#thank you again to gallavichthings for hosting!

[gallawitchxx]

snowballs & sneaking out ❄ by gallawitch

↳ written for the gallavich masquerade 2023

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

rating: M word count: 2.4K additional tags: alternate universe - canon divergence, S2 if frank didn't catch them, snowballs as a way to get someone's attention, weapons

— a huge thank you to @gallavichthings for hosting this fun event! —

❄ read in full on ao3 ❄

[sisitrip]

Welp, I missed day 28 of A.U.gust 2023 (the one day I was excited to do), but life/drama/the humidity that made me enemies with my hair lol kept me from it. But, since ill editing and reading for a bit, my brain wouldn't let me do that until I posted this one. I want to thank @gallavichthings for hosting A.U.gust once again. I only got in two days, but I had fun nonetheless.

With that said, I'm offering "Will Do" with no expectations. (2,082k words)

Housekeeping:

Da: Yes (Russian)

Spasibo: Thank you (Russian)

TW: Mention of scare tactics used against a small child by our most hated sperm donor.

_______________________________

Ian pads into the dining room grappling with a helplessness he hates. 

Silent and distressed, Mickey is huddled on their bed recovering from yet another nightmare and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Nothing. 

He paces, futility ushering him to do something, anything to erase the memory of Mickey crying in his arms, scared and curling his toes hard enough to turn them white. Desperate, he’d come out to heat some milk, the only thing he could think to do and it kills him that he can’t do more. 

He takes a few angry swings in the dark, hissing “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you” with each jab. He didn’t think his hate for Terry could grow.

“Bad dreams again?”

Ian jumps when Svet seems to materialize out of the shadows of the sparsely lit kitchen. He laughingly sags into a dining room chair, hand on his chest as orange sparks prickle his vision.

“Christ, Svet. You need a bell,” he says, unsteady. “Yeah, third nightmare this month. Night sleeping is still new for him.”

He blinks a few times and the sputtering orange lights finally fade. He needs sleep. He always sees dumb stuff when he’s this tired.

“You fixing Yevvy a bottle?” he asks.

“Da. He will shit again, but we must feed the bottomless pit.” 

Ian laughs softly. Yev’s appetite was legendary, a trait Mickey was proud of. 

“I’ll go get him. I just came to warm some milk for Mick,” he says, rising.  

“Wait!” 

He stills at Svet’s sharp tone. The delicate detente they’d reached was fresh and he’s always careful not to upset that balance. 

“Did … did I do something, Svet? I know this situation isn’t, I don’t know, ideal. But, we … me and Mickey, we could stay at my place if it makes you-”

“No, that part is okay. It’s just Yevgeny. He sleeps. I thought I would move before air raid alarm,” she jokes, sounding anything but amused as she waves him back into his seat. “I heat milk for the enfant terrible too.”

Ian smiles, relieved he hasn't clumsily ruined the truce he’s fought hard for and won. He takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose against a warm electric smell he can’t quite place. Like burning metal maybe. 

“You were always sweet, Ian. Too sweet for this world you’d lived in with Mickey,” Svet says, rueful and quiet. A stove burner alights with a blue flame as she twists a knob. “But, it was that sweetness that let you accept Yev. What I didn’t know at the time was that you would come to love Yev like I did.”

Ian pauses in rubbing his sleepy eyes. Her past tense is throwing him off, making this moment weirdly surreal. Like an echo from a remembered conversation. 

He corrects her gently. “Like you do. Love Yevvy like you do. Here we say ���do” for present and “did” for past.”

“What do you say for the future?” she asks. 

“Will do.”

“Spasibo.” Svet opens the refrigerator with her back to him. “You took good care of Yev. You were a better caretaker than either of us and I failed him when he’d needed me most. But, you never did. Even when you didn’t know yourself, you made sure he was safe. I’m betting that you'll do it again when he comes looking for you.”

There it is again. The odd use of the past tense. And did her accent just drop entirely?

Despite those disturbing anomalies, Ian’s too distracted by her clothing to focus on them. She’s not dressed in the robe and nightgown she usually favors. Instead she’s wearing some sort of reflective leggings that look metallic and uncomfortable. Her shape is different too. Softer, fuller. 

“Failed Yevvy how? And what do you mean when he comes looking for me?" he asks, watching her move slowly to the stove, like her limbs couldn’t respond fast enough. 

“Nevermind that.” She sets a milk filled pot on the flames then leans carefully against the refrigerator. “I have to tell you about my Yev. You need to be there for him.” 

The dark is doing something strange to her voice. It sounds otherworldly with a slight echo or reverb that gives it a tinny sound. Like a radio playing at night in a distant neighbor's yard. He doesn't know why, but it's freaking him out.

