered by increased resistance to one of his meds, Ian was slowly coming back to himself. It had been difficult getting him to see that he was sick to begin with, and Mickey had once again been faced with the painful possibility of seeing his husband admitted to hospital. Thankfully it hadn’t come to that this time, but it was no less painful to see his goober of a husband deteriorate into just a shell of himself.

The new meds, however, were not without their side effects. The first type Ian tried had given him devastating anxiety and nausea that kept him up through the night. The shrink had insisted that Ian “persevere” through the first ten days “or so” of side effects. However, after the third night in a row of peeling his sweat-soaked husband off the bathroom floor and stroking his back until he fell into fitful sleep, Mickey had marched Ian down to the clinic again and demanded a new drug that didn’t turn his husband into a complete wreck.

This one was much better in that it wasn’t forcing them both to take time off work to deal with it, but it was causing some other, no less pleasing effects.

Which was how Mickey found himself with his head cradled in his husband’s crotch, his mouth wrapped around his dick, trying to work it to full hardness. He pulled his head away and glanced up at Ian, who was resting his head against the pillows with his eyes closed, and worked on jerking his husband’s still-flaccid cock with his hand.

“Hey, you still with me?” he said, a smile playing at his lips.

Ian opened one eye. “Yeah,” he whispered.

It was dark, the room only lit by the lamp beside the bed. The house was silent but for their breathing and the odd creak of the mattress.

“Not feelin’ it?” he asked.

“I am, but I just can’t…” Ian replied, shifting a little on the bed.

Mickey gave him a soft look. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, man.”

“I’m not—” Ian began, his voice raising an octave before it came back down to the same hushed tones they were speaking in. “I’m not embarrassed, I just… I want to make you feel good. I want to feel close to you and I can’t—I can’t even get it up,” he finished. “You sure you don’t want me to try sucking you off again? Fuck my gag reflex.”

Mickey shook his head and looked him up and down, over the soft ginger hairs peppering the sinuous planes and dips of muscle, considered his bitten fingernails resting on the pillow beside his head. He stroked one hand up and let his fingers glide through the dip between his pectoral muscles, then over his collarbone and neck until he was cradling the side of his head. He leaned forward and placed a slow, deep kiss on Ian’s lips, his tongue slipping between them.

When he pulled away, they were both breathing a little harder into the warm space between them, and Mickey felt his husband’s cock twitch minutely in his grip.

“I want you to get something out of this too. How is your stomach, by the way?” Mickey asked, resting his palm against Ian’s belly.

Ian glanced down at it. “Fine. I haven’t felt sick at all since I started taking them. Why?” he asked.

“You don’t look as sick as you did before. You looked even paler, if that’s possible.”

Ian smiled ruefully. “You know, this isn’t a very sexy conversation.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey laughed. “I’m just thinking…”

“Woah, don’t hurt yourself,” Ian said.

Mickey pinched his nipple and bit back a grin.

Ian squirmed away with a giggle and Mickey let go of his cock, still no harder now than when they began almost thirty minutes ago. If Ian was back to making his lame jokes, it could only be a good sign that the meds were starting to work.

It was quiet for a little while and they basked in the stillness of the night. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking. A few streets away, two men were yelling – probably drunk, or high, or both (probably both). Something in the house ticked over and began to hum.

“Maybe… maybe we should try something different,” Mickey said tentatively, lying against his husband’s side and playing with his balls idly.

“Like what?” Ian asked, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Mickey took the cig from him and took a drag. “Well,” he said, passing it back to him, “did you really start bottoming while I was gone?”

Ian was silent. “Well… yeah, but it was only with one guy.”

Mickey didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t especially want to hear about Ian’s flings with other men, or his own semi was going to go totally soft before the smoke was even stubbed out in the ashtray.

…But he didn’t like the idea of Ian only ever bottoming for one guy either. It felt… wrong for that guy to not be him.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

Ian seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well, I can’t say it’s my preference,” he began.

Mickey snorted. “You can say that again. You are the definition of a service top, Gallagher.”

Ian laughed softly. Mickey felt his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, and you’re the definition of a bossy bottom,” he said, squeezing Mickey’s pectoral muscle with the hand that was slung over his shoulder. “Nah… It was okay. It wasn’t… it wasn’t anything to write home about, I guess. I did it because he wanted to do it that way and… I agreed. But you’re right. I do like being on top. I love it.”

Mickey smirked and played with Ian’s fingers as he thought.

“You ever thought about doing it with me?” he asked.

Ian turned his head on the pillow and looked down at him. “Are you asking to fuck me in the ass?” he asked, only slightly teasing.

“I’m just sayin’… maybe it’ll help get you goin’…” he mumbled.

Ian stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and settled down again. “Well... I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” he said.

Mickey smirked.

“I know you’d make it good,” Ian murmured, looking at Mickey from under his eyelashes.

Mickey stared at him and swallowed. Truthfully, he didn’t like topping all that much. It never came close to the intensity of pleasure and release of stress that being fucked gave him. It just felt so natural to him, to be penetrated by another man – specifically Ian – despite everything he’d been taught to the contrary, and the desire had persisted beyond every attempt he’d made to repress it. But the way that Ian was looking at him, and the prospect of sharing that pleasure with him, was making him reel with the possibilities of being on the opposite end of things…

Slowly, Mickey leaned forward and caught his husband’s lips with his own again. This kiss had a different feel to it. Ian still felt vulnerable; he still had that jittery edge to his movements, but now Mickey was responding to the desire Ian hadn’t been able to express physically and it felt more fluid. He moaned as they kissed passionately and slid forward until he was straddling his hips. Their cocks slid together wonderfully, sending jolts of electricity through their bodies.

Ian’s hands came up to grip his hips and he sighed into the kiss. He tilted his head to the side and the kiss got even better. Little waves of static shivered up and down his back as Ian’s hand stroked his spine, then over his hips again to grip one of Mickey’s ass cheeks.

Mickey almost whined. He didn’t need his ass played with right now – it only fuelled his hunger for Ian’s cock to be inside him even further, which was not conductive to what he had in mind.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he pulled away.

Ian smirked and brought both his hands down to squeeze Mickey’s ass cheeks hard, then pulled them apart so his hole was exposed to the cool night air. A shudder wracked Mickey’s body, and he let out a cry as Ian’s mouth found his nipple just as he felt a fingertip tease his rim.

“Fuck—Ian—!” he panted.

“Jesus,” Ian growled against his chest, “fucking meds.”

Mickey glanced down and reached for his husband’s cock, tugging on it a few times. His arm flexed as he jerked it desperately, even pausing to tease the fraenulum the way he knew Ian liked.

Ian was staring too, his brow furrowed as he rubbed Mickey’s hole and panted through his nose.

…Nothing.

“Fuck sake,” Ian sighed, his head falling back onto the pillow.

Mickey bit his lip and pulled his arm away in defeat. Then, he reached into the drawer of their nightstand and pulled out the lube.

“You sure about this?” he asked. “I mean, I know I’m not like you. I’m not hung like a fucking horse or anything, but I do have a lot of experience with getting fucked in the ass. It hurts if you don’t do it right.”

Ian shifted on the bed below him, one arm slung across his forehead and a dismayed expression on his face. “It can’t hurt. We’ve tried pretty much everything else.”

Mickey nodded and leaned down to kiss him. He swirled his tongue around inside his mouth and hummed softly. They made out for a few minutes, Mickey rocking against him slowly, his own cock now rock hard as Ian stroked his back. He spread his legs a little wider to accommodate Mickey’s body.

Pulling away, Mickey reached for the lube again and uncapped it with his thumb. He tried not to show it in his body language, but he was nervous. He never felt nervous during sex, especially not with Ian. He certainly hadn’t felt nervous with the guys in prison, but there was an agenda there that he didn’t have with Ian. He wanted him to feel good. It hadn’t been this way with them.

Despite his attempts to hide his nerves, Ian apparently clocked them anyway, because there was a large hand threading itself through the short hair on the back of his head and pulling him down. Ian kissed him slowly, brought his other hand up to stroke his face with his thumb soothingly.

“I trust you,” he whispered after pulling away.

Mickey gazed down at him and nodded.

His fingers slid into him more smoothly than he’d expected, and he tried not to think about it too much. Ian seemed to be relaxed, if his breathing was anything to go by, and Mickey focused on pressing a third finger into him.

Ian let out a soft groan at that. Mickey bit his lip and continued to watch his husband’s face as he felt around inside the hot, pulsing heat of him, searching for that spot that always made him come apart when Ian fucked him. It took a few tries, which was several more than it usually took Mickey, who was more than used to doing this to himself. It turned out that doing it to someone else was quite a lot harder; Ian was bigger than he was, his proportions were different, and Mickey wasn’t all that well versed in anatomy, so he didn’t really know where to look.

Finally, he brushed it with a knuckle. He knew this because Ian suddenly seemed to light up like a Christmas tree: his eyes flew open, his hips jerked and he let out a punchy, breathless moan.

Mickey grinned as he listened to Ian let out a stream of shaky breaths. When he finally sighed and relaxed back into the pillows, Mickey smirked and curled his fingers towards himself again.

The result was the same, but Ian let out a choked groan and the muscles in his thighs, which were pressed against Mickey’s hips, actually quivered. Mickey smirked again and leaned down to kiss his husband’s parted lips. Ian’s brow was furrowed and his face was flushed with arousal. Mickey liked that about him; his ears would pink first, then his cheeks, and then all of his pale, Celtic skin would flush scarlet.

“Feeling good?” he asked against his lips.

“Yeah,” Ian replied, his breath shuddering out of him. “Get inside me.”

Mickey smiled against his mouth and slid his fingers out of him. He squeezed a little more lube out of the bottle and spread it over his cock, then wiped his hand on the bed sheet. He steadied himself on his knees and pushed Ian’s legs up slightly with his elbows. Then he was lining himself up, the head of his cock rubbing against the tight curl of muscle between his husband’s legs.

Ian was staring up at him, his eyes wide and his face vulnerable. His mouth was a tight line, and he was panting through his nose as Mickey pushed into him.

It was so outside of Mickey’s usual desires when it came to sex that it kind of surprised him how good it felt. He could feel every pulse and twitch of Ian’s body against his cock. His hole was tighter than anything he’d ever felt around him. He arched his back and closed his eyes as he leaned into the feeling, a low groan escaping his lips.

Below him, Ian was panting. It took a few moments for Mickey to come back to himself and focus on his husband once more.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a little choked with the pressure of keeping still.

“Uh huh,” Ian replied, but his voice was a bit too tight for Mickey’s liking.  

He didn’t say anything, but he kept still until Ian’s face softened and his breathing evened out.

“You can move,” he breathed, his legs relaxing a little.

Mickey nodded and licked his lips. He closed his eyes and drew back a little, glancing up when he heard Ian sigh. He pushed back in again, slowly, and then out, and then in again, gently. He was watching Ian’s face for any sign of pain, but he found none; only tension and the same edge of anxiety he’d had for the last couple of weeks.

For his part, Mickey was having a hard time keeping his libido under control. He wanted to fuck into Ian until he was spent, but more than that he wanted him inside him, where he belonged.

Speaking of…

Mickey glanced down to Ian’s cock and smirked.

“Hey,” he said softly, and motioned down to where they were joined.

“I know,” Ian gasped, and arched his back a little. “Fuck.”

Licking his lips, Mickey began to thrust a little faster, but still with the same caution as before. Ian moaned, a low sound, and then he shuddered.

“Ah—Mick—” he panted, his voice smothering the gentle creaks the mattress had begun to make in time with Mickey’s thrusts.

Mickey brought his hand up to stroke Ian’s face and he leaned in for a kiss. He moaned into it, his hips jerking as Ian pulsed around him. He started aiming a little higher, and he almost came when he felt a pair of long legs wrap around his waist.

“Faster,” Ian begged, and Mickey could only oblige.

Their hips were slapping together now as they grunted and moaned, Mickey lunging and Ian clawing at his back. He was letting out deep, punched-out breaths, a telltale sign that Mickey was hitting the mark. He almost smirked, relishing in being the one to give him that white-hot pleasure even as he was desperate to be in his husband’s position.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Mickey gasped, his hips jerking. His balls were tightening and he could feel his belly pulsing and quivering.

“Do it,” Ian barked, his voice gravelly and low with arousal.

“Are you—?”

“Doesn’t matter. Please. I want you to come inside me,” he demanded, his voice tight.

Mickey panted and glanced down at his husband’s cock. He was hard, and his body was flushed and sweating with lust.

Not in the mood to argue with his orgasm so close, Mickey nodded and began to thrust in earnest. He was sweating with the exertion, but it was only when he felt a hand grip his ass and then slide between his cheeks to his hole that he became totally helpless to it. Ian slid his middle finger inside him and began to fuck it in and out rapidly, and it was with a whimper and a couple of thrusts later that Mickey was coming hard. His hips totally lost whatever rhythm he’d found as he pressed into him and found his release, and he let out a strangled moan of pleasure as he pulsed and shook through the crescendo.

They were both panting fit to burst a lung as Mickey pulled out of him and rolled to the side. It was quiet in the room save for the sound of their breathing and occasional groan.

Eventually, when they had both calmed down a little, Mickey found himself glancing over at his husband with a lopsided grin. Ian looked back at him, his face still pinked, his legs still spread.

“Your turn,” Mickey said softly, grinning even wider now.

Ian grinned back and reached for the lube before rolling over and settling between Mickey’s legs. Barely ten seconds seemed to pass before his fingers were slick with lube and rubbing over his hole, then his own now-fully hard cock.

“Ungh, fuck,” Mickey grunted, his legs opening wider as he felt the head of Ian’s erection push against him.

Ian moaned softly as he slid inside in one fluid stroke, his brow furrowing as he bottomed out. Mickey reached up and placed his hands on his ribs, his body relaxed in post-orgasmic bliss but his cock still half-hard. His refractory period was as short as it had ever been despite the fact that he was no longer a teenager, but he didn’t mind if he didn’t come again. He just wanted Ian to release some of the pressure that had been building up inside of him, but that he’d been unable to get out with his body so compromised.

Above him, Ian was hitching his legs up and hooking his elbows under his knees. He groaned and began to thrust in and out, slowly at first. He built up the pace with a moan, but it took only a brief nudge of Mickey’s heel into his hip for him to get the message.

It was a clumsy, discordant fuck, lacking almost all of their usual finesse. Somehow they shifted and Ian’s leg ended up hooked over Mickey’s, but it allowed them a deeper penetration that had Mickey’s cock standing to attention barely ten minutes after he’d come inside his husband.

