#sometimes i need to throw tantrums about this stuff i gotta be loud about stuff i gotta yell

[doctorwhoisadhd]

idk if im gonna make it through this episode tonight

[ifbrd]

Episode Commentary for Wordgirl “Showdown at the Secret Spaceship Hideout”

As requested by an anon, I’m going to do an Episode Commentary (that’s what I’m gonna call them, they need a name so I know what to title the post and have people know what the heck it is) of the WordGirl episode “Showdown at the Secret Spaceship Hideout”

I’m going to apologize in advance for the number of times I say “also” “can we just take a moment to appreciate” “I love that...”  and “Me”

Look at Two Brains Drawings! <3

Me as a villain

This is something I love about this show; they have realistic conversations. This is absolutely a slip-up someone would make if they were having an off day. I make stupid mistakes like this all day every day XD This honestly isn’t my favorite example of this, but it’s a good one none-the-less.

Let’s just take a moment to appreciate this very important image of Huggy doing what he does best and rarely gets to do anymore since coming to Earth.

Hey! Wait a minute! 

Well Dr. Two Brains, clearly it works on doubled brained citizens too!

Huggy approves of this crash-land

I have nothing to say about this, it’s just a good bit of dialogue and it must have its moment to shine.

…I have got to start setting reminders for myself like this. Also, I love that she looks at her boots and nods like “yes, yes they are” as if she wasn’t the person who said that in the first place.

And thus, begins an entire episode of Huggy being annoyed and disapproving.

Okay, I’m pretty sure the line was “Change it back” but thanks for trying, I guess. Anyway, I lowkey love this brief tantrum she throws. It reminds us she’s still a kid. She’s a kid taking on adult responsibilities, and moments like this remind us that she’s not perfect, sometimes she just wants to do something for herself and she will still get upset when things go wrong.

I took this screenshot for no other reason than to prove that the line was “Change it back!”

Nothing gets past these two

Do I detect saltiness in that cheese? That was me trying to be clever. (OMG I have Word set to read stuff out loud so I can catch mistakes easier, and idk why but when it said this sentence I LOST IT) Also “often uninvited”—implying that there were a few instances where he did invite her.

LOLLYGAGGERS!!

It’s funny because it’s not the weirdest threat I’ve heard on this show.

You don’t know Wordgirl...at all...

Huggy’s annoyed, but at least he has snacks.

Me doing my homework

We all know Pretty Princess is supposed to represent WordGirl in this episode but let’s acknowledge that the horse is clearly supposed to be Huggy—disapproving of the plan, giving her annoyed looks the entire time, but ultimately doing nothing to stop her from procrastinating.

lol poor Huggy

Amazing, done-before-but-I’ll-never-get-tired-of-hearing-it joke aside, I”m convinced that Huggy already knew what procrastinate means, he just wanted her to define it so she’d realize she’s doing it.

Plan failed.

When I said Pretty Princess was me doing my homework, I meant it.

WordGirl was me watching the Gravity Falls finale. Huggy was my brother watching me watch the Gravity Falls finale.

TBH I just wanted a good shot of this room, but can we appreciate the light coming from the window? Like I feel that there’s no reason to put that much detail into the lighting and they did it anyway. Also, I want to see this window on the outside of the ship.

HE LOOKS AT THE AUDIENCE

I CANT XD

What’s the butterfly room like? Why is there a butterfly room? Why have we never seen this butterfly room because I really want to see the butterfly room!

Me when someone in my family brings home Oreos

Who wants to play spot the episodic easter egg!

This is it. this is my favorite Two Brains line.

Huggy’s been annoyed with her the entire episode because he knew this very thing could happen. He could say “I told you!” he could leap into action, but instead he’s like “I’ve got one last pretzel, just let me finish it…”

Sorry, I didn’t mean to have all this hoo-ha in the screenshot. I thought about retaking it…but you can see the things I want to point out alright so maybe later. I lowkey want to do a separate post on this. Anyway, this is clearly Huggy’s stuff, and the two things I want to point out are the framed picture of Huggy and an unknown superhero on the left, and various pictures and documents on a bulletin board to the right. I wish we had clearer pictures, I’d love to examine them more, but the framed one does certainly imply that Huggy has worked with or at least met other superheroes aside from WordGirl. I’d also really love to know what those documents are.

Villains traipsing through his ship warrants almost no reaction, but you touch his stuff and suddenly you’re messing with the devil!

I love that he’s still willing to take over her hideout just because the henchmen love it, despite the fact that they “haven’t been too helpful”

I’ve got a couple of things to say here: 1. In the second picture: Strike a pose Two Brains! 2. I gotta rant because this is honestly scary to me. He doesn’t remember writing a book. It takes him a second to realize he wrote it, and it probably was seeing his old name that triggered it. He doesn’t recognize the title. Who forgets they wrote a book?? Writing a book is a lloooooooonng process that takes months to years, it takes up a good chunk of your life, there’s no way you’d just forget it. The mouse brain has more control than we’ve realized, it's controlling his memories. That’s literally the only explanation for just blanking out on writing an entire damn book. It took me months to write a children’s book and he basically wrote an entire textbook! That’s not something you’re gonna bust out in a weekend and forget about!

Another rant! She got most of her superhero knowledge from Steven’s book. Not from Huggy like I’d always assumed. I still stand by the idea that Huggy gave her a solid foundation of training to start with, and she learned more on her own through books like these and personal wisdom and experience. But she got most of her knowledge and tactics not from her own superhero based culture, but from a book by a guy who never was (that we know of) and isn’t a superhero himself. She got more wisdom from some guy observing superheroes than her own heritage. This pretty much confirms that Steven was extremely popular in the superhero community, for him to be able to observe and probably interview for reference that many heroes to get that much knowledge.

They made a movie on his book! I wanna see this movie! It’d be like the Krusty Krab training video episode of Spongebob!

And apparently, it was better than the book..

If you listen closely, you can hear the screaming of every Steven Boxleitner fan

Okay sound started to get a little off from the captions at the end here but bear with me.

First of all, have some fabulous concentrating-Dr.-Two-Brains images! Secondly, he’s in WordGirl’s hideout, he should be on high alert, and hearing WordGirl scream “NOW HUGGY!” causes no reaction. He doesn’t even flinch.

It took several tries to get this image, but it was totally worth it!!!

Huggy is validated by The Narrator. I love when The Narrator steps in XD

And Two Brains just glaring at everyone XD

Yet again, Huggy doesn’t approve, yet doesn’t do anything about it and participates in the activity. And boy oh boy would I love to see our disembodied narrator try to play Ping-Pong!

That’s all for this episode! The next one I’m doing is Robot Monkey Showdown! I have no idea when that will be up…but I’m hoping very soon, but I gotta crop all the pictures, (or maybe I won’t? would that be a crime? It would significantly cut down on time...) then type out my comments, then put it all into tumblr.

[themurphyzone]

Part 1

My idea for NegaGosalyn in the DT17verse.

Rosie King-Fisher was named for her distinctive red hair, as it was the first thing her parents saw when she hatched out of her egg. 

They lived in a mansion in one of the nicest parts of St. Canard. 

Rosie’s parents were rich and they loved Rosie a lot. When she was five, her parents went out for a date night and they entrusted her care to the household staff for the evening. Rosie’s a sweetheart, but she knows how to up the cute factor to coerce the staff into letting her stay up past her normal bedtime.

Even so, a maid puts her foot down when it reaches 11:00 pm and tells Rosie that she needs to go bed. Rosie refuses, and the two get into an argument, and Rosie’s throwing the typical don’t-wanna-go-to-bed tantrum.

The phone rings, and a butler walks past the quarreling parties to answer it.

The maid and Rosie argue even as the butler motions for them to quiet down so he can hear the other end.

Then he drops the phone, and the maid and Rosie glance over to him, confused as to why he’s clutching the table.

“Send Rosie to bed and call an emergency staff meeting,” the butler tells the maid when she rushes over to check on him.

Rosie asks what’s going on, but the maid doesn’t reply. Rosie’s scared. She knows something’s not right as she watches the staff speak in hushed tones and hurry downstairs as fast as they could despite their sleepiness, but the maid leading her back to her room doesn’t offer an explanation. The maid hastily rushes Rosie through her bedtime routine, tucks her into bed, and leaves without giving Rosie the chance to demand a story or lullaby. 

Rosie gets out of bed, pressing her ear to the door. She doesn’t dare open it for fear of getting caught. 

“Money.” 

“Thief.” 

“Outside.” 

“Gone.” 

“Orphan.” 

The words are all jumbled and confusing and Rosie doesn’t understand how they all come together. She falls asleep on the soft carpet by her door, and that’s how the maid finds her in the morning. 

The funeral was held a few days later. The staff attended out of respect, but they would all pack their bags and find new employment eventually. None of them could take Rosie in, and she had no next of kin either. 

Rosie had to go into an orphanage. The staff put together several small photo albums that Rosie could take with her, along with a simple suitcase that contained a week’s worth of clothing and a single stuffed animal.

The adjustment was hard for Rosie, both due to the loss of her parents and because of the drastic change in lifestyle. Rosie wasn’t used to making her own bed and cleaning up after dinner. The staff always took care of those things. It was hard, and Rosie wound up pitching a fit many times in the first couple days.  

Many prospective parents came by and looked around. Sometimes they spoke to Rosie, sometimes they didn’t. But she was still reeling from her parents’ death, and often didn’t want to talk for long. They all moved on, interested in some other kid instead. 

After several disinterested parents, Rosie began watching the other kids to see how she could make herself more appealing for adoption. 

They liked politeness. They liked cuteness. They liked sweetness. 

Rosie’s fits decreased in number over the months. She began to wear pink dresses and snow white socks with the little laces on them, tying her bright red hair in pink ribbons. 

She began to ask for everything politely and sweetly, often to ridiculous extremes. The workers were slightly worried, but they were relieved they didn’t have to calm her down much anymore. 

Rosie presented herself to prospective parents, curtseying upon meeting them and answering questions politely. But it still wasn’t working. 