They both jump when a bedroom door opens and they hear Mickey’s footsteps approaching. Jesus, the whole house is spooking him tonight.

“Don’t tell him I’m awake. He’ll get embarrassed,” Svet whispers, slipping to the side of the refrigerator shrouded in darkness.

Mickey pads over, naked save his socks. 

His heart aches at the sight of those socks. Tonight is the first time Mickey’s told him why he always needs socks after a nightmare. Ian couldn’t imagine waking up from sleep as a four year old with your father gibbering like a monster under your bed and grabbing your naked toes in the dark. He finally understands why Mickey prefers sleeping during the day and it breaks his heart. 

“You comin’ back to bed?” Mickey steps between his legs, squeezing his shoulders. 

Ian’s about to warn him that Svet is up, but thinks better of it. She’s seen him naked before. 

“Just warming up some milk. You want cinnamon this time?”

He pulls Mickey close by the hips and kisses his sleep warm belly. 

“Yeah. But, I’ll make it.” 

Ian presses his face into Mickey’s stomach and runs his hands up and down the back of his thighs. He's not quite over Mickey screaming awake like he did. His protective caveman had surfaced with a vengeance.

“No, baby, I got it. Go back to bed. I’ll bring it in,” he mumbles, blowing warm puffs of air into Mickey’s navel, making him chuckle. 

“Baby.” Mickey’s soft snort is affectionate as he strokes the back of Ian’s neck. “You only call me that after a nightmare.”

“That’s the only time you’ll let me.” In the dim glow of the streetlight, Mickey’s face is still marked by his dream. Vulnerable and stricken. “I could call you that when we’re in the supermarket if you want.”

Mickey sucks his teeth and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. 

“Let’s try it around here first, alright?” Mickey kisses him. Sweet, precious. “Hurry up. Hate layin’ in there without you.”

Ian lets him go after giving his hips a squeeze. 

“I’m right behind you … baby.” 

Mickey huffs a soft laugh and kisses his forehead before padding off, leaving him smiling. Yeah. He's going to call him baby everyday. 

The clink of a pot against a mug brings him back down to reality. Svet’s pouring the heated milk and he flushes. He’d forgotten about her. Mickey, like always, eclipsed everything around him. 

“You teach him to love. That’s good. Needed,” she says, pulling the cinnamon from their meager rack of spices. “Yev will need both of you to know love.”

“He’s taught me a few things too,” he says through a yawn, wanting their Mickey scented bed now more than ever.

“Da. How to be a father without actually being a father. I will be grateful for that later.”

Svet sets the mug on the dining room table and he has a mild shock. She looks … tired. There are lines in her face and her hair must be catching the light weird because it looks silver in some places. And her pajamas. They’re definitely reflective and have panels in the chest and along the arms, almost like protective plating. Crazier still, they’re pulsing with a warm orange light. He blinks hard, leaning forward to get a better look, but she steps back into the gloom of the kitchen. 

“Svet, what the hell are you wear-”

“Oh fuck, no. It’s too soon. The cycle’s started. I was supposed to have more time,” she says fast, accent completely gone as she backs up. A warm copper scent begins to suffuse the room. “Listen. Yevvy’s going to come to you, Ian. When he’s 14, he’ll find you. Take him in. Even if Mickey doesn’t want to. Take him in.”

Ian’s heart begins to trip as tiny orange lights flicker around the kitchen. They fizzle to life between him and Svetlana, only to wink out as soon as they appear and are replaced by more. The hot copper smell is strong now, overpowering.

“Svet, what are you talking about? Holy shit, are we having an electrical fire?!” Ian stands and takes a step forward as more sparks of orange light swirls around her. Despite the violence of their appearance, they make no sound. 

“Stop! Stay there! The intake will kill you,” Svet warns, backing into a dark corner. “Just take Yev in. He will have no one but you and Mickey until I’m released. Promise me!”

There’s a horde of orange lights swirling along Svet’s body now, illuminating her. What he sees takes his breath away. 

Svet’s older. At least 60. Her face is wrinkled and her hair is gray. She’s aged 40 years since yesterday and that’s impossible. 

“I agreed to do this only if I could change Yev’s trajectory and this is the moment that triggers you to remember later. We found that your hippocampal storage will retain this specific memory and I need you to hold onto it! Yev needs you to!”

The orange lights surge now, filling the kitchen with an unearthly glow and an odd warmth. Frozen, Ian watches Svetlana fight against an invisible current that seems to be pulling her inward. She speaks rapidly now, as if racing against some unknowable deadline.

“Take him in. His life changes for the better because you do. He won’t get radicalized. I will get to see him again if I survive this. Just help him Ian! Promise me you’ll do it! Say you will do-” 

She winks out into a cloud of orange sparks, leaving behind a strong smell of heated copper. 