“Fu-uck-!” Mickey gasped. His thigh quivered as Ian’s cock pulled a lightning charge from his body and he arched his back with a whine.

“You close?” Ian panted. Mickey’s other leg was resting on Ian’s shoulder, where his mouth pressed against his calf as he panted and worked himself into a sweat.

Mickey nodded and his nails dug into Ian’s bicep as he writhed and chased his orgasm. Ian’s hand found his cock, made a fist around it and began to rub it mercilessly. His rhythm stuttered and he was grunting with his eyes screwed shut.

“Fuck—Ian, I’m—!” Mickey gasped.

Ian gave a guttural moan, the volume barely kept in check as he pressed into him and came.

Mickey found his own release at the first pulse of Ian’s orgasm, a strange feeling deep inside that turned him on no end. He moaned lowly and his body shook with ecstasy as he came in hot stripes across his belly.

Above him, Ian’s hips were shaking as he emptied himself. Glancing up, Mickey could see Ian’s face in the semi-darkness, reddened and slightly sweaty with exertion.

“Fuck,” Mickey gasped, his head flopping down onto the pillow behind him. His body was bent at a weird angle from the way their limbs had tangled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Ian was panting now, his body free of the tension that he’d been suffering with these past couple of weeks. Mickey was relieved. He knew his husband had a sex drive to rival his and it would’ve been bothering him not to be able to release that pressure.

Slowly, he began to extricate himself from Mickey’s body. Mickey tried not to feel disappointed, but they were kind of sticky with sweat and it wasn’t pleasant anyway, especially now he had cum all over his belly.

“Jesus, what the fuck,” Ian snickered as he awkwardly wriggled around. “We look like a goddamn… Hindu god or some shit…”

Mickey laughed quietly as Ian untangled them and he lifted his legs as necessary to help him pull away. He sighed as he felt him slide out, his cock now spent. They cleaned up as well as they could, but there was a wetness between his legs that he was going to have to deal with, though Ian probably would too. But it could wait for a moment.

They settled back against the mattress and Ian pulled him close until he was resting his head on his shoulder with a long, freckled arm slung around him.

“Do you feel better?” Mickey asked softly, gently stroking his wrist.

Ian was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said softly. He sounded tired.

“Good,” Mickey replied, and shut his eyes as his body began to sink into sleep.

It was silent for a few moments and Mickey assumed that his husband had dropped off to sleep before him.

“For a while I thought… that I wouldn’t be able to get it up again…” he mumbled.

Mickey furrowed his brow. “Why would you think that?”

Ian was silent.

“Ian, you know the side effects don’t last. We’ve been through this before, and it always balances out eventually,” he said softly, turning his head and glancing up at his husband.

“Mm…”

“Don’t over think it. It’s gonna take a while for you to feel normal again. Well, as normal as you usually are,” he said with a fond smile.

Ian smirked. “At least my dick is working again,” he said after a few more minutes of silence.

Mickey laughed quietly. “Yeah it is,” he said proudly.

“You’re a pretty good top too, you know,” Ian said teasingly. “I’ll have to get you to give it to me more often.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You better not stop fuckin’ me just ‘cause you got a taste for my dick in your ass now, shithead.”

Ian laughed. “I won’t, I promise,” he said. “Jesus, I was right about the bossy bottom thing. Gonna get me goin’ again, Mick.”

Mickey snorted. “Save it for the morning, Casanova.”

A few days later, Mickey woke up to a familiar hardness poking into the back of his thigh. They celebrated by fucking loudly enough for Debbie to yell at them to shut up from across the hall.

Relief was a sweet, sweet feeling.  

[ginnyzero]

Writing Romantic Chemistry: Pt 1

Recently, Becca who actually went to school for this stuff, wrote a good post about romance novels and how they’re different than other novels. For the full gist, go ahead and read it for yourself. What I took away from it is that in romance novels, unlike most other novels, the main conflict is between the two main characters. There is something keeping them apart, poor communication, denial, secrets, or lies. At the same time, there has to be something pulling them together both personally and socially. An outside force is attracting these two people who normally wouldn’t be together into each others orbit where they have to overcome their difficulties and ‘give in’ to that personal attraction.

Romance is pretty popular as a genre and as a subgenre in books and shows and movies and some are better at it than others. (Most action movies are pretty bad at it.) There are procedural shows like Castle that were built around the entire idea that someday the two main leads would get together and have a happily something or something. There are procedural shows like Bones where they tried to push it, forgot about it and then fell back into it when they were running short on plot ideas for the main characters. Then there are procedural shows like Rizzoli and Isles where the love lives of the main two women are cliff notes in the overall friendship.

I’ve read a lot of urban fantasy where romance is a major subplot and I’ve mentioned some of the tropes I’ve seen in previous blog posts. Tropes like serial dating and love triangles and the type of drama that if two people actually had a conversation like grown adults everything bad could have been avoided. Or peril could have been avoided if the main characters were actually doing their jobs instead of trying to solve crime. A lot of the time, these romances don't feel successful.

And in order for a romance to feel successful the characters in question need to have and keep or maintain that ‘spark’ or what we generally call chemistry. And let’s face it, there are a lot of characters out there that don’t have a lot of chemistry with each other and we’re supposed to go on faith that they’re good for each other. (I’m looking at you Letty and Dom.) And as writers we have to know where that spark is at its brightest point and if the characters don’t move to the next level then that spark is going to flicker and die. (cough, Castle and Beckett.)

The first thing I’ve discovered about creating chemistry is that you need to get the audience invested. In order to care about your couple, your readers or watchers need to care about them as people. There are a lot of books that I can’t get invested in the main characters because the book is so focused on the plot, the mystery, the not so great adventure, that the writer has either not written about the character in the first place or has been encouraged by an editor to cut all of it out in the interest of word count. (Most highly recommended urban fantasy.) Leaving the characters to the reader to feel like card board cut outs that I just can’t get invested in. In order to care about the character, I need to know about the character.

Problems with his female characters aside, Jim Butcher is actually fairly good at this. In the first book about Dresden I learned that he likes to open doors for women, he enjoys steak sandwiches and warm beer, his alarm clock has Mickey Mouse on it (because no one with a heart can hit Mickey Mouse), he is owned by a big cat and his place is a hodge podge of textures, old paperbacks and yeah, he’s a magic geek. It may not seem like a lot, but that is the type of information and the way it is presented that lets me get to know and get invested in the idea the Harry Dresden is not that bad of a guy and I could like him.

A lot of books that have romance as a subplot especially if they are going the serial dater or the love triangle route, only take the time to flesh out the main character. Sometimes they don’t even do that. If the writer doesn’t flesh out the main character or the other side of the love plot, then why do I care? (I don’t.)

After you flesh out the characters and get the readers invested in their lives, then you can get the characters invested in each other. Sure, they’ve got outside forces working on them to get them into the same orbit. But once these outside forces are removed, what do the characters see in each other that will make them stick together. Yeah, people feel intense emotions under stress. They often feel attraction and investment in the other person just because of those high stress situations. But what about after that?

A good example I feel of this is Kent and Jane from Rizzoli and Isles. Sure, the show got canceled before they really did anything with Kent and Jane and in the last few episodes they threw an entirely out of left field FBI guy for Jane to 'feel attracted to.' (Note: This is bad. We didn't know this guy. We didn't care. It felt pushed and rushed because it was.) But Kent and Jane had chemistry. They had sparks. And the way it started is that first, given that Kent was such a late comer into the series, they let the watchers get to know Kent a bit first. As we already knew and are invested in Jane and her happiness. He's an odd ball, but professional, limited social skills with a sense of humor. They 'revealed' that Kent had a bit of a crush on Jane after some distraction hi-jinks with Maura (moral and ethical quandary there as a conflict) and started having Jane and Kent bounce sarcasm and jokes off each other. Jane tended to ignore him but his puppy dog eyes were adorable. The question was would Jane ever notice Kent as more than a colleague? (I think they were going for yes... I mean come on, the whole bit with the watermelons in that one case. "But Kent, what did the watermelons do to you?" And the kilt!)

And then the series got cancelled. And we lost this great romantic conflict which drives me crazy. (And I didn't like Kent at first. I swear. I despised the way they introduced him. Ugh and then he grew on me and yes, see, that is good writing and I fell for it!)

There are different types of attraction. There is physical attraction, usually the first thing a person notices about the other. There is mental attraction, appreciation of their brains and the way they think. There’s verbal attraction, a liking of the way they talk, how they talk and what they talk about.  There’s emotional attraction. They like the way that person feels things. What makes these characters compatible that there is chemistry between them?

And what is keeping them apart? Things like other relationships, getting out of bad relationships, not being ready for a relationship, trust issues, moral quandaries (such as not being a person who does casual sex,) and the ever easy, DENIAL. Maybe there is a power imbalance or an age gap or job restrictions (can't date within the office or superior officers.)

Then as a writer, we have to fine tune the sense of ‘now is the time.’ A romance plot follows the same rules as every other plot. At the highest point of the conflict, the character has to act or the relationship will wither and die. And if the characters don’t act, the opportunity is missed, the readers are disappointed and they start looking for the next two big relationships for those characters to get invested into. If those aren’t presented in a convincing manner, then they might just stop caring about these characters all together.

It can be easy to try and drag a relationship out with them almost getting together and then last minute something interfering. All of this is for the sake of drama or trying to up the ante or push it off or make the tension that much greater. And a lot of times, this fails dramatically. (See Castle and Beckett.) The writers may still try to push the characters together even though they missed that natural point in the conflict where it was the right moment, the right time story wise to do so. And then, they have to find a new conflict to keep the series going.

Because, once that conflict is resolved a lot of writers and writing rooms don’t know what to do next. They have to manufacture another conflict in the place of the ‘will they, won’t they.’ A lot of times it ends up being on the woman’s side of “am I really good enough for him?” (Men in fiction never are as insecure as they are in real life. It’s not “macho” enough.) Even if that woman has been extremely self-confident before then and pushing the guy away because she doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. There are a lot of other conflicts than that, money and child rearing and living arrangements and 'how do we tell our friends, do we tell our friends?' come to mind. (But maybe they are just too boring.)

There was a lot of outrage in the fandom of BBC Sherlock when Watson got married and had a baby with Mary. “How is Watson going to go on adventures with Sherlock with a baby?!” Well, you do what normal and rational people do, you hire a sitter? You take the baby with you? (Doyle wasn’t good with female characters to begin with, BBC’s interpretation didn’t help matters.) But these are the adult problems. How do you juggle a job and a family and hobbies and friends and keep your romance alive? Everyone has to do it. But media just tries to ignore it because UST is so much more entertaining. (Supposedly.) Babies have a bad habit of ending up kidnapped or disappearing for the story entirely (Bones.) Women who may be rivals for the main character’s romantic affections are killed.

Or there ends up having to be a conflict in the marriage that may mirror how they got together. Bad communication. Denial of self or the opposite, selfishness. The characters may get involved in a new danger. Maybe there is an affair and trust is lost and has to be regained. Hardships  like disease and accidents are all tests of character that really show what people are like on the inside.

There is a reason why most romance series focus on a bunch of couples one right after the other who were introduced in previous books rather than focusing on a single couple. Every time a reader gets a new book there is a new thrill of ‘will they or won’t they?’ And the possibility of a different couple conflict. (Of course most romance novels are happily ever after or happy for now, so it’s more of a how than a real question.)

So, romance is tricky to write because it so depends on the fleshed out personalities of the characters. And how the reader feels about the characters is really going to depend on their own biases and views of romance too. From my observations of fandom is that somewhere out there in the great wide internet, there are going to be people who are going to put the oddest people into relationships and can get behind almost anything. And it may not at all be what the creators intended. But the people who consume the media see chemistry or a spark and decide to view it as romantic rather than filial love.

Just goes to show you can't predict anything!

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Shattered, Chapter 5

Notes:As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Originally "Mother" was going to be Mortimer, but I decided that would be too creepy. Also, certain lines should give away who she is, eh?

Summary: As Minnie begins her journey, she discovers beautiful treasures, but may fall prey to the dangers beneath.

Minnie was cold, endlessly cold, and she couldn't move. She lay with her back on the ice, the cold eating up her toes, then her feet, her ankles, her legs... every nerve in her body screamed in agony before going completely numb. She searched for her voice to cry for help, but now she felt the cold in her lungs, pricking her insides, clawing its way up her throat, and then she felt a pair of hands on her neck , the Snow Queen -

“But you... just... wouldn't... learn... your... PLACE!”

She woke up with a shriek, startling Ratface so much he jumped into the air, flapping his wings erratically. “Oh, me, oh my!” He then alighted on the side of the boat, looking around for whatever enemy had suddenly approached. Once he realized it was nothing and no one, he sighed hard, rubbing his feathers on his chest. “Sheesh... you nearly gave me a heart attack, pretty girl! You intend to scare me to death?”

Minnie didn't say anything, breathing hard, trying to remember where she was and why she was here. Slowly she touched her neck, relieved that it had been a nightmare – and hoping it wasn't a prediction of things to come. “I-I'm sorry...” she murmured, taking a long look at her surroundings. “I have bad dreams every now and then.” The boat had stopped, nudged between several large rocks on a grassy shore. The water still kept churning, but the boat would go no further. “I think this is far as we can go.”

“'Every now and then',” Ratface repeated with a grumble as Minnie collected her satchel. “If you do this every time you sleep, I'll fly away right now, I swear it. Nightmares aren't supposed to last that long. You're supposed to be an adult. You ought to do something about it.”

Minnie hoisted her satchel over her shoulder before sparing him a look. “Like what?”

Ratface huffed. “Must I think of everything?”

Minnie quickly decided Ratface liked to complain for the sake of complaining. He'd never fit in if he lived in the village. She climbed out of the boat, and walked through the chilly water before making it to solid ground. It was a little painful, since she had no shoes. She almost called Ratface lucky for not having nightmares, but remembered his rage for that word, and tried to form the thought in a different way. “Do you have trouble sleeping, Ratface?”

“I don't like to sleep.” Ratface watched her until she was on dry land, and then flew to her shoulder, perching perfectly. He was a bit heavy, but Minnie didn't mind. “I find it to be terribly lazy. I bore easily.”

“But everyone needs to sleep. How do you get your rest if you don't sleep?”

“How do you mind your own business if you keep yapping on?”