Then she notices all the other kids have some kind of talent. Soccer, hockey, playing doctor, doing miniature experiments with any objects they can scrounge up. 

Rosie figures she needs a talent to make herself appear even more noticeable, but it needs to be something cute. One day, the orphanage workers bring in a bunch of arts and crafts supplies along with many different socks, then allow the kids to make sock puppets. 

It’s fun for the first day, but most of the other kids lost interest in it after a while. But not Rosie. She loves covering the socks in glitter and making up voices for them. 

Soon she takes to making puppets out of spare fabric and materials, and she’s amassed a collection before long. 

Still, Rosie worries that making sock puppets talk in silly voices wouldn’t be considered cute by most prospective parents. 

Then an orphanage worker calls her into the main office one day and introduces her to a visitor. The man turns out to be a talent scout, and he’s searching for a child to provide a voice for a character in an animated movie. When he brought his idea to the orphanage staff, they immediately recommended Rosie since she spent a lot of her spare time making up stories for her puppets and acting them out. 

Rosie shows the scout her puppets, telling him their names, ages, occupation, stories she’s made up with them, etc. Impressed, the scout asks Rosie if she would like to voice act in an animated movie. 

Rosie says she’s never done that sort of thing before, but the scout shrugs it off, saying that this particular director didn’t mind if she hasn’t been trained in this sort of thing. Sure, they’ll acclimate her with the studio, give her a few lessons, but a child’s voice will bring out the raw emotion the director hopes to capture. 

Rosie slips back into Polite Mode, curtseying and saying ‘I accept your offer, sir.” 

But mostly, Rosie wants to see if there’s anyone at the studio who’ll adopt her. 

An agreement is settled on: Transportation will be provided for Rosie to bus her to and from the orphanage when she goes to the studio. As Rosie is a minor and has no relative to help her, the studio will appoint someone to manage the pay she’ll receive. 

On Rosie’s first day at the studio, she meets the director of the animated film, who introduces her to several more experienced voice actors who welcome her with open arms. It’s a little daunting, but Rosie shakes their hands anyway. She searches their faces, wondering if it was possible to get one of them to adopt her. 

The director decides to give her a grand tour of the studio to help acclimate her to the environment. They take her around in a golf cart, and Rosie thinks it’s cool, but she forces herself to remain in her seat and just smile instead of screaming about how awesome the ride was. 

If she wants one of them to adopt her, she has to be good. 

They tell her story after story, making her giggle, then there’s a sudden commotion at one of the lots. 

“CUT! WE GOTTA DIG HIM OUT!” someone shouts. 

“DON’T CUT!” a voice screams. “DARKWING DUCK ALWAYS POWERS THROUGH THE PAIN!” 

Everyone around Rosie groans and rolls their eyes. 

“Pay them no mind, Rosie,” the director says as he steers the cart toward the loud disagreement. “That’s where they film the TV show Darkwing Duck. They’re always having trouble on the set because their lead stupidly insists on doing every stunt himself. I guess we’d better help them out and make life a little easier for the saner people on their crew. You don’t mind if we make a small detour, right?” 

Rosie shakes her head, and the director brings them over to the lot. Several people are gathered around one of the actors, whose foot is pinned under a heavy appliance. 

Oddly, the actor seems more concerned about filming than getting his trapped foot out, and he’s yelling at everyone to stay out of the camera’s range. He’s dressed in a purple blazer, mask, and cape, and Rosie vaguely recalls seeing him on the only TV in the orphanage, but she’s never paid much attention to the show because liking violent TV shows wasn’t something a little girl would do (at least, some of the prospective parents she saw gave her that impression). 

The adults get out of the cart and go to assist the TV crew, telling Rosie to stay in her seat. The trapped actor scoffs at the newcomers. “Don’t you have some happy feel-good kiddy stuff to film?” he asks scathingly. 

The director rolls his eyes. “Nobody’s gonna watch you try to get yourself unstuck, Starling.” 

“Oh yes, they will,” Starling retorts. “I’m inspiring kids to get themselves out of sticky situations like this one.” He winces in pain, trying to pull his foot out, but grits his teeth and lies flat on his back, giving himself a quick breather before trying again.

Everyone rolls their eyes in frustration. 

Rosie knows she’s ignoring directions, but she gets out of the cart and cautiously approaches the adults. As she gets closer, she can tell that Starling’s foot is red and swollen, and he should probably get some medical attention because she’s pretty sure his bones are crushed too. 

Starling is the first one to spot her, and his beak scrunches up. “What is this? Another kid actor here to get ruined by some hotshot director’s grandiose dreams of the next blockbuster?” he snorts. 

“Hello, Mr. Starling, sir,” Rosie says. “My name’s Rosie King-Fisher, and this is my first day at this studio. The director and his crew have been really nice to me so far. How come you’re not letting them help you out?”

“Because Darkwing Duck doesn’t need help from anyone,” Starling scoffs. “He can get himself out of his own jams. So back off, kid.” 

“Is someone gonna have to cut off your foot?” Rosie asks. Her stomach churns at the very idea of it. “That’s what they did in this movie once. We didn’t get to see the ending because one of the orphanage workers turned it off, but a man tied a band around his leg and sawed through the entire thing to get free from the giant rock the bad guy dropped on him.”  

The adults around her make funny faces, some turning away and disguising barks of laughter as coughs. Starling didn’t seem to think it was funny though, and his face paled as his eyes flickered nervously between Rosie and his trapped foot. 

“I, uh, suppose it would be detrimental to Darkwing Duck’s duty to defeat despicable denizens,” Starling swallows. 

The appliance is finally moved off his foot, and sure enough the bones appear to be broken. Starling protests as he’s whisked off for medical attention, claiming he was still well enough to keep going. 

Meanwhile everyone else is half-amused, half-shocked that a little girl defeated Jim Starling. 

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Crossing Bridges - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Bucky | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

A/N: I haven’t managed to finish the whole story yet, unfortunately. So, this weekend, you’ll get some other great content, and then, on Monday, you’ll get chapter 4 of Crossing Bridges. And to make up for the delay, I’ll even write a short epilogue that’ll be posted on my AO3 sometime next week.

“Daddy,” Zach whines, standing on his tiptoes so he can press his face against the oven door, “how much longer?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Bucky says patiently, biting back a smile. “Same as when you asked me twenty seconds ago.”

Zach huffs, put out, and Bucky feels almost bad telling him, “And then they’ll hafta cool for half an hour after that.”

The sound that Zach makes in response to that is one of pure frustration. He glares at Bucky, betrayed, as if Bucky is somehow personally responsible for the baking time of cheesecake brownies, and flops down right there on the floor, sprawling out dramatically.

From his place at the breakfast bar—ostensibly working on a report, but clearly watching the brownie disaster unfold instead—Steve chuckles. “Like father, like son.”

“Screw you, pal,” Bucky snarks back. Before either Steve or Zach can call him out on it, he pulls out a dollar, and stuffs it into the already overflowing swear jar. “There. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Steve says, deadpan.

“Daddy,” Zach kicks at Bucky’s ankles until Bucky looks down at him, “how much longer?”

(More after the break!)

Bucky’s groan is, luckily, drowned out by Steve’s laughter. “Come on, little man,” Steve coaxes as he gets up, and swings Zach up into his arms. “Why don’t we go draw a picture for uncle Tony while we wait, huh? How’s that sound?”

Zach cheers and agrees enthusiastically, immediately all smiles again. Bucky just rolls his eyes, and sticks out his tongue when Steve smirks at him over his shoulder. He is thankful, though, because it gives him the time to finish cleaning up the kitchen, and change into a new shirt. Baking with a five-year-old always comes with casualties.

Steve comes back while Bucky’s assembling sandwiches for lunch, the brownies cooling on the counter, and snags a piece of bacon. “Zach’s putting the finishing touches on Tony’s drawing. And by that I mean glitter.”

“You’re the worst,” Bucky sighs, resigning himself to vacuuming the living room. Again. “It’s your apartment, too, I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

“It’s cute, the puppy love thing he’s got going on,” Steve says, shrugging. But then his expression turns sly, and Bucky knows whatever’s about to come out of his mouth can’t be good before Steve says, “Even cuter than your little crush.”

Bucky throws the jar of mayo at his head, confident that Steve’s going to catch it. Or heal quickly, if not. “Stop talkin’ shit.”

“No, sure,” Steve says, all casual, and sets the jar back on the bar. “No crush. Setting a picture of a friend as your phone background is completely normal. As is staring at it with a dumb, lovesick look on your face.”

“It has my kid in it, too, jackass,” Bucky snaps, pressing the top slice of bread down on the sandwich a little harder than strictly necessary. “An’ you’re the one who took it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “To make fun of Tony for sleeping with his mouth open, yeah.”

“Whatever.” Bucky knows he’s blushing, but he can for damn sure pretend he’s not. “You’re a dick anyway.”

Zach skips into the kitchen right then, of course, covered in glitter and glue, and tells Bucky sternly, “You gotta put a dollar in the jar, daddy.”

Because he really is an ass, Steve doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. As punishment, Bucky plops Zach in his lap, messy as he is, for Steve to feed. Let someone else be sticky with condiments for once. Steve shoots him a knowing look, but dutifully cuts Zach’s sandwich into the requested triangles, and makes the appropriate noises during Zach’s retelling of his morning, even though Steve was there for most of it.

Bucky picks at his own food, absently pushing it around his plate more than actually eating it. Because the thing is, Steve isn’t wrong; Bucky is completely, embarrassingly gone on Tony. He’d noticed Tony was handsome and charming when he’d moved himself and Zach into the tower, of course, and then, later, while Tony’d worked on his arm, come to learn that Tony was incredibly kind and caring under all the distracting bluster of his public personality.

He’d acknowledged that Tony fit his type perfectly, and then immediately decided to ignore that knowledge. Bucky had only recently found back to and recovered himself, at that point, and then discovered Zach, and the fact that HYDRA had screwed him over in even more ways than he’d thought. Getting his dick wet had been pretty low on his list of priorities.

