#pls reblog and give ur takes on howl's big brain prompts!

[unbridgeabledistances]

rori my sweet! I saw your post about perchance writing some little drabbles, so I am come to give you a nudge. Maybe you could write a little something about some way they tease each other. Or perhaps how they make up after an argument? Do either of them have any phobias? Maybe tells us about a way in which they're a team. Or if you'd prefer some single word prompts a la galladrabbles, how about:

Silky

Monster

Dance

Inconvenient

Blooming

I hope at least one of these sparks something for you! But if not, then I'm just saying hey 👋🏻🖤😘

HOWL MY LOVE😭​😭​😭

thank u for answering my call and GRACING ME with your amazing beautiful big brain!!!! your one-word drabble prompts really got my brain whirring and i wrote these little (sort of connected?) guys one after the other🥺​ the theme is sad mickey lolol

monster

it said something that he had never been afraid of a monster under his bed. the monster was already too real, too alive, breathing the hot stench of liquor into his face.

in moments like those, mickey would close his eyes— he couldn’t shut the doors to his room that swung open from both sides, he couldn’t let out the air building in his lungs and shout back.

so when gallagher shows up at the door, hair mussed and eyes wide, while the monster is sleeping on the couch and his snores are rattling the den— mickey’s heart catches in his throat.

i’ll never get to have this.

inconvenient

“i’m just saying, it’s kind of inconvenient that we can only fuck in the freezer.”

mickey let out a panicked exhale, but he tried to turn it into a scoff before ian noticed. typical, naive fucking gallagher.

“you want us to go to my place, then? or you want to fuck at your place with your seventeen fucking siblings? ain’t happening either way, man.”

ian just gave a crooked smile. “we could go to the old baseball field. get a change of scenery, celebrate your freedom from juvie.”

mickey rolled his eyes to mask whatever was blooming in his chest. “yeah, whatever.”

blooming

when mickey thought of home while he was locked up, it was almost ironic how much he didn’t miss the milkovich house, his creaking bedframe with the sagging mattress. he didn’t think of the neighborhood, really, either— not the front yard littered with beer cans, the tufts of dead grass.

he hadn’t really been anywhere else— nowhere west, nowhere south.

he just couldn’t stop thinking about lips drifting over warm, freckled skin glowing in the sun.

he’d escape. he’d go to fucking mexico. 

he’d go somewhere where things could bloom.

dance

he has a husband, and he’s dancing. 

maybe his brain is fuzzy with one too many beers, but both of those facts feel entirely too ridiculous for mickey to wrap his head around. how the fuck did he get here— arms stretching up ian’s back, staring down at their overly shiny tux shoes, ian’s untied tie bumping against mickey’s shoulder.

a thumb on the back of his neck— gentle, there. he doesn’t remember a time they’d ever held each other this close, where other people could see. there were years in the freezer, in alleyways, hiding in the shadows while terry was locked up.

mickey tugs himself closer.

silky

it was ian’s idea— to get away for the weekend, to do it over, preferably without terry blasting the glass of the hotel windows.

mickey woke with the sunrise, like that morning years ago. it’s warm, next to ian— it always has been. maybe it’s the thick, synthetic silk of the sheets on the heart-shaped bed, holding in all the heat.

or maybe it’s just his husband radiating sunlight, breathing out pure warmth that sticks to mickey’s skin.

birthday parties with pink frosted cakes. barbeques. weekend anniversary trips. milkoviches really didn’t do that shit.

after years of being a gallagher, he’d almost gotten used to it.