Goodness gracious – talking with Ratface was like going two steps forward and one step back. No wonder the bird had been all by himself when Minnie came upon him. She wondered if anyone else could stand him if he kept going back and forth with his answers. She didn't want to think this way – she should be grateful for any help she had – but he could stand to be a little nicer. The old standard from the village kept her from saying so - What was the point? If she was grateful, then why make things bothersome? But the thought lingered on her mind, and bounced on her tongue without ever leaving her mouth.

They walked on the greenest grass Minnie had ever seen, and her eyes kept going down, marveling at its beauty. “Do you think anyone would mind if I took some of this grass with me? It's so nice to look at.”

“Maybe we'll need it in case a cow needs a gift,” Ratface said with a snicker.

Minnie bent down to snatch a handful. “That would be nice. It could give us some milk in exchange.”

Ratface stopped snickering. “You don't know what sarcasm is, do you?” When Minnie merely blinked at him, he ran his feathers down his face. “No wonder I can't get a rise out of you. How do you expect to survive in this world if you can't stand up for yourself? I bet I could smack your face and you'd apologize for it.”

Minnie placed the grass inside her satchel and continued walking. “I don't think you'd hurt me... at least, not unless you had a good reason for it.” She wished they never came upon such a reason, but one could never be entirely sure.

“And that's another thing. You trust far too easily. How do you know I'm not leading you into a trap?”

“I don't think you are. Are you?”

The raven made a frustrated “harrrumph” deep in his throat, which Minnie thought was kind of cute. It reminded her of when she first started feeding Figaro – he'd inch closer, then retreat if Minnie moved, trying to pretend he wasn't interested. Perhaps like the kitten, Ratface just needed to be won over with simple kindness. She moved to gently brush the top of his head with her finger.

“I am not a pet,” he growled, but he didn't stop her.

They walked on for what felt like many a mile, Minnie's feet aching terribly. Just as her legs would shake and she would wonder if she was fit to collapse, Ratface would suddenly complain that she was moving too fast and she needed to stop before he emptied his stomach. He demanded she sit so he could clean his feathers which she “ruffled up with her pigeon fingers”, which took some time. Funny how when she was able to walk again, her body felt better. This happened quite a few times.

At midday, with Minnie's stomach beginning to growl, she was about to stop to eat the vegetables she brought along, when the sight of something miraculous destroyed her hunger. “Oh!” she gasped, “Ratface, look at that!”

“Must I?” Ratface jumped off of her shoulder just as Minnie began to sprint forward, still amazed at what she was seeing.

There, in this endless green, lay a garden of hundreds of different colored flowers, the likes of which Minnie had never seen before. These were even beyond the boundaries of Mickey's books, with petals of varying shapes and mixed colors that blew her imagination way. They circled around a quaint house with a rusty red rooftop, and the windows were hidden by velvet red curtains. Minnie paid no mind to the house, going from flower to flower to marvel at their appearance. “I've never seen anything like these!” Minnie declared, running her fingers along soft purple buds. “Mickey would love these... Maybe I can take some of them with me.”

“We shouldn't be here, pretty girl,” Ratface said, now perched on the edge of the roof. “We must get going.”

Minnie knew he was right, but everywhere she turned there was a new flower to adore, and she found it difficult to tear herself away. “But they're all so beautiful! Are these kinds of flowers that we'll see as we go to the Snow Queen?”

“You won't know if you don't get moving,” Ratface replied, but his usual barbed demeanor had sharpened, and he paced along the edge, trying to urge Minnie along, his feathers tightly slicked. “Flowers are flowers, they're just plants, now stop planting yourself in one place and go!”

Was he being rude again for the sake of being rude? Minnie was getting tired of that attitude – and that's when the door began to loudly creak open. Minnie stopped where she was, as did Ratface, as a pale hand emerged from the darkness within.

“Is someone there?” the owner of the hand whispered.

Ratface jerked his head to the side urgently, trying to signal that Minnie should get out of there – but that would be so disrespectful! Minnie placed her hands together, hoping she hadn't disturbed the owner of the household. “I'm sorry, miss. We were just passing through.”

“Oh, my, my, my.” The door then opened all the way, and out stepped a lovely older woman, smiling serenely at Minnie. Her dark hair curled up around her shoulders, swaying with her as she walked out into the sunshine. Her dress was as red as the rose tucked behind Minnie's ear, with yellow trimmings along the sleeves and bottom. “It's been ages since I've had company. What's a little thing like you doing here all by your lonesome?”

“I'm not by my lonesome,” Minnie explained, pointing to the bird who slapped his wing to his face. “Ratface, come say hello.”

The woman's kind face instantly hardened, and when she glared at Ratface, Minnie nearly thought the raven would molt. “I despise birds,” she hissed, clutching her arms. “They're filthy creatures, rats with wings... what an appropriate name.” Ratface blew a raspberry, but didn't speak. The woman then instantly became all smiles again as she approached Minnie. “But enough about him. Who are you, who trespassed into my garden, dear one?”

Minnie felt a sting of guilt. “Oh, I... I'm Minnie, miss. I really didn't mean to trespass. I should get going...”

“Nonsense!” The woman placed her hand on Minnie's shoulder. “You just got here, why leave so soon?  Look at you, you have no shoes! Which I guess I should be grateful about, since you would have destroyed my garden otherwise with all your stomping around.” She laughed a bit, pushing Minnie. “It's a joke, dear.”

Was it? What was the punchline? “I... I guess it couldn't hurt to rest my feet a bit.”

“Exactly. Come inside, I'll make you some tea, we'll chat, you'll relax, and if you want to go, you'll feel much better about everything.” She didn't seem to be giving Minnie much choice about it, given how forcefully she was shoving Minnie into the house.

Minnie cast one more look at Ratface, whose emerald eyes seemed to be... sad? “What about my friend?”

“Friend? That's no friend,” the woman scoffed, shutting the door behind them. “What kind of friend treats you like that? I couldn't help but overhear you earlier. He's always insulting you, isn't he? I bet he was just using you, playing with his prey. What an awful animal.” The inside of the house was much larger than the outside should have been, and Minnie looked back and forth between the interior and the door, confused. There were many rooms, and the thin, red carpet led to each one like an arrow. Shelves lined every wall, and on each shelf was a porcelain doll. Each doll had a unique dress, and a unique style of hair, but they all wore the same dull, lifeless expression that stared into nothing.

“Let me get that for you,” the woman said as she slid Minnie's satchel off her back.

Minnie whipped around, surprised at how easily it came off. “B-But that's my-”

“Relax, dear! Do you think I'm a thief, after I've let you into my house out of the goodness of my heart?”

The younger girl felt herself shrinking. “N-No, of course not, miss, but... there are some very important things in there.”

“So we shall take very important care of them.” Which apparently meant hanging it on an empty coat rack. “And enough of this 'miss' stuff. You can call me Mother.”

“Mother?” Minnie repeated, perplexed by such a title. But it would be rude to say no, wouldn't it? “Thank you... Mother.”

Mother's smile grew, and she slid out a small trinket from her sleeve – a glass comb. “Much better. Now, stay still – if you're going to stay here, you can't look like too much of a mess.” She bent over and ran the comb through Minnie's hair. “There, now you don't look half as strange! Another joke, dear, do lighten up.”

Again, Minnie failed to see what was so funny, but... didn't seem to mind as much, this time. Perhaps Mother earned her name, because that was a very motherly touch. “Thank you, Mother.”

Mother tucked the comb back into her sleeve, and the two went into a modest dining room, where Minnie was encouraged to sit on a plush sofa where piping hot tea and strawberry scones were already waiting. To Minnie's weary stomach, it was like being at a fabulous banquet, and she sighed blissfully as the warm tea nestled in her body. “You have such a lovely house, Mother. None of the houses in my village look like this, not even the Mayor's.”

Mother went around the room, propping up any of the dolls that seemed to slide askew. “You must come from an incredibly ugly village. I can't stand to have ugly things in my house. If I were you, I'd never go back to such a disgusting place. I can't believe your mother would let you leave.”

Minnie looked down at her reflection in the tea. “I... I didn't tell her. I ran away from home.” Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Ratface at the window, but quickly looked away, not wanting to reveal his location to Mother. Her stomach tightened – it felt wrong to hide Ratface, but at the same time, she didn't want to upset this woman who opened her door to her. It was an odd series of conflicting thoughts. Why had been Ratface been so stubborn? Was he jealous?

“Oh, you poor thing.” Mother sat beside Minnie, taking out the comb again. “She must have been a terrible mother for you to leave without a single word.”

“She's...” Minnie's grip on the tea cup tightened. “She's not... I just didn't want to burden her. I don't think she'd understand what I'm trying to do.” Was it wrong to leave without saying anything? Would Mama and Papa have fought tooth and nail to keep her in the village? Or would they have let her go without any effort? She had been so sure about her choice when first making it, but now...?

Mother began to comb Minnie's hair again, over and over. “But for her not to even notice you were leaving? That's not a good mother. I'd never let my daughters leave.”

The comb felt so soothing in Minnie's hair, and Minnie was thankful to have someone attend to her so tenderly. Mother's daughters must have cared for her very much, so Minnie thought. Mother began to hum a light lullaby, and Minnie closed her eyes, not as hungry anymore. Yes, Mother was very good to her. When was the last time Mama did anything like this? When was the last time Mama reached out for her?

… Didn't... Mama reach out to her... once?

Marcus, open the door!

… Who was Marcus?

The tea cup felt heavy in Minnie's hands, and it spilled on her dress, waking her up. “Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry!” Thankfully it hadn't gotten on the couch or floor, but when Minnie tried to stand up, her legs felt rigid – she wobbled before finding balance, as if her knees were refusing to bend.

“Quite all right, dear.” Mother stood up. “Some people think clumsiness is cute. I'm not some people, but let's assume it was said.” She took the cup from Minnie's hand, placing it aside. “We'll get rid of your rags and dress you up in something nicer.”

Minnie looked up, taken aback by such generosity, and smiled. “You're too kind, Mother.”

“I am, aren't I? Don't worry about it. It's like I said – I hate having ugly things in my house, and this just works out, doesn't it?” Again, she held Minnie by the shoulder and pushed her into another room -  a walk-in closet full of shimmering dresses, of all the colors of the rainbow – just like the garden, Minnie mused, wondering if there was any connection. Her legs still felt funny, but maybe she'd just been sitting down for too long. There didn't seem to be any reason to worry about it.

“Let me see...” Mother went through the hanging dresses, trying to pick the right one. “Which one would be best for you?”

“I like red,” Minnie offered.

“Dear, it is so adorable when you offer an opinion no one asked for!” Mother laughed, lightly patting Minnie on the head as if she were a child. “You remind me of so many of my other daughters.  All of them so eager to please, always happy to do whatever I asked of them.” She resumed the dress hunt, going with green pastel with fluffy sleeves. “That's the great thing about being a mother. You give and you give without asking anything in return. Now, put this on.”

Minnie held out her hands to take it – but stopped. The dress, while nice, wasn't made for traveling. The long skirt would drag down in the dirt, and the giant sleeves would make sleeping difficult. Traveling – she couldn't afford to stay here that long, could she? “I... It's very lovely, Mother, but is it okay if I keep the clothes I have?”

Mother raised an eyebrow, still holding the dress up. “If you hate it that much, why don't you spit it on it?”

“No! No, no, no!” Minnie flailed, though her arms were starting to feel odd too. “I don't hate it! It's... I have to travel a long way, and I don't think it will help. You should save something that nice for your daughters.”

“Oh, I would, but they're so... terribly ungrateful.” Mother sighed as she hung it back up. “I give, and they take, I give, and they take... do I ask for so much? A little company, is that so selfish of me to want? It gets so lonely in this house of mine, so anyone who stops by is like a savior at my darkest hour.” Another sigh, longer and louder this time, an arm to her forehead. “Don't look at me that way. Now I'm the bad guy.”

“No, no, you're not, you're not the bad guy...” Minnie's stomach hurt. She didn't want the dress, but she didn't want to hurt Mother either. “What if I clean up my clothes myself? I'll do all the work.” She walked out the closet – and stumbled, because, surely, they just left the living room, but now they were in a room that contained nothing but dolls, floor to ceiling. Three square windows allowed sunshine to highlight their blank faces, and a single wooden step-stool sat in the middle. “Wasn't...?”

“I get it now.” Mother lightly pat Minnie's head. “You're so exhausted, you can't think straight! What am I doing, trying to dress you up when you can't even stand up? Have a seat, we'll make things right.”

Minnie sat down on the stool, feeling as if all the eyes in the room were on her. Her knees still wouldn't bend, and she felt awkward in this position, until she felt the comb in her hair again. “There, there,” said Mother. “Don't you feel better now?”

She did, really. Much better. “I'm sorry for making such a fuss, Mother.”

“At least you acknowledged it. So many of my daughters refused to apologize. I don't know where I went wrong.” Her hand stayed on Minnie's shoulder, the comb sliding through, over and over. “But we can always start over. A good mother never lets her daughter go.”

A good mother... Was Minnie's mother a good mother? … Didn't she call her mother something else..?

“And a good daughter never leaves her mother.”

… A good daughter... left... a place... where...?

“We'll just get rid of everything ugly, so the only thing that remains is beautiful.”

Minnie's eyelids felt heavy, and so did the rest of her body. Soon all she could feel was the tender comb, Mother's embrace, and the rigidness in her legs climbed up. She thought she heard banging on the window, which was impossible, because there wasn't... anyone else here... It was just... Minnie and Mother...

“For starters, we'll get rid of this vile weed.” Mother's bony fingers took the rose from Minnie's hair, and lightly tossed it to the floor -

“Will you be my bride?”

Like water bursting from a dam, everything flooded back into Minnie's brain at once, and she shrieked, “No!” diving into the floor to catch the flower with her hands, knocking the step-stool over. How could she have forgotten that important question? She tried to get up – and couldn't. “I can't... I can't feel my legs!”

The middle window burst open, glass falling to the floor, as Ratface had used his entire body as a battering ram. Ignoring the glass shards in his feathers, he flew at Mother, pecking at her face, “I won't let you do it, not again!”

Mother grabbed Ratface by the throat, and threw him to the floor as if he were nothing more than a rag-doll. “Stay out of my way, traitor! You made your peace! She's going to make a lovely addition to my collection.”

Minnie pushed herself onto her back, and was able to see that her legs had become – porcelain! Shiny and solid, and as her eyes flew to each doll, she saw what could be her fate. Here she thought the Snow Queen was the only frightening thing in this world – but no, the world had plenty of other horrors in store. How long had this gone on? How many girls had been in Minnie's place, their legs nearly gone as fear overcame their senses? “You... all of these girls! How could you?” How could Minnie? She nearly let it happen! What had she done?