But then he’d had to go to Tony for help with Zach a couple of weeks ago, when Steve’d gone MIA. He’d been reluctant, initially, to trust someone he barely knew with Zach, but also out of other options. And then Tony had turned out to be amazing with Zach, and what’s Bucky supposed to do with that?

Zach hasn’t stopped talking about Tony since, and had thrown one hell of an epic tantrum once he’d realised that his sleepover with Tony had been supposed to be a one-time thing. So Bucky, sucker for his kid that he is, had sheepishly called Tony up to ask if Tony, maybe, would be up to spending an hour or so with Zach, just doing whatever. He’d expected Tony to agree, for Zach’s sake, but not that Tony would actually be excited about the suggestion.

He had been, though, and had taken Zach for an entire afternoon, much to Zach’s delight. After that, there’d been no stopping the inevitable. Zach had started insisting on seeing Tony every other day, Tony had proclaimed that a great idea, and Bucky’d had no reason to say no.

So, now, Tony picks Zach up early from daycare once a week to spend the afternoon ‘doing science’ with him, and then Bucky goes to pick Zach up from Tony’s place in the evening, staying over for dinner more often than not. When both Bucky and Steve are out on a HYDRA related mission that doesn’t require the other Avengers, Zach stays with Tony. And most Sundays, like today, Bucky, Zach, and sometimes Steve eventually end up in Tony’s apartment, bringing baked goods, and the mountains of drawings and crafts Zach’s made for Tony since last seeing him.

It’s not fair. Bucky never really stood a chance; Stark became Tony to him, Tony became uncle Tony to Zach, and Bucky fell. Pretty fucking hard.

“Daddy,” Zach says, and, from his tone of voice, not for the first time. Realising he finally has Bucky’s attention, he starts banging his hands on the bar. “I’m finished! Can we go see Tony now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, smiling weakly. “Go wash up, then we’ll go, ‘kay?”

Only Steve’s quick reflexes save Zach from tumbling off Steve’s lap, not that Zach seems to care. He just giggles when Steve catches him by the straps of his overalls, says, “Oopsie,” and dashes away the moment his feet hit the floor.

Once he’s gone, Steve nudges Bucky’s leg with his foot. “Hey. You should tell him. This entire situation’s making you miserable.”

Bucky gets up, collects their dishes, and moves over to the dishwasher to avoid Steve’s eyes. He’s well aware that he’s being obvious, he doesn’t need Steve to point it out to him. Hell, Tony probably knows all about it, too, and is just nice enough—nicer than Steve for sure—to not rub Bucky’s face in it. “Back off, Stevie.”

Steve joins him by the sink, wearing his Disapproving Face, capital letters implied, when Bucky glances over at him. “Buck, c’mon, I’m trying to—”

“Seriously, Steve, back the fuck off,” Bucky hisses harshly, slamming a glass down on the counter.

It shatters, and they both stare at it dumbly for a long moment. Then Steve sighs, and turns away to get some paper towels while Bucky loads the unbroken dishes into the dishwasher. They clean up in tense silence after that, which is only broken when Zach runs back into the room, attaching himself to Steve’s legs.

“Are you coming, too, uncle Steve?”

“Not today, bud,” Steve says, crouching down for a hug when Zach pouts at him. “Next time, okay?”

Zach huffs. “I guess.”

“Say bye to Steve, Zach, an’ go put on your shoes, please,” Bucky instructs, putting tin foil over the brownies. “Don’t forget your drawing.”

“Bye, uncle Steve,” Zach says, and smacks a wet, loud kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He squeals when Steve peppers kisses all over his face in return, and yells triumphantly once he gets free, but returns the, “Love you,” Steve calls after him.

“You too,” Steve tells Bucky. He straightens up again so he can sling an arm around Bucky’s neck, and kisses his cheek, too. “Even when you’re being an asshole.”

Bucky elbows him in the ribs. “Swear jar.”

Steve’s known Bucky for the better part of the century, though, and can read the gesture for what it is. He hugs Bucky properly for a moment, slaps him on the ass just to be a shit, and heads out with another, “Bye, buddy!” to Zach.

Tony’s already waiting for them when they step out of the elevator into the penthouse, and immediately picks Zach up to twirl them around. Zach laughs, thrilled, and Bucky’s heart squeezes.

- Potrix | AO3

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

For life, yeah?

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 for @frank-iero-owns-my-ass! The prompt was:  Mickey coaxing Ian through a particularly depressive week, it's lasted longer than usual and Ian won't come around. Ian is secretly afraid Mickey will leave him if he keeps up his manic episodes, but he feels so helpless, as does Mickey in trying to help him. Mickey pov (general guidelines, feel free to change it, im so easy to please) So here is my interpretation and I really hope you like it :) Also a huge thank you to @gallavichthings for organising this whole thing. xx

Mickey hisses through his teeth as he runs his bloody knuckles under the stream of cold water.

“Mother fucker!”

He grits out through pursed lips and flexes his hand experimentally. It’s going to bruise like a bitch but he doesn’t think anything is broken. Thank fuck for that! Ian is going to be pissed enough without adding a hospital bill. He keeps his hand submerged for a couple more minutes and then carefully wraps it in a mostly clean towel and returns to the scene of the crime.

Yev turns away from the carnage as his Papa approaches and looks up at Mickey with large, sympathetic eyes, sucking in his lower lip.

“Ah shit.”

Mickey groans, surveying the damage for himself.

“Shit, Papa.”

Yev agrees sombrely. Mickey nods and mimics the little boy’s lip movement. Though now is not the moment for taking a photo, if anyone was there to do so, it would serve as an excellent paternity test if there was any doubt left as to who fathered Yevgeny. They are two frowning, blue-eyed peas in a South Side pod.

“Daddy is gonna be super mad.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods grimly already thinking about the sheer level of jutting chin he’s going to have to deal with for this one. He squats down beside his five year old and Yev wordlessly hands him the broken controller. Mickey runs his thumb over the cracked plastic and floppy toggle sticks. It wasn’t Ian’s remote thank God, but it’s still going to be an expense they could do without. The re-run of the K.O that caused the meltdown is still playing on the TV.

“Your hand okay?”

Yev asks, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to see the rather impressive swell of bloody knuckles his Papa is sporting.

“Hurts a bit.”

Mickey admits and glances up at the fist shaped hole in the wall. From this angle it looks even worse.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Yev agrees again and puts a comforting arm around his Papa’s shoulders. Mickey gives him a little lopsided smile and stands up, lifting Yevgeny with him and settling the boy on his hip. Yev raises his eyebrows at his Papa and flicks his gaze to the broken plasterwork.

“What are we gonna tell Daddy?”

“That I lost my shit and busted the wall I guess.”

Mickey shrugs.

“Are you gonna get a spanking?”

“Maybe, little man. Maybe.”

Mickey laughs despite himself and Yev bites his lip in consternation. He has never been spanked but has been threatened with it a couple of times and he understands the general principle of it well enough to know it is to be avoided at all costs. He looks back at the wall over Papa’s shoulder as Mickey carries him out of the room.

“We could fix it?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to fix it. But, hey, listen, you get that what I just did was really bad, right? We ain’t supposed to throw toys.”

“Or stamp on them.”

“Right.”

“Or punch things.”

“No …”

Mickey grimaces as Yev continues to tick things off on his fingers

“Or say cuss words really loud.”

“Okay...”

“Or …”

“I think you got it, little man. Good job!”

Mickey kisses his son’s forehead and stands him down in the kitchen, handing the kid a chocolate chip cookie. Yev isn’t supposed to have sugary snacks before lunch but when Mickey acts out in front of him, which doesn’t happen as often as most would expect, but more often than he likes to admit, he always feels like he needs to spoil him a little to make up for it. It’s not great for a five year old to learn new and improved tantrum techniques from his father.

“Want a bite, Papa?”

“Nah, you enjoy it, man.”

Yev smiles happily and stuffs the rest of the sticky treat into his mouth, chewing with a noisy enthusiasm, broken toys and punched walls all but forgotten.

*

Mickey is just pondering how best to patch up the wall without Ian freaking out too much when the front door slams open and his boyfriend crashes in along with a flurry of snow and cold wind, face drawn and angry.

“Daddy!”

Yev cries excitedly, immediately abandoning Mickey in favour of charging toward Ian.

“Hi Yev.”

Ian picks his son up obligingly but Mickey’s ears instantly prick at the sound of Ian’s voice. It is flat, devoid of its usual flair and light.

“Hey, you’re home early.”

Mickey ventures cautiously as Ian walks over to him, his uniform is crumpled, messy, it looks like Ian has been hunched over rather than his normal straight-backed elegance.

“Not feeling good.”

Ian looks at Mickey, glances at the hole in the wall and closes his eyes, turning his face to bury his nose in Yev’s hair.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I … ah …”

“Papa punched it.”

Yev offers. 

Ian’s eyes instantly harden.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey. What the Hell is wrong with you?”

The frustrated disappointment in Ian’s weary voice renders Mickey immediately mute and he studies his bruised knuckles intently. Ian kisses Yev’s temple and hands him over to Mickey, actively trying to avoid touching him at all.

“I need to lie down. Just leave this shit alone until I get up. I don’t want your clumsy fuckin’ patch up disturbing me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the harsh words and harsher tone but the bags under Ian’s eyes silence any retort he might try to make.

“And put the damn heating on. You spend enough on cigarettes; you can spend some money on keeping our kid warm.”

Ian gestures around the already warm house and glowers at Mickey who bites his tongue with an effort and nods.

“I’ll bring you in some lunch, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Ian stomps past and closes the bedroom door loudly behind him and Mickey lets out the breath he has been holding. Yev looks up at his father uncertainly

“Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, just tired and mad at me for the hole in the wall.”

Mickey smiles at Yev and then glances up at the closed door, a frown creasing his own brow. It has been nearly a year since Ian’s last depressive episode, and Mickey supposes it had to happen again at some point.

*

The next morning Mickey wakes up and rolls over to face the Ian shaped bundle of blankets that is beside him. He knows that Ian is awake from the pattern of his breathing and Mickey tentatively rests his hand on the outline of one strong arm.

“Good morning.”