In shock, he responds to her pleas while they still echo in this empty space.

“Will do.”

The air in the kitchen crackles in the silent aftermath and Ian can’t move, sure that what he just witnessed wasn’t real. He’s been under so much stress - living with Mickey and Svet, running out of money, dancing at the club. Add to that the coke he hadn’t told Mickey about, but had needed lately to keep moving. Maybe he needed to cut back like he told Fiona because no fucking way that happened.

“Ian.” 

Mickey’s standing in the dining room holding the steaming mug of milk. “What are you doing?” 

With a start, he turns away from the dark kitchen. It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen.

“I-I couldn’t remember if I turned off the stove,” he says, soft and uncertain. 

“Doesn’t look like it. Turn it off now, it smells a little burnt in here,” Mickey whispers. “C’mon. Let’s go back to bed before you wake Svet.”

Ian turns off the stove and follows him, slowing past Svet’s room. He peeks in and she’s sleeping on the bed holding Yevgeny. He lets out a shaky breath. He’d sleepwalked. It’s happened before. That’s all. Nothing more than that.  

“Ian, you better get in here before I finish this milk or you ain’t gettin’ any,” Mickey teases from their bedroom doorway. 

He hiccups a disjointed laugh and follows Mickey inside, shaking off the last of whatever that waking dream had been. 

In bed, he loses himself in Mickey’s body, emptying him twice, until he’s wet, gaping and emotional. Still unsettled by his waking dream, he seeks stability and an outlet for his need to fix. He finds both in every moan, gasp and soft cry Mickey gives him until he no longer feels adrift. Satiated, they curl around each other and Mickey presses his feet atop Ian’s, body relaxing with this anchor he seems to need. Ian holds him tight and falls asleep, allowing the dream of Svetlana to fade into memory.  

He won’t think about this night again. 

For exactly fourteen years, he doesn’t even have the vaguest memory of it. But, the day there’s a knock on their Westside apartment door and a blond teenager with Mickey’s eyes says his name is Yev, he instinctively lets him inside.

Later, after they decide Yev should stay, Mickey asks him to make up the couch. Ian smells warm copper before he speaks without thinking. 

“Will do.”

[rayrayor]

Thank you @gallavichthings for hosting

A.U.gust 2023, day three body swap

He was so confused. There was a vague realization of being moved to sit on the toilet . While he was exhausted there was a speck of shame. A grown man being sat to use the toilet like he was two. Worse yet needing help being cleaned.

There were soft words and warm washcloths. No clue what clean cloths were put on him . He was just begging to sleep. Back in the room. The bed hurt, his skin hurt and his brain was screaming what a failure, a burden he was. His brother helped him sit up , water almost forced down his throat. Fuck were these always so bitter and chalky. Chemicals for life .

His mind was being waterboarded and instead of choking, he wept. He wanted to sleep , looked asleep but every inner demon was replaying mistakes, real and paranoid. Mickeys face looked distorted but soft, worried. All the times he was an ass to him for no reason, but here he sat vigil with his brother .

His body felt injected with lead. He was being seared and burned by muscles and bone that refused to save themselves. Blinking was the best he could do . So this was it over and over taking him down .

His brother brushed his hair and kissed his head. “ I got you man. The spell wears off soon , you won’t have to carry this much longer. “

Mickey leaned in. “ This happened to me once, made me understand the depth and fear in this illness when unbalanced.”

Before he fell back asleep he watched his hand tremble and thought to himself. “ when we switch bodies back I swear I will never compare Ian to Monica again.”

[gallavichthings]

I posted 1,225 times in 2022

77 posts created (6%)

1,148 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ianandmickeygallavich

@gallawitchxx

@gallavichthings

@doodlevich

@suzy-queued

I tagged 1,169 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#fanfiction - 525 posts

#fanart - 291 posts

#gifsets - 224 posts

#kinktober22 - 152 posts

#gw2022 - 86 posts

#gallavich - 46 posts

#gw2022fanfiction - 41 posts

#ian x mickey - 38 posts

#shameless us - 29 posts

#graphics - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 72 characters

#feel free to send ideas just know i'll also feel free to ignore them lol

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2022

It’s a wonderful time of the year yet again! Time for another gift exchange! I’m keeping it pretty much the same as last year, since that seemed to go well. Hope to get many participants again!

Please read the rules before signing up.

General rules:

Click here to sign up. You’ll be asked for a prompt for the gift you want to receive. Please notice you will also be required to make a gift for someone else (hence the word exchange). Having a Tumblr account is not mandatory, though it does make things a bit easier.

Once sign-ups close, I’ll be making a list of all the wanted prompts for you to choose what you want. This will be done in a first-come, first-served basis (if by any chance the prompts left are somehow not possible to be completed by the authors/artists left, the people who’ve requested them might be asked to make some changes).