“I'm assuming you mean morally, and not physically.” Mother scoffed, kicking her foot into Ratface's belly. “Don't try to fight it. My comb contains a shard from the Snow Queen... a little of my own magic, and it becomes the perfect tool to help me keep all my daughters. All of them tried to run away... but now they don't remember where they were running to. And why should they? The outside world is a dangerous place, and they're perfectly safe here. After all, Mother knows best.”

“It's not too late! You won't have her!” Ratface tried to get up, but Mother kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling, laughing even harder at his attempt.

Hundreds of questions were flooding Minnie's mind, but she went deaf to them, compared to the fate of the injured bird in the corner. “Stop it!” But what could she do? Her legs were useless, and if that comb touched her again, she knew she'd lose the rest of her body – and even then, the next poor girl to stumble upon this place would be lost to the same fate. What could someone as weak and helpless as her do? Mother wasn't even looking at her, no doubt expecting her to give up.

… Would that... be such a bad thing? Minnie's eyes rested on the comb in Mother's fingers. Maybe...

Just as Mother was about to kick Ratface again, Minnie cried out once more, “I won't fight anymore! If you leave him alone, I'll do whatever you want!”

Now this got Mother's attention, just as she pulled back her foot again. She raised an eyebrow, and then smiled that same sweet, venomous smile as if all was right in the world. “There now, see? Everything is as it should be. Was there ever really a need for all this fuss?” She calmly walked to Minnie's side, and Ratface raised his head, his green eyes wide with horror, then closing them in despair. As if this was all too familiar.

Mother slowly helped Minnie sit up, running her fingers through Minnie's hair. “What a good girl you are. You'll be the shining jewel of my collection... until someone prettier comes along. And, let's face it, it's not exactly a reach, dear. Oh, I'm joking! None of you ever learn how to take a joke.” She tsked, and then held out the comb. “A few more strokes ought to do it... just relax...” Minnie felt the comb in her hair -

And with the remaining strength left in her body, she turned sharply, and snatched the comb with her teeth!

Mother shrieked - “What are you doing?!” - and smacked Minnie across the face, but even as Minnie fell, she would not let go of the comb. Ratface quickly lifted his head, shocked, and Minnie bit down on the comb, hard, hard, hard – her mouth ached, her teeth hurt, and Mother kept smacking her, screaming at her to stop – Minnie felt cracks forming in the comb, and saw cracks forming along Mother's lovely skin -

“STOP IT, YOU WRETCHED GIRL!” Mother's hands came around Minnie's neck, trying to strangle her, but her grip was weakening with every crack of the comb. “STOP IT NOW! YOU UGLY CHILD, YOU HORRIBLE DAUGHTER, NO ONE ELSE WILL TAKE YOU IN!” Yet for all the pain, Minnie wouldn't stop, - this was not her mother, this was not anyone's mother, this thing had to be stopped - until she heard and felt a terrible snap.

The comb split in two, and Minnie felt something sharp fall down her throat, spitting out the two broken halves. Mother gagged, and then clawed at the air, cracks covering her entire body until she shattered – crumbling into dust that settled silently on the floor, leaving nothing behind. Minnie fell to the floor, her legs flesh again, but as she breathed, there was a chill in her chest.

“Minnie!” Ratface scrambled to her side, trying to help her up, his eyes checking her all over. “Pretty girl, are you all right?”

“I...” Minnie touched her chest, the chill refusing to leave. Her eyes felt strange – she looked at Ratface, and his worry increased tenfold.

“Your eyes... they're blue,” he said softly, touching her cheek with his feathers. “You... you must have swallowed the shard that was in the comb.”

One shard to freeze your mind. That was what the Snow Queen had said. Minnie lifted her arm, but didn't see any blue veins on her skin, as when it had happened to Mickey. Was it because she had taken the shard a different way? “What... what will happen to me now?”

“I'm... not sure.” Ratface swallowed, backing up once. “My only guess is... it might consume you from the inside. We have to get to the Snow Queen, her power controls the shards. We have to get there as soon as possible, before we find out what else it does.”

Minnie certainly didn't want to stay, but as she climbed to her feet, she couldn't help but gaze at the trapped dolls. “What about them? I thought... if I broke the comb...”

“They were still affected by the shard...” Ratface shook his head sadly. “Like I said... she controls the shards. We might be able to free them, if we can make it to the Snow Queen.”

It hurt to look at all the lost girls, to know that she could do nothing more for them. Minnie wiped her face, and then turned around, trying to address “everyone” at once. “I'll... I'll do my best for you. I promise. I'm going to get Mickey back... and I'll get all of you back too.” If she was going to do one impossible thing, why not add another impossible thing to the list? Why couldn't they do both? “Please... just be patient a little while longer.” With one final bow to the dolls, Minnie picked up Ratface, and held him to her chest. “Are you hurt?”

Ratface lowered his head shamefully. “... No one's... ever come this far. I've... I've tried so many times to warn them, but they all... they give up, because the water won't flow, or the weather's too cold, or they end up like this... they all give up, one way or another.” What made Minnie so different? Or would there be an obstacle in her way that would make her give up too? Why did he keep trying?

Minnie held Ratface even closer, but the chill in her chest remained. She had a dreadful feeling it wouldn't leave for some time... then they had better get moving. “Let's see how far we get. Come along, Ratface.” There was still more she wanted to ask, to know, but she didn't want to push Ratface away by asking it too soon. If it was important, she'd find out. There was still quite a way to go.

She returned to the front of the house, picked up her satchel, and left. Ratface climbed onto her shoulder – strange, Minnie noted, how brutally Mother had hurt him, but within minutes he was perfectly all right -  and they both cast one more look at the house before walking on.

Minnie thought of Mama and Papa, and how they had done what they thought was best to protect her. Yet there were things they couldn't protect her from. If they had known this, would Papa had shoved her out into the frost that night so long ago? She thought of Mama's hysterical crying when she woke up, and the years of silence that followed.

“Ratface?”

“Mmm? What now?”

“I'm sorry for not listening to you.”

“Hmph.” He didn't look at her. “I suppose... if I do say things, I could stand to say them clearer, next time.”

“I would like that very much.”

“I said if. Don't get your hopes up, pretty girl.”

Hope... Minnie walked on through the bright green grass. She knew of the word, hoping for good weather, hoping for good grades, hoping to see Mickey's smile.

But those kinds of hopes felt much, much smaller compared to the warmth in Minnie's heart -  the warmth that, for now, kept the chill at bay.

[blaineanderxon-blog]

Let Down Your Hair || An Andertwin Para

Who: Blaine and Mickey Anderson ( @mickeyanders ) What: Anderdad pushes Mickey to the limit When: September 24th, night Where: The Anderson Home Notes: tw jerkface dad

Mickey had it. They swore they did. For just one night they wanted to be left alone. They wanted to lay in their own damn bed, or well, Cooper's bed and they wanted to sleep for a few days. Their lack of sleep was really starting to get to them and of course old Michael wanted to pick a fight. He started simple, making fun of Mickey's hair length, telling them how it looked like an afro. Then moved onto the dress Mickey was wearing.  Typically they would just fight back and find themself kicked out of the house for a night but tonight, no. They simply told  him they'd get their hair cut right away. It was really all they could muster up as they began panicking. Their feet hurriedly carried them upstairs. They went into their father's bathroom to grab his razor before moving back to Cooper's room. They changed into what their father would call 'men's clothing' before sitting down on the floor in front of the large mirror.  They ran the razor along the side of their head once, watching as the locks fell, doing their best not to sob too loud.

Blaine could hear his dad across the hall, basically picking on Mickey. It was so hard to listen to the man who they were supposed to look up to being so mean and heartless toward his own child. No parent should ever act like that, he thought, sitting on his bed and listening quietly. Yeah, Mickey had pushed, no, violently shoved Blaine out of the picture for a while, moved out of their shared room and into Cooper's room across the hall, and they'd been avoiding each other since, but Blaine still felt everything Mickey felt. They shared a twin super power, and it was times like this that Blaine hated it. It was just too hard to be fighting when something like this was happening. Or had happened? He didn't hear anything from the other room anymore. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Carefully, Blaine got up and tip toed across the room to the door and peeked out. No one. And Cooper's-- Mickey's bedroom door barely open a crack, a weird buzzing sound coming from inside. Checking to see if the coast was clear, he crossed the hall and peeked into the room, his eyes going wide at what he saw. "No, no, Mickey, no," he breathed, forgetting about their fight and rushing into the room.

Mickey was tired of hearing it. Why can't you just act like a boy? Just be a man, Michael. The words often rang through their head. It wasn't as if they didn't understand their father. They wished more than anything that they were a boy, or a girl. That they weren't so confused and upset all the time. But that just wasn't them.  Mr. Anderson would have to learn to accept that just like Mickey had.  When they heard the door open more and in came Blaine. That was when Mickey broke. They had been about one third done shaving when Blaine entered. They let the razor fall as they instead buried their face against Blaine's shoulder. "I just want to be normal. I just want him to leave me alone." they mumbled against him. "I gotta finish it."

Blaine practically fell to the floor and as Mickey buried their face in his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around them and squeezed. He hated his father more than anyone else right now, and he wasnt sure he would ever be able to forgive him for this. "You are normal. You're wonderful and beautiful and you're perfect how you are," he said, choking up more than he wanted to. "If he can't see that, then that's his problem. I won't let him hurt you like this." Blaine didn't want to let go of his twin, half afraid he wouldn't get this again, and half afraid of what he knew Mickey was going to have to finish.

Mickey shook their head. "I can't be. I mean why is everyone just so awful about it, you know? They act like I'm choosing this.  I'm not I'm just so over it and....and I just want people to leave me alone." Mickey whimpered honestly as he stayed curled against Blaine for a long moment before finally sitting back and rubbing harshly at their eyes.  "It's...it's too late.  I don't even care anymore I just gotta." they sighed glancing back into the mirror, pushing back the rest of their curls. "Well I can't pull off a half shaved head." they admitted quietly before letting out another sob as they stared in the mirror. They always knew their hair had meant a lot to them, but they supposed they didn't realize just how ugly they'd feel without it at all.

Blaine frowned. "They just don't understand. To them, still...  1856 and boys can't like the color pink. Or other boys. And girls aren't allowed to do anything but have babies. And there isn't nothing in between," he said, not really sure where he'd been going with that. "You are you. And you can pull off a shaved head. Dramatize your eyebrows and wear bright lip stuff..." Honestly he didn't think Mickey would go for that, the way things were going at the moment, but an idea dawned on him. "I can do it too," he offered, his eyes serious.

Mickey shook their head. "I...I guess but there's still gay marriage Blaine. There's still gay pride parades.  I feel like absolutely nothing has been done for trans people.  I just.." the whispered and shook their head. "I feel defeated. I feel tired of fighting. Of fighting about everything." they whispered with a sniffle as they looked at themself in the mirror, then Blaine. “Our brows are bad enough as it is..." they started before stopping as he offered to shave his head too. They had to let out a laugh at that as they looked back at him. "You'd better not. You'd look worse than I'm gonna."

Blaine tried to find something positive to say as a rebuttal, but Mickey had him there. Even if he didn't have his dad's support, he had the support of the government, at least when it came to marriage. And they had a point, that nothing had been done for trans people. They couldn't even use the bathroom that they wanted to in a public place. Blaine was a champion of causes he believed in, standing up to people who wanted to say 'well, this is how it is,' when that wasn't how it should be. He just didn't know how to help with this cause yet. "You're not going to look bad," he retorted, furrowing his eyebrows. You can wear any kind of clothing and rock it, you can rock this hair too. And I'm serious. We're twins. I'll do it if you want me to."

Mickey  shook their head as they looked over to Blaine. "No, no. Don't shave. I'll be okay. I mean it's just hair. I know you're right. I know I'll be cute" they sighed and glanced back to the mirror and at their butchered hair.  They reached down to take Blaine's hand in their own and hold onto it tightly for a moment.  "Let's just...do it and I'll cry myself to sleep and it'll be fine." they shrugged. "And you're going to make me some chicken nuggets, okay, B?" they sniffled as they turned the razor back on with a whimper.

Blaine frowned. It wasn't 'just hair' for Mickey. They loved their hair and Blaine imagined that shaving it off was like a thousand tiny papercuts filled with lemon juice to the heart. He squeezed their hand. "Do you want me to do it for you?" he asked, almost flinching as the razor turned back on. He couldn't believe he'd just asked that, but at the same time he didn't think Mickey could handle it. And he didn't want them to have to either.  The chicken nuggets could wait.

Mickey looked over and shook their head. "I can do it." they whispered quietly.  "I love you a lot. And...and you and I are done fight okay? For real. I'll move back in and I'll tell you everything and I'll text you fifteen times a day okay? I just...I need you. You're my strength." they whispered to him before taking a  deep breath and bringing down the clippers on their head again.  Their hands shook a bit but slowly they finished and put it down. They didn't stop crying even as they finished. Instead they looked around at the curls on the floor and whimpered. "God I really do look ugly." they sniffled.

Blaine pressed his lips together. He didn't like that this was how his fight with Mickey had to end. He wished he'd have been there to shut their dad up in the first place. Then Mickey wouldn't be crying and miserable and hating themselves. He stayed there next to them the whole time, watching with sad eyes as their hair slowly fell to the floor. "You're not ugly. Don't say that. You're the most beautiful person I know," he said. "And I don't wanna fight with you anymore either. I miss you." He cleared his throat and glanced away.  He needed to be stronger than this right now. "Chicken nuggets."

Mickey leaned against their brother again, resting their shaved head against his shoulder. "I love you." they whispered quietly, looking up to him.  "I miss you too. I'm sort of sad I didn't get a chance to have a big dramatic fight with you to make up." they joked softly, pushing their hair back.  When he said chicken nuggets they nodded. "I...yeah. Yeah, B. I'm gonna clean this up and shower." they whispered softly after rubbing at their eyes.

Blaine nodded and wrapped his arms around Mickey. "I love you too. Always. I'd offer you the big dramatic fight, but I'm not sure I really want to have to experience your wrath," he tried to joke back. His voice didn't sound funny though, and he hated times like this when he couldn't hold himself together even for the sake of someone as important as Mickey. "Okay," he whispered, letting them out of his grip. "You wanna stay in my room tonight?"