No response.

“How you feelin’?”

Mickey inches the covers back slightly to try and get a look at his boyfriend but Ian shivers against Mickey’s palm as it is laid on his shoulder and pulls away silently.

Shit.

Mickey sits up and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping away the grains of sleep gathered in the corners.

He rolls himself out of bed and grabs his dark blue dressing gown from the back of the door. The thick, coarse towelling is a reassuring glint of normality and makes him feel a little better as his bare feet adjust to the cold kitchen floor.

He flips open the pill dispenser lid and empties the four pills Ian takes every morning into his palm, poking at each of them in turn with his forefinger, scowling. He wishes he knew which one of the little round fuckers had flunked out on Ian this time. He’d crush it, toss it down the toilet then take a shit on the pieces.

However, Mickey doesn’t know and so he carries all four back to Ian with a glass of water and focusses his attention on the task at hand.

“Hey man. Time to take your pills.”

Ian’s voice is muffled but clear enough for Mickey to make out:

“Go away.”

“I will in a minute, I promise. Just take these and I can go.”

Mickey crouches besides him and gently tugs the covers back from Ian’s face. He should have had Yevgeny stay the night. Ian is in pretty bad shape but not so bad as Mickey had feared and he almost always takes the pills when Yev offers them to him. As long as Ian is not at the very bottom of the pit of despair, he is still a pushover for the kid.

“Please, Mick ...”

“C’mon. You know I gotta see you do it.”

Mickey’s thighs are beginning to cramp from the squat and he shifts awkwardly, trying to be patient. Ian eventually uncurls a hand and Mickey slips the pills into it and then holds the back of Ian’s head, helping him sip water to get them down.

“Alright. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and leave it on the side here. You can eat it if you want to.”

Mickey stands, pressing a kiss to Ian’s cheek before drawing the covers back over his shoulder. Ian tugs them the rest of the way over his head and Mickey nods to himself. Fine.

He goes into the bathroom and whilst he releases the torrent of his morning piss, half-heartedly aiming at a stain on the back of the bowl, he tries to stem the rising panic bubbling in his chest, reciting the familiar mantras to himself.

They’ve done this before.

One of the pills is out of whack and needs to be regulated.

Ian will spend a day or two like this and then he’ll manages to move, they’ll go to the clinic and sort it.

They’ll be okay.

Ian isn’t even as bad as he sometimes gets, he can still call Mickey ‘Mick’ and he took the pills without crying, lashing out or just refusing until Mickey had to force him.

It’s all okay.

It is all going to be okay.

He texts Fiona and receives a reply that she’ll be over soon. Gallagher’s love a fuckin’ drama, he thinks wryly and then chides himself for being an asshole. The last couple of years the Gallagher clan have been pretty good about accepting Mickey and Fiona is always ready to help out when Ian hits a rough patch.

Mickey makes Ian a baloney sandwich, leaves it on the side with a glass of water, and goes out for his morning smoke.

He stands on the porch in his robe, a battered pair of tartan slippers on his bare feet, faded blue shorts and a tank top, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. A couple of kids ride by on bikes, leaving tracks in the fresh snow, and one of them flips Mickey off. He returns the gesture and they pedal away, shrieking with delighted laughter. They’ll probably tell their friends that they flipped off Mickey Milkovich and got away with it. Mickey doesn’t care. His is one of the few houses that has never had a juvenile break in, that tells him all he needs to know about his status in the community, thank you very fuckin’ much.

The sounds of South Side fill the morning air and Mickey inhales deeply, appreciating the familiarity of them. Sirens, screeching tires, the deep rumble of machinery in the distance.

He settles into the creaky old lounger that Ian dragged home from Christ knows where and tips his head back, drawing heavily on his smoke. The material is cold even through his dressing gown but he doesn’t mind that. It’s peaceful out here and if he freezes his balls off it doesn’t really matter. He won’t be using them for a little while anyway with Ian like this.

He feels like he has forgotten something but shrugs it off. Ian had his pills, he’s got food, he’s got water … Mickey snorts and shakes his head. Sometimes caring for Ian in these phases feels like having a sick old cat: Feed it, medicate it, clean up its … SHIT!

Mickey hastily stubs the cigarette out and hurries into the house. He shrugs out of his robe and pushes their bedroom door open gently.

“Ian, hey, we gotta ...”

Mickey trails off as his eyes light on the glass of water. No longer clear, it is now a dull yellow. Ian has pissed in the glass. It is full to the brim, Mickey’s gaze follows the splashes on the table, down the draw, and he knows, without looking there is going to be a big old wet patch on the floor. It’s not Ian’s fault. He knows it isn’t, but his eyebrows are still up to his hairline and his lips compress into a tight line.

Mickey rakes a hand over his face and waits in the doorway until he can be sure that his temper is under control.

“Okay. Fuck. Alright ...”

Mickey nods to himself and stalks into the bathroom grabbing a bucket, cloth and bottle of disinfectant all the while worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

As he enters the bedroom, he composes his face to neutrality. Ian is looking out from the cocoon of his blanket with flat, red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s on the carpet.”

Ian whispers miserably. Mickey shrugs and glances down dismissively as if the carpet brought it on its fucking self by being in Ian’s way.

“It doesn’t matter. Carpets shit anyway.”

Mickey gingerly tips the glass into his bucket; not bothering to try to pick it up, it is too full. He drops the cloth to the carpet and stamps onto it a few times, spraying the bedside table with disinfectant at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

Ian shakes his head hopelessly and Mickey gives him a lopsided little smile

“Meh. We’ve all been there. I once pissed in Mandy’s cereal bowl ‘cause I didn’t wanna pause a video game. Don’t worry about it.”

A tear slides down Ian’s nose but he manages to lift one trembling corner of his mouth at the anecdote as Mickey pats his cheek very softly, stroking the tip of Ian’s short sideburns with his finger. Mickey hates seeing him like this, somehow when Ian is in the grip of a deep depression it is easier, the rules and limitations become more defined. This is a weird middle ground, the pills are trying to work but they are just enough out of sync to keep Ian submerged below the waterline of his illness.

“Hey. You listening to me? It’s okay.”

“You must hate me.”

“Not in this life, Gallagher.”

The kiss Mickey places against Ian’s lips is a full stop rather than a question mark and Ian reaches up to trace the curve of Mickey’s cheekbone gratefully. There is a flash of utter clarity amongst the clouding of his vision and Ian sighs gently. He doesn’t have the energy to reassure Mickey that he is still there, he just has to trust that he already knows.

*

Fiona arrives just as Mickey is finishing the clean-up and wiping Ian’s hands with a couple of the little wipes they keep for Yev.

“Hey Sweetface.”

She murmurs and spends a few minutes speaking in a soft, sweet voice to Ian and catching him up on family gossip. He doesn’t show any signs of interest but he is acknowledging the information and that is something. Mickey loiters on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly resting on Ian’s foot. He is glad that Fiona is telling him normal shit, sometimes she can get a bit maudlin and it puts him on edge, plus he doesn’t want her making Ian feel worse. Once he is content that Ian is in safe hands, Mickey excuses himself to make coffee and when Fiona comes out of the bedroom, they sit at the table to drink it.

“What can I do to help, Mickey?”

Mickey taps the rim of his mug and sighs

“Not a whole lot for this but I was wonderin’ if you could watch him for a few hours on Thursday? If he’s not feelin’ better, you know?”

Fiona nods and sips her drink, it’s stronger than she’s used to but looking at the lines beside Mickey’s eyes, he desperately needs it strong today.

“What time?”

“Late afternoon? I gotta job to do and it’s kinda time sensitive. I’d tell the guy I can’t do it but I took the cash up front so now it feels shitty to bail on him.”

“You got a job?”

Fiona looks so happy that Mickey feels almost sorry to burst her nosy bubble

“Ah … not like … uh … it’s just a beat down. Some guy is havin’ trouble gettin’ his daughter’s ex to fuck off and he asked me if I could help.”

Mickey can feel the blush that creeps into his cheeks and scowls defensively, although to be fair Fiona hasn’t actually said anything but it still feels a little awkward admitting how he pays the bills.

“We need the money.”

“Sure, of course.”

Fiona’s smile is a little more stretched but credit to her, she’s trying to look impartial and Mickey cocks his eyebrow at her, letting a small grin lift his own lips.

“It’s a full service in this house. I beat ‘em up and Ian gets the call to go fix ‘em up.”

Fiona gives a surprised snort and her smile relaxes into a much more genuine grin.

“Fuckin’ Milkovichs.”

“Fuckin’ Gallaghers.”

Mickey counters as they touch coffee cups lightly and Fiona hands Mickey a cigarette. It isn’t exactly a friendship, but it’s close. Fiona respects that Mickey stands by Ian during his periods of illness and Mickey respects that Fiona shows up when he asks her. He suspects that the old superiority complex is still there deep down, but she treats him evenly and the whole family is great with Yevgeny, so fuck it. Sometimes you gotta accept the wins where you find them.

“Are you guys gonna be OK?”

“We’ll be fine. Tomorrow or Thursday, he’ll pick up and we’ll get to the clinic. Just a balance issue with the meds.”

Mickey’s tone doesn’t leave room for any disagreement so Fiona just nods and glances around the sparsely decorated little house. She likes how easy it is to pick out who chose what. The bright coloured cereal bowls, army paraphernalia and colourful movie posters are Ian to the life, whilst the solid, dark wood coffee table and Jack Daniels posters are very obviously Mickey. She glances at the no-nonsense black cup in her hands: Mickey.

“What happened to the wall?”

Fiona frowns at the gaping hole in the wall beside the TV and Mickey shrugs

“Milkovich temper tantrum.”

He hedges and to his joint relief and horror, Fiona gives him a sympathetic look and sighs

“Yev did that? Jesus. Trust me, the tantrums they have at five are nothing compared to the meltdowns of a pissed off eight year old. Carl once cracked a car wind-shield.”

Mickey makes a non-committal noise and buries his nose in his mug.

*

The next few of days pass in a really fucking monotonous blur for Mickey. Ian is either asleep, crying or angry. It is a low dip but it’s not the sort where he can’t function at all.

He can still demand that Mickey go out and get him some coke to help his mood, then throw a plate of food across the room when he is refused.

He can still recognise that he’s being difficult and sob his guilt and remorse into Mickey’s chest before pushing him away again.

Mickey just replaces the thrown food, refuses to get anything stronger than a joint, and strokes him back to sleep when he cries. What else can he do?

It is part of the illness, part of his body and mind trying to readjust and find a way through. Mickey knows all this, Ian’s doctor has explained it and Mickey has seen it several times. It can be hurtful, sure, but Mickey has taken a lot worse from people he doesn’t like half as much as Ian, so he figures he can handle it when it occurs.

On the fourth morning, Mickey lays down beside Ian after giving him his pills and kisses from his elbow to shoulder, resting his chin on him after the final kiss.

“I love you.”

He murmurs, sweeping a length of slightly greasy hair back behind Ian’s ear. Mickey kisses the muscular shoulder again and feels his body begin to stir. He shifts his hips back, not wanting Ian to feel the bulge in his pants. It isn’t anything Mickey can control, being near Ian is enough to get him going, no matter the circumstances, but Ian doesn’t need that kind of attention right now.

They watch a couple of shows and Mickey reads while Ian sleeps. It isn’t difficult exactly but it is boring as Hell.

When Fiona comes to relieve him of Ian watch for a couple of hours, Mickey is actually a little excited to get out of the house and work out some of his tensions and frustrations on some little punk who needs to learn when to back off.

He drives over to his clients place and parks a block over in case it goes to shit and the cops show up. This part of town is worse even than where he and Ian grew up and a few suspicious looking dudes glance appraisingly in his direction before clearly thinking better of it and going back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

One guy follows Mickey a couple hundred yards and Mickey toys with the idea of using him for practice, it’s been a while since he had a proper fight but it all seems a bit too much like hard work and although he’s glad to be out, he is worrying about Ian and his head isn’t really in the game.

The guy begins to move in on Mickey and with an impatient grunt, Mickey pulls his butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket and begins to flick it to and fro, flashing the blade with a familiar deadly grace, the metal making little ‘snicking’ sounds as it flits between his fingers.

The guy disappears down a side street and Mickey knocks on his clients door without further incident.

“Oh shit! Mickey, hey!”

“Hey Joe. You ready?”

“Oh man, listen, Ariel got back with the little prick last week, I meant to call you ...”

Mickey raises his eyebrows in irritation

“I already spent that money, Joe.”

Joe, a retired boxer and occasional bouncer flinches back at the frustrated look on the younger man’s face. He hasn’t seen the youngest Milkovich boy for a while but he seems pretty fired up and Joe knows from experience that underestimating his temper is a fool’s errand, it’s why he hired him in the first place.

“Keep it, she’ll break up with him soon and I’ll call you. OK?”

Mickey is bitterly disappointed but nods curtly.

“Alright man. Take it easy.”

“You too, Mickey.”

Mickey pauses to light a cigarette on the doorstep and hears a bolt slid discreetly into place. That cheers him up a little, he likes it when big guys feel a bit uncertain of him and Joe is a really big guy. Mickey supposes its professional pride but it is nice to know that your work is so respected that people want to make sure you don’t turn it around on them.

He considers chasing down one of the smack-head assholes who wanted to go with him earlier but decides against it. It would be just his luck to get arrested and Fiona might be okay with Ian for a few hours but Mickey doesn’t trust her (or anyone else for that matter) to see Ian through the rest of this shitty thing if he ends up doing a couple weeks inside. He’s never been away from Ian before during a depressive episode and fuck knows what would happen if Mickey got sent down right when Ian needed him most. Nothing good, that is for sure. Mickey flares his nostrils, chucks the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and heads toward his home.

*

“How is he?”

He asks as soon as he gets in and Fiona grimaces

“Mean. You know how it can go. I tried to feed him but he wouldn’t eat. He’s watching YouTube videos in bed.”

Looking up at Mickey she does a double take and scowls

“Jesus. You look deranged. What happened?”

“Nothin’ job got cancelled.”

He answers tersely and then gestures to his bedroom.

“The videos are good, right? He’s engaging with the world around him and all that. It’s a good thing.”

Mickey repeats, frowning at Fiona.

“Yeah of course but, Mickey, he’s being kind of a prick and you look strung out … you want me to stick around?”

“Why? In case I flip out and beat the shit out of him?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Fiona is just tall enough to tower over him slightly and unlike Joe, she has no fucking fear. Mickey pushes a hand through his hair and shrugs against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m not gonna do that. Thanks for hanging out and all but I got it.”

He won’t outright tell Ian’s family to leave unless he has to but it’s a close call and Fiona seems to understand this as she begins to gather her coat and scarf without comment.

“How much longer can you do this, Mickey?”

“Long as it takes.”

“He might need ...”

“Whatever it is he needs, I can give him. This is his home.”

Fiona gives Mickey a sympathetic look and he shifts his eyes, not wanting to meet her concerned gaze. She’s never tried to force him to take Ian to hospital, but she has suggested it before and Mickey desperately hopes she’ll leave it alone now. He doesn’t have the patience today. Fiona clearly thinks this too as she shrugs and says

“If you need me, just call.”

“Yeah thanks.”

Mickey nods and waits with his arms folded whilst she says goodbye to Ian. He expects her to just leave but she pauses beside him and gives his cheek a tiny kiss too.

“See you Mickey.”

“Uh… yeah, you too.”

His words don’t make sense but then neither does the kiss so Mickey doesn’t worry about it too much.

 *

Time passes. Ian’s mood doesn’t improve and neither does Mickey’s. 

It has been eight days since Ian came home in a foul mood and went to bed.

Eight days and the hole is still in the wall, the controller hasn’t been replaced, the laundry isn’t piling up because neither of them are changing their damn clothes but the dishes are high in the sink and Mickey forgot to do Yev’s assignment with him so Svet has pitched a fit over text. Things are falling apart gradually and all Mickey wants is for Ian to eat something and have a wash.

He looks down at the cracked plate and the squashed and scattered sandwich remains on the carpet. Ian had asked for the sandwich. Mickey had made the sandwich. Ian had thrown the fucker into a wall.

“Guess you didn’t fancy it, huh?”

No response. Ian doesn’t even look up from his phone.

“You want me to make you another one?”

Nothing.

“How about some chips? Give the vacuum cleaner a bit of textural variety?”

Ian glances up from the video he is watching but doesn’t answer. Mickey’s patience slips

“... or maybe I could just shove the whole fuckin’ meal deal up your ass?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian glances up from his phone and glares at his boyfriend. Mickey tongues at his upper lip, clearly aggravated. The room stinks, Ian stinks. It is the cloying smell of an unwashed body and Mickey is sick of it.

“Fine. Don’t eat but you gotta wash.”

Mickey informs him, stripping down to his own boxers ready to get Ian to the shower, his legs will be wobbly after so long in bed.

“No.”

“Ian …”

“No.”

“It’ll just take a minute …”

“You fucking deaf? I SAID NO!”

Ian roars, sliding down the mattress, dragging the blanket back over his head. Mickey’s own temper flares as  he presses his lips together tightly, raises his eyebrows and yanks the blanket away again with a sharp tug.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! Get the fuck up! You are on your fuckin’ phone watchin’ videos. You ain’t so far gone you can’t get up.”

He half crawls onto the mattress, intending to haul Ian off bodily and put him in the fuckin’ shower, even if he has to hold the fucker under himself.

“Go away, Mickey!”

The back of Ian’s hand catches Mickey just under his eye and he jerks back, startled.

“Ow! Fuck, Ian!”

Ian curls inward, turning his face into the pillow.

Mickey gets off the bed and closes the door behind him as he leaves. He isn’t built for this shit. When Yev had tantrums as a toddler he pretty much either ignored them or handed the kid over to Ian to deal with.

Ian is the one who deals with peoples shit. He’s the one who smooths stuff over and stays calm. Mickey doesn’t.

He tugs on some sweat pants and a thick sweater of Ian’s still over the back of the couch.

His cheek is stinging and Mickey’s hands are trembling from the shock of the whole damn thing. He paces around the house uncertain of whether or not to go back in. He decides against it. 

He drinks a beer and smokes three cigarettes outside on the porch, slumped down in the lounger. He shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have snatched Ian’s cover away, shouldn’t have tried to force him. So many things he shouldn’t fucking do and he does most of them anyway. 

His phone vibrates in his pants pocket and Mickey glances down at it expecting it to be Svetlana about the school project again.

Ian: I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back.

Mickey doesn’t want to go back into that room. He slips his phone back into his pocket and pretends he hasn’t seen the message. Just ten more minutes, that’s all he needs. Ten minutes to himself and then he’ll go and lie with Ian or anything else his boyfriend wants of him.

Five minutes pass and Mickey is just about to light his last smoke when the back door squeaks and Mickey looks round, one eyebrow arched in surprise. Ian is stood in boxers and vest, shivering in the cold, looking down at him in absolute misery.

“Fuck, man! Get inside!”

Mickey stumbles to his feet, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he clamps the cigarette between his lips and barrels Ian back into the house.

“I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

Ian is trembling from head to toe and Mickey grabs a blanket from the couch, throwing it around Ian’s shoulders like a cape, rubbing his arms brusquely.

“It’s okay.”

“Your eye’s all puffy … Jesus.”

Ian’s lip joins the rest of his body, quaking miserably and Mickey makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, both my eyes are puffy.”

Ian shakes his head and shakes off Mickey’s hands, reaching out and pulling his boyfriend roughly into his chest, holding him close.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay...”

“Stop saying that! I’m sick, I’m not a little kid. Stop telling me it’s okay!”

Ian orders, and he sounds so much like his usual-self Mickey doesn’t even want to argue back. He likes authoritative Ian, he likes it when Ian takes charge of situations so that Mickey doesn’t have to. One of the hardest parts about the depressive episodes for Mickey is the responsibility of it all. What Ian eats, drinks, when he takes his meds, it is all down to Mickey and he hates it. He wants Ian to be in charge of his own life.