Mickey sighed and looked over to him. "Yeah I'll stay in our room tonight." they replied. "I'm sorry I left you." they whispered, reaching out to rub at his hand before they got up. "I'll meet you back in there in a bit. Thank you. " they promised before sighing as the door shut behind Blaine.  They whimpered again and quickly got up to cover the mirror before  he finally cleaned up and showered. After they moved right into they and Blaine's room, curling up on his brother's bed. Before Blaine even made it back, they had fallen asleep.

[restapesta]

Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.

1.

Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.

How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.

There was no doubt about it.

But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.

He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.

Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.

It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.

Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.

"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"

"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."

How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.

Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"

Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.

He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.

Nipples.

Holy fuck.

Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.

Because holy fuck, the earring went through.

So did the other one.

And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.

No—this was Mickey with earrings.

Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.

"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."

"That really all you gotta say?"

Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"

"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Ian knew.

He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.

Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.

"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.

Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.

Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.

"What? I didn't hear you"

"I love you."

Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.

"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."

Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—

It took him less than a minute.

2.

When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.

Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.

Holy shit.

When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.

But, oh God.

Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.

Him with a fucking nose piercing.

Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.

Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.

Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.

Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?

Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.

He facetimed him.

When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.

"Man, it's just a piercing."

"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."

Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."

This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.

"You need to come home now."

They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"

"Because."

"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"

It did.

It really did.

"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.

Mickey was home in eleven.

Ian knew it was fucking intentional.

3.

Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.

In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.

It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.

He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.

Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.

"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"

"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."

"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."

"I think you look cool, Mickey."

"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"

Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.

Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.

What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?

It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.

So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.

"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.

"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."

"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."

Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you to?"

"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."

"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."

That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.

Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.

But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.

If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.

"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.

And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.

Because Mickey looked good.

And the ring stayed on.

4.

"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"

Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Come the fuck on.

"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."

"Then why don't you get them?"

Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."

Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?

"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."

Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.

He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.

"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.

"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."

"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"

Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."

"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."

"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."

Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."

Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"

"Well, fucking obviously it's you."

Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"

"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."

The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.

When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.

"I won't get a nipple piercing."

Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.

"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"

Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.

5.

Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.

And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.

He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.

Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.

Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.

"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."

Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."

"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."

Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."

"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."

Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."

Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.

Ian really was a complete goner.

+ 1

"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."

Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"

Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.

He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding.

He didn't stop shit.

[thatkatiecooney]

The Element EVERYTHING in Your Story Needs

To all the writers who have ever felt lost, alone, and completely confused during the labyrinthine journey that is writing anything, and felt like screaming this at your story . . .

There's hope.

There's a light at the end of that darn tunnel. First, let me describe how I used to fight my way out of these periods of confusion and hopelessness. 

Usually, I would try to force myself to get back into the groove of the story. I would reread it, and be yelling at myself in my head, "Remember why you love it! LOVE your book again! Keep reading and FALL IN LOVE, damn it!" I'd go over descriptions, bits of dialogue, banter between the characters. I'd go over settings and imagery, and try to make myself remember how much they'd once excited me. I'd read things that had made me laugh when I typed them, sentences that I was particularly proud of, paragraphs that made me feel particularly clever. But the thing was, it didn't work. 

I didn't care.  

What was the problem? The problem was some of those descriptions, settings, images, and witty episodes of bantering had no Story Reason to be there. They were just there because they amused me. Just because I found the imagery beautiful. Just because I found a sentence or joke really clever and wanted to share my wit with the world. But the world didn't care about my wit. Because the world (the people reading my book) knew subconsciously that there was no story to give that so-called witty sentence substance and meaning. I could create the most breath-taking images, I could make the most well-rounded living and breathing character, I could make a setting that you wanted to run away from home and live inside . . . and it didn't matter. If the thing didn't have a purpose for being there within the narrative, nobody cared. And I didn't either. 

So what is a Story Reason? 

Everything in a story exists to support one of three things. 

1. The A-story: The surface plot, the quest of the main character to achieve a specific tangible goal. What the story is about on the surface. 

2. The B-Story: The love story, or relationship of the thing. Usually this relationship is instrumental in causing the third element, which is . . .  

3. The Character Arc. The theme of the story, the purpose, the piece of truth the story seeks to prove to the main character and the audience. 

If something in a story doesn't contribute to the progress of these three, there's no reason we should care about it. It has no point. Because in the end, all we care about is the story!

When it comes to scenes, story reason means continuity. It means the way the story unfolds logically. If every scene is there for a darn good reason, the scenes after and before will make total sense, they'll connect seamlessly, a steady progression of events. Every scene's turn triggers the next scene. 

And to do this, every scene must be able to be linked with three words: Because of that.

Because of the turn of one scene . . . 

The next scene happens. 

And because of the turn of that scene the next scene happens.

To illustrate how this works, let's look at a small movie you might have heard about called Zootopia. (Thanks to @inked-withlove for the movie suggestion!)

 So let's start at this point, the turn of the scene with Clawhauser and Judy searching the file on Emmitt Otterton. 

Turn: "I have a lead." 

Because of that . . .

Judy has to get Nick to tell her what he knows about Otterton.

Turn: It all goes poorly, and now Nick and Judy are stuck together by an incriminating adorable carrot recorder. (The B Story, the relationship, has intertwined with the A Story.)

Because of that . . .

Nick takes Judy to the place he saw Otterton go, a place he thinks will cause her to give up. 

Turn: She doesn't quit, she marches right in. (B Story: Nick sounds surprised, and a little impressed, that she didn't back down.)

Because of that . . . 

She has to question a rude yoga-performing elephant. 

Turn: Though the elephant is absolutely no help, the seemingly addled yak is more than helpful -- he even remembers the license plate number of the car Emmitt left in. 

Because of that . . .

Nick thinks his part in this endeavor is complete. But Judy remembers that she's not in the system yet, and thus can't run a plate. Nick, however, can. And he's going to, or else. 

Turn: It just so happens that he has a pal at the DMV. 

Because of that . . .

Sloths. He takes her to a DMV run by sloths and wastes as much of her precious dwindling time as he can.

Turn: “It's night?!”

Because of that . . .

Legitimate Enterprise Car Service (at least that’s what it’s called in the screenplay) is closed. Judy doesn't have a warrant and Nick is enjoying her suffering tremendously. After a spat, she tosses the carrot over the fence instead of handing it to him.

Turn: Because she has now seen a shifty low-life climbing the fence, she has probable cause, and doesn't need a warrant. She can go in. (B Story: Nick is looking at her with more respect.)

Because of that . . .

They find the car and begin investigating. The car is a crime scene; claw marks everywhere, the missing otter's wallet . . . and a cocktail glass etched with a "B".

Turn: And it all adds up for Nick. This car belongs to Mr Big, a notorious crime boss. And his polar bear henchman are right outside. They grab Judy and Nick and yank them off screen. 

Because of that  . . .

Judy and Nick are wedged between the bear henchman, on their way to face Mr Big. 

Turn: Nick sold him a very expensive rug that happened to be made from the fur of a skunk's butt. Or in other words, Mr Big really doesn't like Nick.

Because of that . . .

They wait fearfully for Mr Big to appear, and even when he's revealed to be a tiny shrew, Nick still launches into obsequious and panicked mode. He tries talking his way out of it, but Mr Big really REALLY doesn't like him. And when Judy shouts at him that she's a cop and she has evidence on him --

Turn: “Ice 'em.”

Because of that . . .

"No icing anyone at my wedding!" Fru Fru Shrew is not a happy camper. Father and daughter bicker about his promise of no murder on her wedding day, and the fact that "I have to, baby. Daddy has to." Until -- 

Turn: "She's the bunny who saved my life yesterday. From that giant doughnut!" Well, Judy is now in Mr Big's good books. He's going to pay her kindness forward. Nick is floored. 

I'm gonna stop there.

SO! After going through that analysis of how the scenes are linked together, let's abandon the "everything needs a story reason to be in there" rule, and see what happens. 

After the scene where Judy and Nick reluctantly join forces, we could add a scene where Nick is trying to remember the name of the place, and where it is. Then we could have them asking around, searching the city, refusing to ask for directions, lots of banter. THEN we can finally get to The Mystic Springs Oasis.

And after they get the plate number, maybe Nick grabs the carrot pen and makes a run for it. Then we can have a chase scene, but he gets away. Then we can have Judy trying to run the plate on her own, before realizing she isn't in the system, and failing. Then we can have a scene where she has to track down Nick again. Then a scene where she figures out how to blackmail him into it. THEN they finally get to the DMV. 

And you know what would have happened then?

Zootopia would have made everyone bored. 

All of these inserted scenes are unnecessary. Sure, they might add conflict, add complications to Judy's quest, but they're ultimately just filler. They're just there for the sake of bulking out the story. This is why that tip I hear so often in writing circles always perplexes me: "Figure out the worst possible thing that can happen to your character, then do that." If people went with this rule, they'd just keep throwing terrible things at the characters for no apparent reason, one after another, and the reader or audience would be expected to be entertained by it (but wouldn't be). It would be like cartoons before Mickey Mouse came along and applied story to animation: before, cartoons were just gag after gag, slapstick situations mashed together like a funny video compilation. Except with books and movies, it would just be conflict-heavy situations strung together, taking an inordinate amount of time to make any actual progress.  

Once you make sure everything has a purpose within the narrative, things get so much better.  And I find, when I reread my work I don't have to scream at myself to "love your book or else" if everything has a reason for being there. And instead of feeling like yelling at my story like an angry overworked crab, I feel a lot more like this gif.

I hope it works for you too.

[fkyeahkpop]

BTS Reaction: Their gf has never left their home country.

Request:  BTS reaction to their foreign girlfriend never being out of her home country? Love ur blog btw ❤️

A/N: This blog loves you too anon! Sorry this took so long to post, stupid internet :( Enjoy! xx

Jin:

It had been a few days since you had spoken to Jin, no matter how many times you’d texted him and attempted to Facetime him, everything on his end seemed cold. You tried not to panic too much, you knew he was busy but at least one text could have reassured you. You started to become frustrated at the lack of effort on his end, scrolling back through your texts, the last one being from a week ago telling him how you’d never been anywhere but your home country. Just as you started typing out a fairly disgruntled text to your boyfriend across the sea, you heard a car beep outside your bedroom. Standing there, smug as you can imagine, was Jin, fanning himself with a passport before nodding towards the car. ‘Let’s go on an adventure’ he’d say before taking your hand and leading you into the back of the car.

Yoongi:

‘Seriously? You’ve never been anywhere else?’ he’d ask in awe over Skype as you explained to him that home sweet home was getting a little tiresome. He smirked to himself as he started typing rapidly into his studio laptop, humming to himself. ‘Nope, I wish. Maybe someday I’ll be able to come visit you all the way in Korea.’ you chuckled to yourself, your boyfriend feeling even further away than usual through the confines of your laptop. ‘You know I’d love that’ he mumbled, seemingly distracted with whatever he was doing on his laptop. ‘How’s the 22nd of this month? Long enough to get your passport sorted?’ he asked. ‘Yoongi, no I can’t afford it...’ ‘It’s a good thing I can then, isn’t it babe?’ ‘It’s too much!’ you insisted, shaking your head in an attempt to stop an unmoving and stubborn boyfriend. ‘Is it so wrong for me to want to hold my girlfriend? I love you and I want to see you.’ He’d say matter-of-factly, shutting his laptop to prove his point. ‘See you soon baby.’

J-Hope:

‘Happy Birthday Jagi!’ he’d exclaim over Skype as you held an envelope in your hand that had arrived in the post this morning from Hobi just in time to have it for your big day. ‘Hobi you know you didn’t have to get me anything...’ you said, suddenly feeling shy at your boyfriend’s show of generosity. ‘Oh Jagi it was nothing, just open it already I want to see your reaction!’ He would exclaim jumping up and down in anticipation. ‘Alright, alight!’ you giggled, tearing the envelope open. As soon as you saw what was inside a wave of emotion run you flat, clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp emerging from your mouth. The plane ticket to Korea stared back at you while Hobi giggled through the speakers of your laptop. ‘Oh Jagi, don’t cry!’ He’d laugh, you still being speechless. ‘Ok so you’re going to come and see me in Korea and from there we’re going to take a little trip to Thailand, that okay with you?’ he’d ask as you nodded so hard you thought your head might fall off. ‘Oh Hobi thank you so much! This is the best gift I could ever ask for, I finally get to see you.’ you gushed, running the ticket through your hands. ‘I’ll see you soon babe’ he’d say before explaining he had to go to practise. The whole build up to your trip he’d send photos of where he’d take you.

Rap Monster:

It was nearing Valentines Day and Namjoon had come up with the ingenious idea of taking you to Paris, since you’d never left your home country. Seeing as he spoke English he thought the communication wouldn’t be too difficult and that it would be super romantic to meet somewhere neutral and spend your time together exploring a new country. He would try and learn a few French phrases and words to keep you two safe but other than that he wanted this trip to be spontaneous. On valentines day you saw a package on your front door. In truth you had forgotten all about the occasion, thinking nothing of it normally and especially with your boyfriend across the ocean it wasn’t something you really thought about. Opening the package there was a Mickey Mouse stuffed toy with a note in it’s hands and a ticket. ‘Meet me in Paris? -Joonie x’ you took the envelope in your shaky hands and opened it to see your flight details and hotel details, seeing how hard he’d work to organise this filled you with gratitude, rushing to your phone to call him and thank him.

Jimin:

‘Ahahaha what?? You’ve never been anywhere else?’ your phone dinged with your boyfriend Jimin’s text message as you finished up your work. ‘No Jimin, we can’t all be popstars who travel around the world :P’ you’d reply, rolling your eyes at how oblivious yet sweet your boyfriend could be. ‘I know, still, how would you feel about coming on tour with me and the boys?’ You almost knocked your coffee over at that one. Go on tour?? With BTS? Not just to one country but five or six? Was he serious? ‘What??’ you replied, unable to tell if he was joking or not. ‘Well me and the manager have been talking it out for a while now and the boys all think it’s a great idea. I was going to wait until you birthday to ask but we might need more time to get your passport sorted- if you want to come that is :)’ He probably thought you were ignoring him you sat there, slack mouthed for so long. ‘OF COURSE I WOULD ARE YOU KIDDING ME???’ He replied almost immediately; ‘Ahahaha well of course, who wouldn’t want to see me? ;) Love you, maybe I’ll get to see you sooner than we thought xx’

Taehyung:

‘Sssshhhh’ Tae would exclaim as he found out you’d never left your home country. He had his hand over the camera of his phone while you were facetiming as apparently they were at a recording studio that didn’t allow cameras. ‘Hey, I need to tell you something’ he’d say, peaking your curiosity. ‘What is it?’ ‘Well...’ he’d say twiddling his fingers idly. ‘...’ you sat there, waiting for Tae to finish his sentence ‘there’s been some new... changes to the WINGS tour...’ he’d say nonchalantly, still not unveiling his phone camera as he dragged out his sentences, keeping you hanging on the edge of every word. ‘What do you mean?? Tae for god’s sake just tell me, you’re killing me here. I can feel myself ageing.’ He giggled at the absurdity of the situation before screaming so loud it hurt ‘WE’RE COMING TO SEE YOU’ he yelled, uncovering the camera to reveal himself and the boys packed inside a minibus, looking exhausted but in good spirits. ‘NO WAY’ you screamed, jumping up and down. ‘We’re taking you back to Korea with us, Y/N, we have this all planned out’ he smirked. ‘See you in an hour’ he said, giving you the kind of smile that melted your heart before hanging up.