“Fine. It’s not okay. You’re being really fuckin’ hard to handle and I sort of want to kick your ass.”

“I know.”

Ian nods his chin against the top of Mickey’s head.

“I’m glad you’re up.”

Mickey says quietly and Ian nods

“I thought you might have left me.”

“Not likely.”

Mickey smiles against Ian’s chest and then pulls back looking up at him.

“You and me are for life, Firecrotch. We’re family.”

Mickey gives Ian a serious look as he says this and the younger man nods.

“Okay.”

Ian’s eyelids start to droop again. The adrenaline that got him this far is wearing off and his legs are shaking alarmingly. Mickey takes some of his weight and begins to guide him toward the bedroom but hesitates.

“Bathroom first.”

“But ...”

“Two minutes.”

He says firmly. Ian’s eyes drift down to him and it is as though Ian sees, really sees, Mickey for the first time in days. The tiredness, the strain, the smell of them both. 

“Oh shit, Mick …”

“What? You think I look like shit? Man, I’m a fuckin’ runway model compared to you.”

Mickey smooths Ian’s greasy hair and kisses his hairy cheek. They’re both sporting the beginnings of beards and the soft rasp of stubble is so calming that Ian actually turns his cheek, pressing it closer to Mickey. The effort is exhausting but the smile it raises on his boyfriends face is worth it.

“You actually like this, huh?”

Mickey asks softly and Ian nods.

“Sexier on you now than when we were kids.”

“Alright. Well, we don’t have to shave mine but we gotta shave yours. Makes you look like a damn schnauzer. I’m gonna start the shower and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Ian feels a tear slide over his nose, and Mickey’s breath hitches as he notices it, but when he speaks, his voice is firm.

“I need you to help me, Ian. I can’t carry you.”

The amount of weight Ian has lost in the last week, this is probably not true but it has the desired effect and Ian straightens his spine determinedly.

“OK.”

“Good.”

Ian hears the water running in the bathroom, he hears Mickey’s tuneless humming, and he hears his heart pounding in his temples and knows that it beats for the man who is so desperately trying to take care of him. Ian grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and with great effort, he tugs his shirt over his head and peels out of his boxers.

It is like moving through a swamp, like his limbs have turned into thick rubber noodles that refuse to cooperate with his minds commands but he takes the few steps he needs to reach the bathroom door and pushes it open.

Mickey is leaning over the bath, his sweater sleeves pushed up, testing the temperature of the water raining down. His ass is jutting out in a sweet, round bubble against the soft fabric of the sweats. Ian feels nothing at all and the realisation stops him cold.

Then Mickey turns and he is smiling that wide, generous smile that is only for Ian, all white teeth and creased eyes, his nose scrunching just the tiniest bit and Ian manages another step forward.

*

Two weeks later

*

Mickey wakes to the smell of coffee and waffles. He blinks, frowns, squints against the small stream of sunlight that has found a chink in the curtains and is falling stubbornly over Mickey’s face. It takes him a few seconds to process the smells in conjunction with a small, warm weight covering his back.

He half pushes himself upright but an impatient noise stills his movements as a little hand takes a fistful of his t-shirt.

‘Yev’ Mickey thinks with a small huff. He half remembers the kid coming in during the night and squeezing in between him and Ian. He considers it a bad habit and something of a liberty but Ian doesn’t seem to mind at all so Mickey tend to just stake his claim on as much mattress as possible and ignores it.

Now, Mickey rolls over slowly until the weight dislodges with another grunt and a tiny bump on Ian’s side of the bed.

“Yeah, that’s what you get.”

Mickey mumbles as he sits on the edge of the bed and fondly smooths the frantic sweep of Yevgeny’s hair down, tucking the blanket around his sturdy little shoulders.

“Good Papa.”

Yev murmurs up at him approvingly, already slipping back toward sleep. Mickey smiles to himself and yawns widely.

Padding out of the bedroom he makes his way downstairs rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Ian is moving slowly around the kitchen, he looks tired but content. Mickey’s eyes flick toward the pill box and he notices the lid is flipped up which means Ian has remembered to take them. He’s been doing really well since the meds changed but Mickey always checks.

“Good morning.”

“Oh! Oh shit! I wanted to surprise you!”

Ian pauses mid waffle flip, a tiny frown creasing his brow

“You did.”

Mickey assures him, scratching at his beard. It’s come in a lot fuller than the last time he tried to grow one at seventeen and it’s actually pretty impressive now. Ian has tried to convince him to go for the full ‘Hipster’ look but Mickey has to draw a line somewhere and apparently, it gets drawn at a top-knot.

“How you feeling?”

“Shitty but I made breakfast and don’t feel like I need to sleep again already so I’m doing great, right?”

Ian lets his expression soften into a self-effacing smile and pours Mickey a cup of coffee.

“Damn right, you are.”

Mickey sips his drink and snakes a hand around Ian’s waist, palming him lightly.

“Not while the waffles are cooking.”

Ian’s scolds but his smile broadens when Mickey clucks his tongue in faux impatience.

“Fine but they better be damn good waffles.”

“Oh you know it. Sit your ass down and I’ll bring you some over.”

“Make sure I get the biggest one. You always give it to Yev.”

“Are you pouting?”

Ian laughs as Mickey settles into his usual spot at the head of the table and lights a cigarette

“Not yet.”

Mickey says evenly, flashing Ian a smile around the smoke. Ian serves them up, making sure to give Mickey the largest one and putting Yev’s share in the oven to keep warm. They eat in an easy silence, Ian’s foot nudging gently against his boyfriends.

“Hey, listen, I gotta patch up that hole in the wall today and I know we’re gonna take Yev home, but once we’ve done that … you wanna head down to town hall?”

“What for?”

Ian looks up from his plate and gives Mickey a sweet, wonky smile. Mickey scratches the side of his nose a little embarrassed and shrugs

“I figure now you’re out of bed, we’ll get married.”

Ian chokes on his coffee and Mickey pounds his back with a little bit of unnecessary force

“Jesus. I didn’t realise the thought of marrying me would make you wanna kill yourself by fuckin’ beverage inhalation.”

“No it’s … well, fuck! I wasn’t expecting it that’s all.”

Ian truly wasn’t. If anything he was bracing himself for a talk about maybe not being quite right for each other or something. He knows it’s stupid, that Mickey loves him and is fiercely loyal but when Ian has come out the other side of an episode, manic or depressive, he always wonders at the back of his mind if this will be the one to finally push his boyfriend away.

“Look it’s not a roses and champagne proposal it’s just … Fiona is your next of kin and fuck knows who mine is. I wanna know that if something happens it’s you and me who make the big decisions.”

Ian’s smile wavers but holds

“Did she try and get me into hospital?”

“No, but I wanna know that no one can. I make that call for you. You make it for me. Seems right.”

Mickey shrugs and looks shiftily between his coffee cup and the bright green eyes of his partner.

“So? Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Jesus Christ, Ian. Marry me! Will you marry me?”

Mickey’s eyebrows are half-way to irritated and Ian grins at him

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Asshole.”

Mickey suppresses his own grin, nudging his tongue into the corner of his mouth impatiently when Ian continues to stare at him.

“Ian, I swear if you don’t give me a fuckin’ answer, like, now…”

“Yes, Mick. I’ll marry you.”

“Today?”

Mickey prompts, blue eyes shining with happiness that he cannot quantify and doesn’t try to.

“Yes, today.”

Ian laughs, nodding and then seems to think of something else and shakes his head a little.

“Are you sure though? You really want ...”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

Mickey says sternly but tempers his tone with a soft kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Yeah but …”

“It’s you and me, Gallagher. For life.”

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Mickey flushes slightly at the unexpected praise and Ian grips the back of his head, drawing him close and kissing the tip of his nose, lips twitching with a hidden smile

“You hear me? I am lucky to have you. You are a kind, generous, good person Mickey.”

Ian holds Mickey’s gaze until he is sure the words have sunk in and then pulls him into a kiss, knowing Mickey is more comfortable with expressing himself physically than verbally and damn, does Mickey express himself well.

 Ian’s mouth is warm and welcoming and the sweet tang of syrup mingles with the taste of coffee and cigarettes. Mickey sighs into him as Ian drops his fingers questioningly into Mickey’s lap and finds the answer all too apparent.

The words “I love you” float up between them and it is not clear which voice speaks them, but it doesn’t matter. They are simply and irrevocably true.

[papytonpropaganda]

Skeleton Friend

Prompt: Undyne and Papyrus bonding (early friendship) Words: 2339 Requested by @metaltarsus!

“Sweetheart, we need to get going over to Dr. Gaster’s house now, or I’m going to be late,” Undyne’s mother urged.

Undyne reluctantly pulled on her coat as her mother locked up the house. They started walking toward the direction of Snowdin.

“I hate going over there,” the little fish monster whined. “Sans can’t ever play because of his HP problem. And he’s super weird anyway. And Dr. Gaster is always scolding me for touching his stuff.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t touch his stuff,” admonished her mother gently.

Dr. Gaster opened the door when they arrived. His smile was genuine, but stern. “Hello, Pisca. Undyne’s going to be here for the whole afternoon, is that correct?”

Undyne’s mother nodded. “It is. Have a nice day, honey. I’ll be back around six o’clock, alright?” she said, giving her daughter a kiss. Undyne promptly wiped it off and pouted. “I’m afraid she’s in a bit of a bad mood. Hopefully she won’t give you any trouble. And thanks again, G. This is a huge help.”

“Think nothing of it. Come on in, Undyne.”

After her mother had left, Undyne went into the kitchen, expecting to see Sans at the table eating something, like he usually was. “Where’s Sans?” she asked when she found the room to be empty.

“Oh, he’s been having special tutoring sessions with one of my colleagues. Turns out he’s very interested in scientific matters,” Gaster said proudly. “So I’m afraid he isn’t here right now. But his little brother Papyrus is up in the room right in front of the stairs.”

“Papyrus?”

“Oh, right—you won’t have met him. He’s been going to his own child enrichment program, but it was canceled for today. I’m sure he’d love you to play with him.”