Jungkook:

Well as far as crappy Birthdays went this took the cake, not that you had one. As the sunset on what had undoubtedly been a shambles of a ‘special day’, your mind couldn’t help but wonder to your boyfriend. Sure he was busy, but had he really forgotten your birthday? You hadn’t heard from him for days and while you weren’t worried, you couldn’t help but feel a little angry at him for neglecting you on your birthday. As you finally gave up on any kind of birthday miracle, you got into your pyjamas before going over to your curtains to close them and call it a night. That was before you saw a balloon float up to your open window with a peice of paper attached to the bottom. You swiped it from the air and upon closer inspection saw the piece of paper was a plane ticket to Korea. Amidst your confusion you saw the note scrawled on the back: ‘Will you be the Jasmine to my Aladdin?’ it read, as the opening bars of A Whole New World began to play from below you. You looked down to see your boyfriend, dressed as Aladdin, holding up his phone and singing the song, grinning up at you with his infamous bunny grin. You ran down the stairs and flung yourself into his arms, him spinning you around and kissing the top of your head. Among all the happy tears and staring at each other to make sure you were really there, you whispered ‘yes, I’ll be your Jasmine.’

[wellimhavinga3outof10day]

Lost Lullabies - Chapter One

Description: Mickey Milkovich, former child star turned action movie star, runs into his old co-star, Ian Gallagher, out on the street in the middle of a winter night. When Mickey takes him in, he doesn't realize that Ian has the power to completely turn his new life upside down. 

Chapters: 1

Read on AO3

Mickey walked out of the store and looked both ways quick, just to make sure he hadn’t been recognized. He tapped a cigarette onto his palm and stuck it between his teeth. A quick light, three blocks, and he’d be back home nice and safe. For once, no paparazzi on his tail, no crazy fans ambushing him, and no one on his back not to smoke. He took a deep drag and let it smoke out into the cold night.

           Maybe it helped that it was a little after two in the morning on a week night and he’d worn his hood up to hide his face. Had scared the hell out of the cashier. What a rush. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time someone had honestly been scared to see him – he’d left that life behind a long time ago, a life where just his last name was a reason to arrest him. If he told anyone about it now, they’d probably never believe him.

           He started down the street slow, not wanting to rush his walk back to the apartment. It was quiet and cold and he hadn’t exactly worn a jacket – just a big black hoodie. He inhaled more smoke than was reasonably safe and coughed it out, smiled at the ridiculousness of it. Once he had smoked more than a pack a day. Once he’d smoked stuff a lot worse than nicotine. And now he couldn’t finish a cigarette without coughing.

           It was a nostalgic night. A few hours ago he’d gotten a call – Disney was doing a reboot of his old show and did he want to be on it? No. But he did spend the next three hours watching reruns of it on DVD, laughing out loud at the bad jokes, the terrible outfits, and how young he’d been. True, the show had ended just under ten years ago, when he had shifted from cute to awkward pubescent teenager. He could see acne in a couple of shots – through the make-up, of course.

           Mickey tripped over an outstretched boot. “Shit, sorry.” He glanced over at the man leaned up against the wall. Slumped, really. Mickey’s blood chilled and he kicked the guy’s leg lightly. “Hey, man. You okay?”

           No movement.

           Mickey considered stuffing a couple twenties into the guy’s pocket and leaving him out there. But if he was dead, Mickey would have contaminated a crime scene. And if he wasn’t dead, he would be by morning. Chicago winters weren’t exactly outside weather, especially not for homeless people dressed barely better than Mickey was at the moment.

           Nudging the guy again, Mickey pulled his phone out of his pocket and Googled where the nearest homeless shelter was. It’d be a couple of blocks, and quite a few of those blocks were bound to be heavily populated so he’d certainly be recognized, but he knew it’d eat at him if he just left the guy there. He once again yearned for his old life, when a homeless guy on the street was decidedly not his problem and he was just as likely to freeze inside his house as this guy was outside.

           Unfortunately, or fortunately, that wasn’t the world anymore.

           Mickey cursed under his breath when the guy still refused to move and knelt over him. He pressed his fingers under the collar of the guy’s coat and found the crook of his neck. Thank fucking god there was a pulse. Mickey took hold of the guy’s neck and shook. “Hey. Hey, man, get up. You can’t stay out here. Hey! You hear me?”

           The man opened one eye lazily and looked Mickey up and down. Then his eyes closed, he leaned back and mumbled something along the lines of, “You wanna take me home, stud?”

           Of course Mickey had picked a gay guy on the street to save. It couldn’t have just been a nice, old homeless man missing a few teeth who he could walk to the nearest shelter and who would forget him in a few days. It had to be a relatively attractive young man with all his teeth, a dashing – if drunk – smile, and who was a little handsy. In fact, the guy was already reaching for Mickey’s belt buckle.

           “Suck you off for twenty,” the man muttered.

           “No, dude!” Mickey batted him off. He scrambled to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. Seven blocks, in the cold, through a populated area, with a drunk, touchy guy hanging off of him. That wasn’t going to be an option. If his publicist would kill him for smoking half a cigarette, she’d definitely kill him for pictures of him getting felt up on a city block.

           But Mickey couldn’t leave the guy there. For fuck’s sake, when had he grown a conscious? “Hey, man,” Mickey said. He got a ‘mmm’ sound in response. “Can you stand?”

           “Don’t need to stand to blow you.”

           “Right. Okay. I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

           “No!” The man reached up as if going for Mickey’s arm, for his phone, but he couldn’t sit up well enough to get anywhere near Mickey. But his eyes suddenly looked brighter, more alert, greener in the dimmed streetlights. “No, please, I’m fine. Don’t call the fucking cops.”

           “Paramedics aren’t cops.” Mickey started to dial.

           “Please.”

           “Look, I know you’ve probably got drugs on you or something, and sure, they’ll throw them out, but they’re also gonna bring you somewhere warm for the night. So maybe stop fighting me?” Mickey looked down at the guy with his best sympathetic look – he knew from his acting coach that it definitely wasn’t that good – and put the phone up to his ear. The cool plastic sent chills through his whole body. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”

           “My sister’s gonna kill me.”

           “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Mickey tried to shake the guy’s hand off his leg.

           “No, no, Fiona told me not to go out. She’ll be pissed.”

           “She’ll be happy you’re safe.”

           “No!” The man leaned forward so his forehead hit Mickey’s thigh, hard. Then he proceeded to throw up all over Mickey’s shoes.

           “Fuck!”

           The man put more weight on Mickey and Mickey had to readjust so that the guy didn’t fall and bang his head on the concrete. His hand came down on the knit hat the guy was wearing and pulled it off a little to reveal bright red hair. Bright red, very greasy, hair. Mickey stroked his fingers through it, felt the man hum against his leg.

           Then the 911 line operator picked up. “911, what’s your emergency?”

           Something clicked in Mickey’s mind. Red hair. Green eyes. Gay. A sister named Fiona.

           “Sorry, false alarm.” Mickey hung up. He crouched down, careful not to let the man fall to the side. When he could take his face in his hands, he forced the man to look up at him. His pupils were so big that his eyes could have been black. His cheeks were shallow, skin drained of colour, and he was thinner than Mickey remembered. If he was remembering right at all and still not tripping down memory lane. “Ian?” Mickey asked.

           “Hey, you know my name.” Ian smiled. “Did I tell you that?”

           “No.” Mickey sat frozen for a moment and then took action. He tucked his arm under Ian’s and hauled the taller man to his feet. He stumbled and fell heavily onto Mickey, but two guys drunkenly stumbling back to Mickey’s apartment wouldn’t necessarily be a sight. He just had to go through the back to avoid any paparazzi that might be at his front door and everything would be all right. Just all right.

           He started down the street, struggling under Ian’s weight. It wasn’t like the man had any meat on his bones, but he was tall and still managed to have sinewy muscle despite his emaciated state. How Fiona had ever let him end up like this, Mickey didn’t really know. But there was a lot about the Gallaghers that he no longer knew or cared to know. Ever since he’d gotten out of the Southside and the show had been cancelled, he hadn’t heard a word from any of them.

           Mickey started down the alley between his building and the one next to it. Ian reached out to scrape his hand along the bricks. After a minute or so, Mickey stopped him, noticing the blood dripping between his fingers. He worried that he needed to say something, to make Ian understand, but he didn’t know what there was to say. His heart trapped in his throat, it was all he could do just to swallow it.

           Maybe he’d known. It was no secret that after the show he kept in the business and Ian... Ian spent all his money and disappeared from the public eye. Not that Mickey hadn’t wished to do that same. He would have done anything to have been able to do the same. But at fifteen, recently emancipated, and fighting for the custody of his little sister, he couldn’t exactly give up on his only source of income or blow it all on drugs or decide his new idea of fame was to be a coked-up party kid.

           Not that he blamed Ian. He’d been to all the counsellors his agent had recommended, knew the stats on child stars. He was the lucky one. For once in his fucking life, he had gotten lucky.

           Mickey deposited Ian beside the door to his building and then dug out his keys.

           “I can undo that,” Ian slurred.

           “Not going for my belt buckle.” Mickey unlocked the door and half-shoved, half-carried Ian inside. He pressed the button for the elevator and kept Ian upright for the wait, then leaned him up against a wall inside.

           “Long time since I’ve done it in an elevator.”

           “We’re not having sex,” Mickey said.

           Ian smiled, showed perfect teeth from the braces the show had paid for. Mickey was only mildly surprised he hadn’t managed to rot a few out. Nine years.

           Ian reached for Mickey, grabbed onto his arm, and pulled himself closer. “Come on,” he said. His breath was hot in Mickey’s ear, ticklish even, but Mickey could smell acid vomit and alcohol on him. “Don’t play hard to get.” He started to land kisses on Mickey’s neck.

           Mickey pushed him off, but kept hold of his shirt so he wouldn’t fall over. He fixed him with his best no-nonsense glare – that look he knew he had down – and said slowly, “We’re not going to have sex. I’m gonna get you cleaned up and put you on the couch with a bucket by your head so you don’t fucking die tonight. Got it?”

           Ian hummed and tried to press forward to give Mickey more kisses. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

           “Okay.” Mickey held his arm out straighter and tried not to look at Ian. Instead, he watched the numbers on the elevator go up and up and up.

           “Rich much?” Ian whispered.

           “Pretty fucking rich.”

           “I like my daddys—”

           “Don’t fucking call me that again.” Mickey shot a glare Ian’s way and was tempted to push him back for good, but he knew he’d fall if he did. Mickey wasn’t 100% sure what a panic attack felt like – he’d Googled the symptoms once for an audition – but he thought he might be having one right then and there.

           The elevator dinged onto the twenty-second floor. Mickey breathed a sigh of relief and dragged Ian down the hall to his door. He fumbled the keys when Ian got a hand on his ass and cursed under his breath. Door open, he stepped inside and turned around. Ian had already closed the door behind him and was giving him a devastating look – hooded eyes, bottom lip bitten, in the middle of shrugging off his sweater. It might have been a little harder to resist if he wasn’t relying on the door to keep him up. Also if within three second he hadn’t doubled over and thrown up on Mickey’s floor.

           Mickey cursed. He kicked off his puke-soaked shoes and pulled Ian around the mess. Somehow he got them into the bathroom. He left the door open as he turned on the shower, turned the water all the way to hot thinking maybe it would burn some sense into Ian. Cold water was better for sobering people up, but he’d noticed that Ian’s fingers were blue and his cheeks and nose were bright red.

           “Get in,” Mickey said.

           “Whatever you want.” Ian started to strip and Mickey looked away. Of course, once his clothes hit the floor, he walked right up to Mickey’s side and pressed against him. He started to suck on Mickey’s earlobe.

           Mickey sent up a prayer for strength and patience and anything else he might need in order to not murder his childhood friend that night. With a sigh, he caught hold of Ian’s chin and said, “Get in the shower.”

           Ian stepped back, pouting slightly, and stepped into the steam. Mickey prodded him to sit down in the tub, since he was pretty sure he wouldn’t last much longer on his feet, and then adjusted the showerhead so it hit Ian directly. Then he sat down on the edge of the tub and ran his fingers through Ian’s hair.

           “You’re not getting in?” Ian asked. He tried to look up at Mickey, but got water in his eyes.

           “No.” Mickey hesitated a moment and then grabbed a shampoo bottle from the side of the tub. He squeezed some into his hands, rubbed them together, and then started to work the shampoo through Ian’s hair.

           “Got a washing kink or something?”

           “I don’t think that’s a kink.”

           “If you can think of it, it’s a kink.”

           Mickey didn’t want to ponder that thought anymore than was absolutely necessary, so he rinsed off his fingers and moved on to the conditioner. He absolutely refused to soap Ian up – even if he desperately needed it – but he could at least get his hair in good condition.

           “You still live with Fiona?” Mickey said.

           Ian shrugged. “On and off.”

           “Right now?”

           “Off.”

           Mickey rinsed his fingers off and stared at the back of Ian’s head. “You remember me?”

           Ian snorted. “I’m not that fucked up. We just met. Out on the street.”

           “No, I mean...” Mickey shook his head. If Ian didn’t recognize him, maybe that was better. Maybe he’d just disappear in the morning and Mickey would never have to worry about him ever again. Maybe Ian Gallagher would once again disappear from his life. “You feelin’ any warmer?”

           “Yeah.”

           “You want coffee? I got decaf.”

           “You always woo your fucks beforehand?”

           “I told you. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

           “If that’s what you’re into.”

           Mickey didn’t bother arguing. He could have. He could have argued all night long and normally he would have. But it was getting close to three in the morning, he was half-soaked from shower spray, and he had a naked, drunk man in his tub. While it didn’t come close to his worst night ever, it might have been his worst night since he got out of his father’s house. His worst night since he’d gotten on his feet. Hell, his worst night since the last time he’d seen Ian.

           He let Ian sit under the shower for a little while longer before turning the water off and offering him a towel. Ian seemed a little steadier on his feet, but Mickey still didn’t risk leaving him alone until he got him to sit down on the couch. He came back with a pair of pajamas he’d never worn – they were Christmas themed, a gift from Mandy. She’d like that Ian had them. And Ian got dressed, looked up at Mickey as if expecting him to say something.

           “What?” Mickey said.

           Ian shrugged. “It’s weird not to get taken advantage of in some strange guy’s house.”

           Mickey smirked. “Go to sleep.”

           “You’re not into that, are you?”

           “No.”

           “All right.” Ian held up his hands in a weak mock surrender and then lay down on his side. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes but his breath didn’t steady.

           Mickey wanted to stay and watch until it did, until he knew for sure Ian was out for the night, but he thought it might be creepy if Ian decided to open his eyes. So instead he walked away and got down on his hands and knees to clean up the mess on his floor. After, he jumped in the shower himself, let the hot water burn into his skin. He almost fell asleep in there, but managed to drag himself into the bedroom and under the covers. He’d almost forgotten about Ian by the time he fell asleep.

Chapter One Chapter Two>>

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Son Of Scheherazade, 11

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted! Their ideas are really going to shape things in the next chapter!

Some of you guessed right about our mystery lady, so good on you! And some of you might also remember this scene from an early storybit. Originally the first girl to go gaga over Goofgoof was a temporary OC, but I changed it to a fan-favorite from the Aladdin TV show.

Summary: In order to find his parents and uncover the mysteries behind their kidnapping, Mickey and friends have come to She Who Knows Everything. But there's a price to pay for this knowledge - and who is willing to make that sacrifice?

With things officially back on track, the ship and its crew finally sailed for the town of Maelumat. Goofy was happy to go, but Horace, Clarabelle, Panchito and José appeared to dread the visit, visibly flinching every time they heard its name. Whenever Mickey tried to ask why they were so despondent about this place, he was met with a long, long, long groan. Eventually he gave up, deciding that discovering what would be there would be half the fun. It was difficult to get depressed lately, as far as Mickey was concerned because Minnie was smiling more, and how could you not be happy with that?

He was still clueless that it was the revelation of his set boundaries that had made Minnie considerably cheerier. This wasn't to say she was skipping up and down the hallways and singing love songs, but she was slowly losing the glum, silent mask on her face. It was as if she was allowing herself to enjoy the little things, with tiny smiles here and there and sharing a personal opinion if she so wished. Mickey was thrilled to bits with this progress, and only hoped he could find out what had caused it so he could help her further.

So when the ship was parked at the town's borders and everyone filed out to the center of the boat, Mickey was in a good mood, Minnie was in a good mood, and Donald, upon seeing his two friends so happy, was also in a good mood. They kept on having a good mood even when Clarabelle dragged herself outside and moaned to high heaven. “Do we haaaaaave to go see her? I get wrinkles whenever I hear that voice!”

“There's gotta be a better way to hunt for information.” Horace slumped onto his wife, his entire body sagging. “I don't think I can handle another visit to this place.”

Goofy grabbed both of their shoulders and forced them to stand up straight. “Come on now, you guys are acting like she's some kinda demon!”

“I think I'd prefer a demon,” Panchito whined, not even having enough strength to lift his guitar.

“I say she's more like one of those beautiful sirens,” José's lit cigar drooped in his beak. “A gorgeous sight, but when you get too close, it's all over.”

Goofy clicked his tongue, heading towards the ropes and beginning to lower them over the side. “I hope you don't say that to her face! Mind your manners! We have no clues about where Mickey's parents could be, and she could be the only lead we have! So for Mickey's sake, behave! We'll be fine!” Mickey flashed him a thumbs-up in appreciation, and Goofy returned it, but then paused. “...Long as we don't accept her challenges, we should be fine.”

Mickey couldn't help but laugh as he approached the ropes. “I don't know about the rest of you, but this is making me want to meet her more and more! Should be another swell adventure!”

“Long as she doesn't try to swindle you, eh, Big Ears?” Donald teased, pinching Mickey's ear. “I may have been super sheltered, but you'll never catch me being outfoxed by a pretty face.”

Mickey swatted Donald's hand away. “Y'know, now that you said it out in the open, it's absolutely going to happen.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

As the childish argument commenced, Minnie was the last to climb down, giggling quietly. She doubted Mickey would fall for another woman's tricks like that, and it was an odd thing, having confidence in a master about something positive. Mickey was capable of many things, and perhaps he was capable of keeping her promise to her. It made her chest warm to think of it, to think of him, and when they were on solid ground, she eagerly dashed to his side.

“Is too times infinity,” Mickey tried to win the fight before talking to the elders. “So what's so bad about this place?”

“There's nothing wrong with the actual place,” Clarabelle explained as they walked, Goofy taking the lead. “But there's a bar we need to enter. And that's where she is...the lady of our nightmares. Whatever you do, do not accept her challenges.”

Mickey exchanged glances with Donald and Minnie, and each of them tried to imagine what this eerie woman could be like. Maybe she had powers over man and earth! Or maybe she was a ghost from times long since past! Or maybe she had thirty heads! Or maybe she had a horrible toe fungus! The possibilities were endless, and Mickey clicked his heels in anticipation. The sting from Lotus Blossom hadn't faded, but now he was sure it was a lesson he needed to learn. He would not be fooled again, and he would accept all troubles head-on!

In fact, Mickey was still fascinated by each and every thing he discovered out in the world beyond his kingdom. Often he would gaze out over the flying ship's edge and simply watch the scenery pass by. Nothing failed to gain his interest, not even today, when the grand sight before him was just a seedy bar in the armpit of a desolate town. There was nothing truly special about it, from the drab chipped colors to the tilted windows to the billowing smoke that escaped the front swinging doors.

“Aw, you'll really like this place!” Goofy chirped, hands deep in his pockets, his baggy clothes threatening to drop off completely should he misstep. “The folks here are super friendly, and the food can't be beat! Why, it's one of my favorite places in the whole wide world.”

“It certainly smells like the whole wide world's in there,” Donald grumbled, a hand over his beak. “Let's go in, get the details, and get out, okay?”

“C'mon, Donald!” Mickey chirped, pleasant as ever despite the aggravating aroma smacking his small black nose. “Think of it as another chapter in our story! I've never been in one of these places before, so it's going to be like making a landmark of a memory!”

Donald gave his friend a curt look, narrowing his eyes. “You know, not every new experience is a good one. You haven't been smacked in the head before. Want me to give you a landmark of a memory?”

Mickey playfully shoved his friend, who shoved back just as hard. Minnie rolled her eyes, though secretly she thought their entire friendship was quite adorable. They laughed and joked until Goofy strolled into the bar, which was when Horace suddenly stood in front of the rest of the group, blocking them from entering.

“Before we go in there,” Horace's voice became unusually serious. “You gotta know somethin' about the captain.”

Mickey tilted his head. “Whaddya mean, Horace?”

“I mean, you don't know everythin' about him!” Horace crossed his arms, his eyes lit with hard intensity. “For all of Sultana Scheherazade's stories, there's a big difference between listening to his life and seeing it right in front of you! What's beyond this door is something you won't see coming! It might change – no, it WILL change the way you see him!”

Minnie, Donald, and Mickey all stared with wide, startled eyes, but Clarabelle was rubbing her temples. “For gosh sakes, Horace...” Panchito and José quietly began to snicker.

“No, Clarabelle, they gotta know!” Horace stomped his foot, not allowing himself to be interrupted. “I wish someone had warned me way back then, but now I gotta live with it!”

The trio stayed quiet, uncertain what to do with this sudden twist. Mickey chewed on his bottom lip. He trusted Goofy with his life – after all, Goofy had saved Mickey from Pete's nefarious betrayal, and was helping him save his parents. But Goofy was also a sky pirate, and weren't pirates infamous for doing bad deeds? It was difficult to imagine Goofy doing anything remotely considered sinful, but Horace wasn't the type to pull gags like this.

“Is the whole 'goofy' personality just an act?” Donald murmured to no one, eyeing the bar doors. “I'm kinda afraid to look now!”

Minnie inched closed to Mickey. “Master?”

Mickey inhaled deeply – though he regretted it soon after, the stench of the bar was a powerful thing – and slapped a hand to his chest. “Stay close to me, Minnie, I ain't gunna let anythin' happen to you. But I've got faith in my captain Goofy! Whatever happens in there, we're in this together!”

Horace slowly stepped aside. “I hope you can still say that, after what you see.” After that, the rest of the group walked inside.

Unbeknownst to Mickey, this bar didn't look too different from most you'd find in other run-down cities. The wooden tables were lopsided, the music was too energetic for the lethargic customers drinking heavily, and there was a fog made out of pipe smoke. A few dancing girls were in a corner, using rainbow colored strips of fabric in their act. Mickey held onto Minnie's hand just in case, but he slowly noticed that the female to male ratio of the bar was rather heavy. He counted – there seemed to be eight women for every one man.

Goofy casually strolled up to the counter, lightly patting the counter once to get the barkeep's attention. “Howdy there, Sadira! How're you doin'?”

The barkeep – a dark-haired woman who had been washing a dirty mug – stopped what she was doing. “So...you finally showed your face around here...Captain Sinbad.”

“Aw shucks,” he replied, still smiles and sunshine. “You know you can just call me Goofy!”

Sadira slowly placed the mug down. Mickey grabbed the hilt of his sword, ready to pull it out if need be – Donald flexed his fingers, ready to test if he could finally use his powers to help, two or three hailstones of anticipation dropping near his feet – Minnie hid behind Mickey, holding her breath – Sadira looked at Goofy. “Does it really matter what I call you? All that truly matters is... How much I've missed you, Goofy!”

In that instant, all the females of the bar, be they customers, dancers, or waitresses, young and old, of all shapes and sizes – they all dropped what they were doing.

“Did you say Goofy?”

“Goofy's here?!”

“IT'S REALLY HIM!

“HE'S BACK, HE'S BACK!”

“GOOFY DARLIIING!”

In seconds, all the women inside the bar had latched themselves to Goofy, who had quietly taken a seat on a ripped apart love-seat. They clung to his arms and legs, exclaiming their sheer delight to see their wonderful, handsome, perfect Goofy again. Goofy merely patted their heads, saying he was happy to see them too.

Mickey, Donald, and Minnie had no words for whatever they were witnessing. Horace, however, had plenty, as he fell to his knees in agony. “Do you have any idea how many YEARS it took for Clarabelle to notice me?! Then I had to FIGHT to get her attention off of this...this...goofball! And everywhere we go, he gets ten girlfriends, JUST BY LOOKING AT THEM! I hate this guy!”

Clarabelle picked her husband up by the shirt collar. “Oh, knock it off, you big baby.”

“No, no, I think I get it.” Donald had to block his eyes with his hand, lest this ridiculous scene make him lose his temper. “I can't believe I'm jealous of a guy who can barely tie his shoes!” He looked to Mickey, expecting agreement, but Mickey was glancing back and forth between Minnie and Goofy – it was hard to tell if he was expecting competition, or wondering if he should seek advice about matters of the heart.

Goofy was oblivious to his friends' reaction, as he was politely declining kisses. “Now, now, ladies, I can't play around anymore. I only came by to get a little help for a friend of mine. See, I'm a married man now!” As proof, he removed his glove, and revealed a golden band around his finger.

Donald and Mickey shouted in loud unison, “You're married?!” and were instantly drowned out by the blasting chorus of wails from the upset women. They all began sobbing in unison, clutching Goofy even harder than before.

“Noooo!”

“Please say you're joking!”

“That's not fair!”

“Can't I be your mistress?!”

“Now don't be like that,” Goofy reprimanded the blubbering babes, waving a finger in disapproval. “She's a real nice lady! Classy too. Why, she's a chief's daughter.”

A flame lit in Mickey's mind, jarring him out of his stupor. “Wait a minute, I know that story!” He let go of Minnie, eager to paraphrase one of his mother's beloved tales. “Your ship landed on what you thought was an island, but it turned out to be a gigantic turtle! That's when you met the tribe of the moon people, and the chief's daughter had been kidnapped! So you fought off a race of fire-breathing mongrels to save her and get the turtle back on its original course! Then the chief thanked you by giving you a treasure chest of magic coins that doubled every time you opened the chest!”

Goofy chuckled, leaning back a bit. “Aw, your mom loves to exaggerate! It didn't go exactly like that...The island was just shaped like a turtle! The mongrels didn't breathe fire, they had torches! And the chest had regular old coins in it... Plus the chief's daughter, since she snuck in there. Turns out she took a likin' to me after I saved her. Who would've guessed!”

“Who would have guessed,” Horace repeated, ordering a stiff drink at the counter. Panchito and José stuck close to him to make sure he wouldn't drink heavily, quietly consoling him.

“Why are we only hearing about this now?!” Donald demanded, hopping on his feet. “This is something you say on day one!”

Goofy merely blinked. “You never asked.”

While Donald hemmed and hawed about that rather obvious reply, Minnie stepped forward, curious about a related matter. “Captain... If you're married, why are you out in the sky? Why aren't you home with her, and why isn't she with us?” Considering all the weird adventures she kept hearing about, part of her wondered if maybe the mystery wife was an invisible ghost haunting the hallways – at this point anything was possible.

“She's at home,” Goofy said, leaning forward and gently shoving back one barmaid who had been trying to fondle him. “Waiting for me. I visit her every once and a while, trying to get the last adventures out of me when I leave. She's the the next chief of her tribe, y'know. Her old man's getting, well, older, so she can't be away. Truth be told, I thought about hanging up my anchors for good... before Mickey's mother asked me to come.”

Mickey's eyes widened, and a snippet of guilt swung back and forth in his heart. He did feel bad that he was the reason Goofy couldn't go home to his beloved, but at the same time, that overwhelming curiosity about his mother's mysteries demanded to be answered. Why did she let Mickey believe Sinbad was merely a story? How did she know about all his tales if she only met him once? Why had she decided that on Mickey's fateful birthday it was time for him to learn what was real and what wasn't? He wanted to ask all of it now, but after Lotus Blossom's deception, he was trying when, if ever, it was helpful to reveal his true status in front of strangers.