Undyne scampered upstairs, curious as to what this little brother of Sans’ was like. The door to the room was cracked, so she pushed it open silently to see the back of a tiny little skeleton who was fiddling with something in front of him. Undyne turned back to Gaster, who was watching at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s practically a baby!” she protested indignantly. “I can’t play with a baby!”

Gaster smiled. “He’s four years old. You’re eight. That isn’t that much of an age difference. He and Sans play with each other just fine, so I’m sure you can play just fine with him too,” he told her. “He’s far more active than Sans is, he doesn’t have the same problems.”

Undyne huffed. “Okay, fine.” She trudged back up the stairs.

“Wait, wait.” Gaster followed her up. “I really ought to be there when you introduce yourself, he can get very anxious around strangers. Papyrus, could you come here, please?”

The little skeleton dropped whatever he was playing with and ran over, slowing down when he saw Undyne. Then he ducked silently behind his father’s legs.

“Come now, Papyrus, don’t be shy. This is Undyne. She plays with your brother sometimes when you’re at lessons, and today she’s going to play with you.”

Papyrus peeked out, then gestured for Gaster to lean down so he could whisper in his ear.

Gaster listened intently. “Of course she can, but you have to play with her first.”

Papyrus bounced excitedly and came out from behind his father. He shyly took Undyne’s hand.

“You two have fun now. I’ll be in the basement working on my projects. Don’t touch anything other than Papyrus’s toys.”

After he had gone, Undyne shook off Papyrus’s hand. “Hey, stinko. If we’re gonna play, then we do what I say, okay?”

Papyrus said nothing, only took her hand again and led her into his room. This totally confused Undyne; normally when she told people to do something, they just did it. But Papyrus didn’t even act like he heard her.

The little skeleton climbed up on a bed shaped like a racecar and bounced on it, smiling broadly at Undyne. She glanced over the bed and gave him a weird sort of smile back. “That’s, uh… yours, right?”

Once again, Papyrus didn’t reply. He jumped off the bed instead and ran over to a bookshelf, pulling one of the books out. He held it up close to Undyne’s face

She took it from him and read the title. “‘Peek-A-Boo with Fluffy Bunny’? What, do you want me to read to you? ‘Cause I’m not doing that.”

To her shock, Papyrus pulled her down onto the floor with a force far stronger than she would have expected from a tiny four-year-old and plopped himself down onto her lap.

“Um…” Undyne had no idea how to respond to that. “You got friendly real fast… guess I’ll have to read to you, then.”

Papyrus snuggled back into her chest and stared at the book, waiting.

The book was short and boring to Undyne—it was a very young child’s book, after all—but she could help but feel a little warm and fuzzy when she got to the end and Papyrus started clapping happily.

“Okay… what should we do now?” Undyne asked.

Papyrus stood, took her hand again, and led her over to the toy he had been playing with earlier—a twenty-five-piece puzzle with large foam pieces. Some of the pieces were stuck together wrong.

“You want me to help you with this?”

Papyrus picked up a piece and attached it to another piece that didn’t fit.

Undyne was becoming irritated with the skeleton’s constant silence. “Hey, do you ever, like, say anything?”

Papyrus said nothing.

Undyne took the puzzles pieces from him. “Come on, say something. I saw you whisper to your dad earlier. Say something simple, like… my name! Say ‘Undyne.’ Come on, say it.”

Papyrus lunged for his puzzles pieces, making a weird huffing noise when Undyne held them out of his reach. “Say ‘Undyne’ and I’ll give them back to you.”

Papyrus began to whimper. His mouth moved wordlessly, then he collapsed on the floor and covered his head with his hands, crying silently.

“Oh—oh, geez—” Undyne put the pieces down and patted his head in a panic. “I’m sorry! You don’t have to say my name! Here, here’s your pieces back!”

The skeleton sat back up, still sniffling, and began to fit the pieces in the wrong way again.

Undyne sighed. “Those pieces don’t go together. That one goes over here,” she instructed bossily, taking the piece from him again and putting it in its proper place.

Papyrus stood, his face screwed, and started stomping his feet and balling his fists in an entirely silent tantrum.

“Okay, okay! Fine! Put it where you want, I don’t care!” cried Undyne, practically throwing the piece back at him.

Immediately Papyrus was back to his normal, happy self. Undyne sat back and watched as he put the puzzle together his own way. Eventually he gathered up a few in his hands and gave them to her, pointing to where he wanted each one to go. Undyne, confused but not wanting to risk another tantrum, complied.

When they were finished, Undyne stood back, expecting a mess of colors and shapes. What she found instead was that Papyrus had arranged the puzzle pieces according to color so that they made a rainbow. “Wow,” she finally said in awe. “I didn’t know you were smart enough to do that.”

Papyrus beamed at her.

Then the distinct sounds of a stomach growling echoed throughout the room, and Papyrus clapped his hands over his belly.

“Oh, you must be hungry.” Undyne smiled. “Well, we can’t have that! Let’s go get something to eat!”

Papyrus flapped his hands excitedly.

Going down the stairs with Papyrus took a while—he insisted on holding her hand and putting both feet on each step—but eventually they were in the kitchen.

“So what do you want?” asked Undyne.

Papyrus reached under a counter and pulled out a box of pasta.

Undyne stared at the label. “Spaghetti? You want spaghetti? But that’s dinner food, and it’s only three o’clock!” she said.

The skeleton only shook the box at her.

“Okay, fine. I think I know how to do it, I’ve watched my mom make it before.” She started searching through cabinets for a pot. “Okay, I’ve got to fill this up with water,” she told Papyrus, pulling one out from under the sink. “And then it’s gotta get real hot. So you can’t touch it or you’ll get hurt.”

Papyrus just watched in fascination.

Undyne had to pull up a stool so she could reach the faucet to fill the pot. As it turned out, a pot of water was much heavier than she expected. “Put that box down and help me!” she exclaimed as her arms shook, trying to keep the pot from dropping.

Papyrus set the box down carefully and toddled over, bracing his hands on the bottom of the pot as Undyne lowered it. But it was still very heavy, and they eventually had to set it down on the floor.

Undyne wiped her forehead. “Whew! I don’t know how Mom does it. Guess we gotta rest for a minute before we put it up on the stove.” She pushed the stool over in front of the oven. Then she looked at the box of spaghetti in curiosity. “Hey, do you think the noodles would cook faster if we just put them in now?” she wondered.

Papyrus picked up the box and held it out to her questioningly.

Undyne opened the box and shook the noodles. “Do you want to put them in?”

Papyrus took the box back and put the whole thing straight into the pot.

“No, silly!” Undyne laughed. “Take the noodles out first!”

Papyrus pulled the box out of the water and turned it upside down, promptly spilling dried spaghetti all over the floor.

Undyne sighed. “Well, you got at least half the box in there… I think. It’s enough for us to eat, anyway.” She placed her hands around the handle. “Okay, ready to help again?”

The skeleton child did his best to hold up his end of the pot, but it was entirely too heavy, and he dropped it as the two monsters tried to get up on the stool. Undyne dropped her end as well, sending the pot crashing to the floor, spilling water all over Papyrus and making the kitchen tiles a mess of water and broken noodles.

“Papyrus! Are you okay?” Undyne cried, partially because she was scared of getting in trouble, and partially because she was genuinely worried about Papyrus.

Papyrus let out a loud, high-pitched laugh, the first thing Undyne had actually heard out of his mouth all day. The skeleton picked up the now-empty pot and put it over his head, his giggles echoing in the space.

The front door opened. “What’s going on in here?” Gaster demanded, striding right into the kitchen. “I heard a crash—oh.”

“Hi, Dr. Gaster,” said Undyne sheepishly. “We got hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me to get you something?” he replied angrily. “You could have gotten hurt.” He stared at his son sitting on the floor, soaking wet, still giggling underneath the pot. Gaster squatted down and lifted the pot just enough so he could see Papyrus’s eye sockets. The child laughed delightedly again and covered his father’s eyes with his hands and suddenly took them away, his own little game of peek-a-boo.

Gaster couldn’t stay angry. It was rare that Papyrus made any sound in front of strangers, but he was comfortable enough to laugh in front of Undyne—he must really be having fun with her.

“Alright, you two. Go back up to Papyrus’s room. I’ll clean up down here and then come up to help Papyrus change clothes, and then we can come back down and have some carrots. And then I think it’d be best if you played outside.”

Papyrus hopped up excitedly—he loved to play outside!

Once everyone was cleaned up and fed, Gaster led them outside and showed them where the basement door was. “I’ll be in here if you need me—I’ll keep the door open so I can hear you. But you are not to go into the woods, understand?”

Undyne nodded, and Papyrus bounced a few times on his feet.

“Good. Have fun.”

And have fun, they did. Undyne got to see just how rambunctious Papyrus could be; he bounced around everywhere, zoomed around corners, and threw snowballs that really hurt sometimes. Undyne didn’t have to be so careful around him like she had to be with Sans.

She was really having a good time.

Such a good time, in fact, that when her mother came, she was bitterly disappointed and begged to stay longer. But Pisca insisted on going home to get dinner ready.

“Thank you again, G. This was such a huge help,” Pisca said to Gaster. “And I hope Undyne was good to you,” she added to Papyrus, who was currently being held in his father’s arms.

Papyrus unhooked his legs from around Gaster’s waist and wiggled around until Gaster put him down. The little skeleton faced Undyne, glancing at her mother uncertainly before huffing and opening his mouth. “Thank you for being my friend,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly and precisely.

Undyne stared up at Gaster, who smiled.

“He doesn’t usually talk to people unless he’s comfortable around them. So count yourself lucky, Undyne. He likes you. Although that probably means he’ll talk your ear off now,” he said, rubbing his son’s skull affectionately.

Undyne laughed. “That’s okay with me, as long as he can talk about cool stuff.”

Papyrus suddenly threw himself into Undyne’s arms. Undyne, though taken aback at first, hugged him back.

Papyrus was such a weird kid, but also a really cool little dude in his own way.