“Oh, sweet, noble, silly Sinbad,” a voice called out from the small wooden stage in the back of the room. “Somehow I just knew that would be the reason... then again, I know everything.” That one voice caused Horace to down his drink in one gulp, Clarabelle to make sure the exit wasn't locked, and Panchito and José to cling to each other for security.

The silk curtains parted, and out stepped the owner of the bar in all her dramatic glory. Her long white hair was tied together in six different bangles, each one glitzier than the last, tossed over her shoulder to simply remind everyone how pretty she was. Mickey supposed she was pretty, the way Lotus Blossom had been pretty, the way art hanging on the wall could be pretty – he could see the appeal but not understand it or want to be around it for too long. Her face was heavy with make-up, almost giving the appearance she was wearing a mask and hiding her true intentions, yet her violet eyes were absolutely real and cutting deep. Golden armlets and bracelets clinked together as she walked, her flowing purple dress sashaying here and there. In her thin fingers was a golden pipe, emitting a wisp of smoke, decorated with the image of a small snake – it took Mickey three seconds to realize it was a real snake, perhaps a baby one, given its tiny stature. She took a puff between her yellow beak, exhaling a smoke heart after she was finished. “Greetings, one and all. I am Daisy Duck, madam of this lovely establishment.”

All the women previously lavishing attention on Goofy were now eager to climb over him in an attempt to get away from this woman, not that he minded. Goofy waved, the only person happy to see her. “Hiya, Daisy! Nice to see you again! How's everything been?”

“Ho hum, and fiddle de dee.” Daisy stepped off the stage, her purple high-heels clicking on the floor. Bar patrons scooted in their chairs just to make sure she wouldn't be near. “Boring, boring, boring. I swear, nothing is entertaining anymore! It's enough to make me want to lay in bed and never get up again.”

“Please do,” Clarabelle muttered, but not quietly enough.

Daisy smiled, lightly twirling her pipe in her hand. “Why, I've missed you too, Clarabelle honey! And you look ravishing, positively ravishing! Have you lost weight?”

Clarabelle looked down at herself, thrown off by the compliment. “Huh! Well, gosh, maybe! Thank you kindly!”

“Think nothing of it. I was just surprised, that's all... considering that chocolate stash you've been hiding from Horace under your side of the bed.”

“WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT?!” Clarabelle screeched, eliciting a long raspberry from Daisy. The cow groaned, then joined her husband at the bar. “Never mind... she knows everything... Oooh, I hate her so...”

Mickey had a bad feeling about how this was going to end, so he decided to take the reins, stepping forward and bowing. “Thank you for seeing us, Miss Daisy.” It was only proper to introduce himself and some of the others, considering they were the newest additions to the crew. “My name is Mickey, and these are my friends, Minnie,” who also bowed in respect, “And Donald... Donald?” Donald hadn't moved since Daisy made herself known, a harsh blush taking over his bill.

The sunlight through the windows was now getting brighter and warmer, and Panchito and José grabbed handfuls of napkins to fan Donald down. That snapped him back to life, pushing them away. “Knock it off!”

Mickey ignored the potential teasing target to stay on track. “Anyway! We've come here to seek your help. Goofy's told us that when it comes to information, you can't be beat. And information is exactly what I'm lacking. Is it true that you know everything about anything?”

“Anything, and anyone,” Daisy replied, eyeing Mickey up and down, sizing him up. “There are few people in the world who know what I know, for there are few who have the gifts I possess.”

A light of hope dawned in Mickey's heart. “That's great! We could really use your help! We're looking for-”

“You're looking for your parents.”

“My parents, and-” Mickey stopped, now that he heard her. Did he hear right? He was positive he hadn't mentioned them being missing since they stepped into the bar. He glanced around to make sure – Minnie and Donald were equally befuddled. He looked toward Goofy. “Did you tell her...?”

“Nope,” Goofy admitted, only now looking a little worried. “Shoot, I didn't even tell her I was coming.”

Daisy chuckled darkly, enjoying the flickers of confusion she was causing. “Perhaps you didn't understand what our dear captain was telling you... I know everything. I know that our newest waitress has been flirting with the delivery boy. I know that three nights from now, a dim-witted robber will attempt to steal what we have. I know that back on the ship, your dog is going through your room to look for a toy. I know you're not some straggler looking for a little advice... You are Prince Mickey, the Son of Scheherazade, on a quest to find out who kidnapped your family.”

Mickey almost felt the floor give out beneath him. Whispers and surprised gasps fluttered through the bar about his parentage, and Mickey gulped audibly. How could she automatically know who he was by sight? Perhaps the situation about his parents had spread across the land, perhaps the knowledge that their only child had left to find them was getting across, but how could anyone know it was him? He wrestled with words. “I... I don't know what's going on, but if you know this much... do you know what happened to them? Do you know where they are?”

Daisy took a longer inhale of her pipe, and allowed the exhaled smoke to fall over her like a veil. “I know where they are, why there are there, and who took them there.”

Now Mickey stopped caring how she knew everything, because what she actually knew was far more important. “You do?! That's great!” He jumped for joy, grabbing his friends hands and dancing with them. “Did you hear that? She knows where they are! We can finally get on the right route and bring them home! This is fantastic! This is wonderful!” Donald ruffled Mickey's fur on his head, and Minnie squeezed her hands together in glee – but no one else looked as jolly. In fact, they appeared to be holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to stop.

“Oh boy!” Mickey shouted happily, twirling around and getting right in Daisy's face. “Where are they? Where are they?” Daisy turned her pipe around and poked Mickey in the forehead with the pointy end. “OW!” Mickey yelped, stumbling backwards and holding his head. “What's the big idea?”

“I don't believe I ever said I'd give this information for free,” Daisy answered, and now the baby snake was leaving the pipe, slithering up her arm. “Not everyone's heart-strings are so easily tugged. Why should I give something for nothing? This is extremely valuable information. I hold the fate of the most famous storyteller in the world in my hands. What can you give me?”

Minnie frowned, crossing her arms and watching her master. Why was some storyteller worth so much? Since when did stories weigh as much as gold? “What a selfish demand...”

Mickey was hurt, but he found it didn't sting as hard as he thought it would. During this journey with his friends, he had discovered many greedy individuals. The world was full of them, it began to appear. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, not allowing his anger to surface this time. No, this was rational. “Right... all right. Don't worry, Minnie, this will be fine.” He faced Daisy, trying to show the wise, prideful manner of a prince. “Yes, we're prepared to pay. We have plenty of treasure to exchange, don't we, captain?”

“We sure do!” Goofy saluted, standing up and accidentally knocking over the last fangirl he had. “We've made lots of stops and hoarded lots of goodies! More than enough to keep any lady satisfied! And we're ready and willing to hand it all over right this minute if you can help my pal out. Whaddya say, Daisy?” He put his hands together, ready to beg – Mickey caught a note of extremely rare desperation in Goofy's voice. “Please? … No challenges?”

Daisy mulled this over, turning her pipe around and around, while the older members of the crew chanted “please please please” under their breath. Her eyes moved to every single member of the ship, and her eyes stayed on Minnie for an unusual amount of time before returning to Mickey, wickedly smiling. “You're a son who loves his parents very much... would you pay any price to know their fate?”

Mickey put his hand to his heart. “Yes, I would. Name it, and it's yours!”

“Wonderful. Hand over your lamp.”

All the pride and glory in Mickey died instantly, and his mouth opened in a long puff of noise, as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Minnie clutched her chest but didn't dare say a word, and Donald watched both of his friends in silent terror, his five-second infatuation forgotten. Mickey tried to breathe. “I, uh... you... you don't want this old thing!” He laughed nervously, pulling on his belt, trying to tug the lamp out of view. “It doesn't even work, won't light at all!”

“And yet you carry it with you wherever you go,” Daisy pointed at it, taking a step forward, causing Mickey to step back. “So clearly it has to be important. And the fact that you're so reluctant to let it go... it must worthwhile.” She held out an open hand. “Give it to me, and I'll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Just take the treasure!” Now the anger that Mickey had so easily quelled before came fast and hard, his fingers trembling. “Take everything on the ship, take every last coin we have, take the shirt off my back! You can have anything you want from us!”

Minnie felt her heart race as she watched him argue, even though she wasn't surprised by how vehement he was. Yes, by now she was certain he'd never let the lamp go before her freedom was won. But now what would the price be for his kindness? “Master...” Donald nodded solemnly, understanding what Mickey was thinking. None of the others seemed the least bit surprised by Daisy's venom, even disappointed Goofy.

“And yet, the harder you fight for it, the more I want it,” Daisy giggled, finding this all terribly amusing. “Oh, what a pickle we're in! But I think I know how to solve this. You see, there is something I desire more than anything else in the world... entertainment!” She snapped her fingers, the sound echoing. “That has far more value than any coin! So let's make this interesting!” With a cock of her head, she now seemed to be far taller than Mickey, looking down at him like a goddess from on high. “I challenge you to a game. If you win, I'll tell you everything about your parents... including what mommy dearest was hiding from you.” As she expected, this made Mickey stop, eyes so wide they threatened to roll out of his skull. “And if I win... I get the lamp. How's that?”

Goofy was about to warn Mickey to not accept any challenges from Daisy, but Mickey was far faster. “No,” he said immediately, not thinking it over for even a second. “I'm not going to risk it. If you're not going to tell me what I need to know, then we're done.”

Daisy tsked, cupping her beak with her hand. “Goodness, and that just makes me want it more. You really need to be careful about these sort of things, your highness. You won't even try to play? I doubt anyone in the world can tell you where your parents are.”

“We're done,” Mickey said again, quieter yet deeper, the chill of his words making the room feel colder. He turned on his heel, storming for the exit.

“Master!” Minnie called after him, and she ran to his side, grabbing his arm, “This might be your only chance! We don't have even have a clue where your parents could be, and-”

“NO!” Mickey's voice snapped out, grabbing Minnie by the wrist and holding her there. “We'll find another way! I am not risking losing-” “You”, he almost said, but managed to catch himself at the last second. With his rant broken off, he softened his hold on Minnie. “I made you a promise,” he said quietly in between large breaths. “And I am not going to break it. Maybe... maybe no one else out there knows what she knows, but I'll search the entire world first, look under every single rock, before I ever give up the lamp. My parents... they'd understand.” Mickey let her go, and resumed his walk to the door. One by one the others joined him, with Goofy sighing sadly, Horace commenting that this was actually one of their better visits, and Donald squeezing Mickey's shoulder in sympathy.

But Minnie didn't move. Her heart beat so loudly she could hear it in her big black ears. In Mickey's head, she understood, this wasn't a matter of deciding between Minnie and his parents. He believed they would find a way. But Minnie knew the dark ways of the world, that a mortal life could only take so much. The time they wasted in desperate search could mean the death of the Sultan and the Sultana. How much was he going to sacrifice for Minnie's sake? He was already struggling to restrain his affections, and now the very thing that put him on this dangerous quest... somehow he believed Minnie was worth all of this. Minnie didn't believe she was.

But she believed she could try to be.

Just as Mickey's fingers touched the wooden doors, he heard Minnie say, “My Master accepts your challenge.”

Mickey's heart jumped into his throat, making him choke before he could yell, “MINNIE?!”

Daisy clapped her hands once. “Is that right?”

Minnie marched to Daisy, glaring ice and hellfire at her opponent, jabbing her finger into Daisy's chest.“That's right. And he will win, and you will tell him everything about his parents!”

“Lovely, lovely, lovely.” Daisy clapped again, not intimidated in the least. “You had me worried there for a second that I'd be bored again!”

“What are you doing?!” Mickey cried out, now at Minnie's side and trying to drag her back. “Minnie, you can't do this! Do you understand what it would mean if I lost?”

Minnie refused to back down, meeting Mickey's eyes with full confidence. “If you really think I deserve independence... then it's time I do something of my own free will! Accept the challenge, and win! Don't give her any other choice!”

“This is not a good idea,” Goofy said from the back.

Mickey stared in wonder at the girl who had so much faith in him. He still didn't want to go through with this, but how could he deny her? He had told her over and over again that this was her life, and that he was not her Master. This was one of the few times in her life she had made a choice for herself, and Mickey could not take it away from her. Denying her this right would be just as bad as telling her what to do. He inhaled deeply in an effort to stop his thumping heart. This was the kind of trial heroes went through. Putting everything on the line for the right thing – he only hoped this was the right thing. He would have to make sure he won, no matter what. He steeled himself, straightening his back. “... If you believe in me, then... then I'll do it.”

“This is absolutely not a good idea,” Goofy tried again.

“Yeah, you can do it, Mickey!” Donald pumped a fist high in the air, lightning in his eyes and in his fingertips. There was nothing his best friend couldn't do! He'd defeated dangers far scarier than this! “Take her on and don't back down! We'll be behind you all the way! We're with you!”

“We're really not,” Goofy kept trying to insist.

Encouraged by his friends – and ignoring the unusually negative captain – Mickey held his head high, facing Daisy with courage restored. “Very well... I accept your challenge, Daisy! Bring it on!”

“A good spirit to have,” Daisy commented, turning away. “Return at sundown, and the game shall be ready and waiting for you. Do try to make it as interesting as you can... I'd hate for the fun to end so soon.” With a little laugh, she left the gang of heroes, retreating to a distant doorway in the corner.

Goofy sadly walked back to Minnie, lightly patting her head. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Minnie. Hope Daisy treats you well.”

Minnie swatted his hand away. “What are you saying? My Master will win, of course!”

“Yeah, she's right!” Donald agreed, getting annoyed. “Why are you so negative all of a sudden? What makes you think Mickey can't beat her?”

“Because,” Goofy finally explained, “Daisy can read minds.”

Mickey's confidence vanished so quickly he began to forget what it felt like. Minnie's jaw hung in a most unladylike fashion, and Donald's beak seemed to collapse in of itself. Mickey's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “She can what?”

“Read minds,” Goofy repeated with a helpless shrug. “That's how she knows everything. And no one who has ever accepted her challenges has ever won... She can't be defeated. Shoot, she's not even the original owner of this place – the last owner accepted her challenge and lost. How can you win against someone who knows exactly what you'll do?”

“WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” Donald exploded, and a strike of lightning hit the roof, making everyone jump.

“You didn't ask-”

As Donald went on to throttle the captain, Minnie lightly tugged on Mickey's arms, now shaking like a leaf. “I, um... I'm sure... yes, I'm sure you can still find a way to win, Master...”

Mickey gulped. “That makes one of us.”