And she couldn’t wait to play with him again.

As Undyne and her mother walked away, she asked, “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When can I go over again?”

[fallen029]

Remember Me: Learning

Natsu learned a lot from having a kid. Stuff that he kinda already knew, but it was just driven home for him all the more afterwards.

Like how you didn't really need sleep. Want was more the word. And just because something smells bad, like say, a certain baby, you can't just throw it out. Unfortunately.

"Lucy! The baby threw up on my scarf!"

Oh, and he learned that nothing was safe. Nothing.

The kid threw up on everything. And, later, tried to eat everything. Anything. It was horrible.

But…there were moments when it was just…so cool! Especially the longer time went on. The baby learned how to do all sorts of cool things. Like sit up on her own and roll around on the ground. And when she learned to crawl, well, gah!

It was just so cool.

"I'm pretty sure that our baby's, like, twenty times as great as all other babies, Hap."

"Aye, sir!"

He and Happy did all kinda stuff with the baby. Like they took her for walks and they taught her to talk. Never before had he been so pumped to not be out on a job. Before, those were the best moments of his life, getting to go out on all sorts of adventures and stuff.

That was before Navi though. She had to be hands down the best baby ever!

"She did it again!"

Except for when she did that.

"Natsu," Lucy would complain. "Babies spit up sometimes. It's just what they do."

"But on my scarf? Now I have to wash it!"

Lucy would only give the garment a disapproving look. "It probably needs it anyhow."

Bleh.

"You gotta stop that," he told her once, around her first birthday. He had her sitting down on his and Lucy's bed, some of her toys scattered about. "It's really icky and me and Happy don't like it much."

Happy, who was with him up there, nodded his head. "Not at all."

The baby only giggled, grinning at them as she waved her little hands in the air. "Ah!"

"You say that all the time," Natsu complained. "But then you never follow through. Gajeel and Laxus' kids don't puke on them! Not that I've asked around or anything, but, Navi, come on. Do you not like my scarf?"

He took it off then, holding it in front of her.

"Natsu," Happy warned, but he only shook his head.

"She can hold it," he said, watching as the baby reached out to grab it. She was still rather unbalanced at times though and fell back then, landing gently on the pillows behind her. Clutching the scarf in her hands, she giggled as Natsu only shifted to lay on his side next to her, smiling. "See? She- Ah, Navi! No!"

Apparently, the kid could also snot on his stuff without fear of reprimanding.

His scarf had never gone through such treatment before on a regular basis. And Lucy would only shrug, like it didn't matter.

Of course it mattered! It was all that mattered!

But what could he do? The baby sure liked the scarf. And he sure liked giving her things she liked. But she also seemed to enjoy messing things up.

A lot.

Like sometimes, he'd play blocks with her. And, being the guy who he was, he'd get real intense about his tower. Trying to build it higher and higher and-

Oh, wow, and there Navi was once again knocking it down with a devious giggle.

She was pure evil!

But…she was still his baby.

Yet another thing he learned from her was that that you had tons of hair. So if, say, a young child decided to tug strands of it out, you'd be fine. No, really.

Expect it would hurt like hell.

"Why does she only pull my hair?" Natsu complained.

"Maybe she thinks it's pretty," Lucy would always be quick to offer.

"Well, it's not, Navi," he'd tell her. "So knock it off."

But she wouldn't. And he couldn't yell at her. Not really. She was so tiny and needy and loads of fun.

And the older she got, the more she ate. Just like him! To a lesser extent.

"You shouldn't feed her so much," Lucy would scold whenever he came home with sweets for her.

"Why not?" Quite honestly, he just used her desire for food to fuel his own. "She's about the size of Happy now. Shouldn't she eat as much as him?"

"No. Definitely not."

"Hey," Happy complained. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

"No," Lucy said with a roll of her eyes. "But I am saying that a two year old shouldn't eat all the things you give her."

"C'mon, Luce. I waited a whole two years to be able to share everything with her," Natsu insisted. "First I couldn't feed her anything but milk, which, by the way, stunk. Then she could hardly chew. Now she can, but I still can't just feed her whatever? I mean, look at her. You like it, huh, Navi?"

That was another thing he learned. The kid was always on his side.

"Yes," was her answer to all of his questions. That's how come he always phrased them to where that was the correct answer. It was her favorite word, after all. "Yes!"

He used that against Lucy all the time. Like when he just got home from a job and didn't feel like doing something, he'd just use Navi.

"I can't cook dinner tonight, Luce," he'd say. "Navi likes it better when you cook. Don't you, Navi?"

"Yes!"

Or,

"Lucy, I'm training. I can't watch her. Just take her to the market with you. You'll behave, won't you, Navi?"

"Yes!"

She was pretty awesome when it came to stuff like that.

Gah! And Natsu realized just how much fun it was to teach the baby to talk. The older she got, the more words he taught her. It reminded him of Happy, who, by the way, helped out a lot.

"She's kinda like your little sister, Hap," Natsu told him once.

That didn't go over well.

"Gross," he said. "That would make you my dad."

"And what's wrong with that?"

Happy snickered then. "And then Lucy would be my mom."

"Oh, no, I agree with you now. Gross. Poor Navi."

"Poor me!"

"Trust me," Lucy told them as Happy hid behind Natsu for protection. "Lisanna can definitely take the honor as your mother, Happy."

"Why? I'm not good enough for you?"

"You just said you didn't want me anyways!"

"Sheesh. You know, I'm a lot nicer to you than you are to me."

"You are not. You say horrible things about me all the time."

"You gave my room away!"

"It wasn't your room to begin with. It was going to be Navi's from the start. That's why we moved into this place when I got pregnant. You're the one that started sleeping in there."

"You sure are a rotten stepmother."

"Shut up, you stupid cat."

Natsu only grinned at Navi though who giggled at the facing he was making.

"They argue because they love each other, huh?" He patted her on the head gently. "So don't worry none. Be more scared when they stop arguing."

Oh, no, by that point Navi was all used to their yelling. Lucy yelled a lot. From Natsu and Happy's point of view at least. Of course, it would be neglectful to not mention that it was usually their faults that she was yelling, but hey, they were messy. She knew that going in.

Natsu and Happy though, they made a lot of noise too. It was kinda problematic at the start. Natsu had to learn to tone down his excitement over things. He had a tendency to yell for no reason which, those first few months, could send Navi into hysterics. Especially if she was in the middle of a nap.

And poor Happy, he had to learn too not to blurt out, "Aye, sir!" at the top of his lungs whenever Lucy asked him to do something.

She was sensitive to noise back then.

Not anymore though. Nope. The kid made more noise than all of them at times. Especially when she was happy. She would yell and scream when Natsu tickled her or when she was riding up on his shoulders, shouting out to everything.

They were just loud people, he guessed. And it was great…when she wasn't throwing a tantrum.

Which, slowly, became the daily norm.

"My ears are precious, kid. They hear everything," he told her once as he and Happy tried to bribe her with toys and the such to calm her down. "And this isn't helping anything."

"Why does she cry though if there's nothing wrong?" Happy didn't rather like her fits either. "Maybe we should just leave quietly and go on a mission. Let Lucy deal with her."

"Luce ain't home. And we can't leave the baby by herself. Believe me, I thought about it."

Happy took off for the window then. "Maybe you can't leave her, but I can."

"Happy!"

"You're the father. Not me. I'mma go see if Carla's down at the guildhall."

"How could you, little buddy?"

"Like this," he said, jumping out of the window, wings giving him flight immediately. "Bye, Natsu. Bye, Navi."

"Sometimes he's the worst," Natsu complained, giving up on calming the little girl down and taking to just laying on his stomach. Navi was still sitting on the floor, whining loudly.

"And you're not much better right now," he grumbled to his daughter. "When are you gonna grow out of this, huh? Or at least go back to being a baby who slept all day and only cried when I had nothing important to do."

Apparently, there was no reasoning with the child. For another ten straight minutes, she practically screamed her lungs out. Honestly, Natsu was more impressed than anything else.

"You've got some roar," he complimented to no avail.

Sigh.

If Lucy got home and saw, once more, that he'd been unable to stop the baby from crying, she'd tell him once again that he wasn't ready to be left alone with her.

Which wasn't fair, by the way. The baby cried around Lucy too. So what if she was able to figure out her needs easier? Sometimes the kid didn't need anything. She just wanted to scream. Throw a fit.

How was that his fault?

As he laid there that day though, listening to her whine and waiting for Lucy to come back so that he could go track down Happy and then train, he started to get a little sleepy.

He was hoping that Navi was too, but she just wasn't letting up.

It was when he shut his eyes though and stopped responding to her that it happened.

Not immediately, but rather gradually, her cries tapered off. He was drifting away then too though and didn't notice at first.

"Daddy?" Navi was over next to him then, poking at his cheek. "Daddy?"

"Mmmm," he groaned. "You done cryin'?"

She poked at his face some more. "Nigh-nigh?"

"Naptime."

"Na-me."

"Mmmhmm."

Moving further down then, the toddler went to snuggle up against his side. Naptime.

Oh, and that was the most important thing Natsu learned. One of those ones that he didn't think he was ever missing. And maybe he wasn't, before, but since she was born, he'd come to realize it.

He never felt more whole than when she was snoozing next to him. And if she took after him in energy and gluttony, her ability to sleep the day away was high too.

Chuckling slightly as he reached down with one hand to pat her on the head, he knew there would never be another feeling like it. He'd give up everything for Navi. Even when she was annoying, she was still his favorite person in the world.

"Maybe no trainin' today," he mumbled as Navi yawned, snuggling closer. "After our nap, we can go to the park, huh? You wanna go to the park, Navi?"

"Yes," she mumbled tiredly. It was hard, throwing a tantrum for that long. "Pa'k."

"Mmmm. And we gotta find Happy. That traitor. He'd like to go to the park too, I'm sure."

"Happy."

"Mmmhmm."

"Mommy?"

Rolling onto his side, Natsu scooped her up so that she could rest closer to his face.

"She can come too. When she gets home. Not too soon though," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her head. "I hope."

Full Series on Archive