If by any reason you think you won’t be able to finish your gift, let me know as soon as possible so I can find someone else to finish in your place. Please know that in this case it’s possible that the gift being done for you isn’t concluded either.

One last thing: you’re allowed to send anonymous messages to the person whose prompt you’re fulfilling to ask for more information (or just to be cute :) ), as long as you don’t disclose your identity, of course. If the person doesn’t have anonymous messages enabled or isn’t on Tumblr, let me know and I’ll send them the messages on your behalf.

As always, send me any questions you might have via askbox or chat.

Minimum requirements are as follows:

Fanfiction - 1,000

Fanart - lineart

Gifset/photoset - 6 gifs/pictures

Edits/manips: 4 small images OR 2 large images OR 1 large + detailed image

Videos: 30 seconds

Fanmix: 8 songs + cover

Podfics: 1 fic

Dates:

Sign-ups close: December 3rd

Prompts will be announced: December 4th

Check-ups: December 13th and December 20th (these are just so I have an idea of how things are going, there are no minimum requirementes)

Posting: December 22nd to 28th

117 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#4

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2021 Masterpost

I wasn’t sure if I should host a gift exchange this year, figured not enough people would be interested, that it would be too much of a hassle, but fortunately I changed my mind and I’m so, so thankful to everyone who participated and helped make this such a success! Truly, you’re all amazing.

So here’s the masterpost (I apologize for the long post, but for once I didn’t want to put anyone under a read more).

Happy holidays and a happy 2022!

From @captainjowl to @thehonorarybeaumont: Laundry Day

From @thehonorarybeaumont to @captainjowl: Blue & Red

From @ms-moonlight-inn to @arrowflier: Princess Toadstool Gets a Night Tree

From @arrowflier to @ianandmickeygallavich: Merry & Bright

From @ianandmickeygallavich to @ms-moonlight-inn​: 5 Times Ian and Mickey Never Kissed Under The Mistletoe And 1 Time They Did

From @flamingbluepanda to @milkovichian: Pink + White

From @milkovichian to @sweetbee78: falling for you

From @sweetbee78 to @annatrow: Reinforcing Trust

From @annatrow to @mishervellous: Candy Canes and Weed

From @mishervellous​ to @thewesternredcedar: The Road not Taken

From @thewesternredcedar to @ravenstakeflight​: The Outsiders

From @ravenstakeflight to @imikhailo: a royal life

From @notherenj-nowherenj to @sisitrip: Who Am I, When I’m Not With You

From @sisitrip to @mrsmonaghan-blog: ...Two Marble Tags, And A Lullaby In A Steel Box

From @mrsmonaghan-blog to @filorux: Here for You

From @filorux to @marzgaperez: Mistletoe kiss fanart

From @marzgaperez to @y0itsbri: Slowly but surely

From @y0itsbri​ to @abundanceofnots​: Milkovich & Cookies

From @abundanceofnots to @squidyyy23: Two boys, one (not so) festive evening

From @squidyyy23 to @look-i-love-u: Bazooka

From @look-i-love-u to @energievie: Wrapped around your... Finger

From @energievie to @sully-999: Empty crown (my body’s missing pieces)

From @sully-999 to @doodlevich: 12 Days of Christmas

From @ms-moonlight-inn to @xgoldendays: A Change Of Plans At Tornillo-Guadalupe

From @xgoldendays to @sunoficarus: Something to hold on to

From @sunoficarus to @notherenj-nowherenj: Mutually Beneficial

See the full post

119 notes - Posted December 31, 2021

#3

Gallavich Week 2022

Hello, everyone! It’s that time of the year again! Are you all ready for Gallavich Week 2022? I’m so excited for this one! We’re doing things a bit differently this year, as you might have noticed. More details about the prompts as well as full guidelines after the Read More. Quick reminder that all kinds of work are welcome, as long as they are original. Please read the guidelines before posting.

DAYS AND PROMPTS

Day 1 (June 12) - Theme based (choose 1): Celebration (birthdays, anniversaries, festivals, holidays, random celebrations, anything goes) Trials and Tribulations (problems, big or small, it doesn’t matter; may be between them or something they face together) Day 2 (June 13) - Quote based (choose 1 - anything loosely based in one of these quotes goes): “I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.” - Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” - Rita Rudner Day 3 (June 14) - Painting based (choose 1 - again, anything loosely based in one of these paintings is enough; may be the general atmosphere of it, the situation in it or even them actually interacting with it somehow):

Stag at Sharkey’s (George Bellows)

See the full post

162 notes - Posted May 2, 2022

#2

Spring is here! (well, in the Northern Hemisphere it is) The boys are ready for some spring cleaning. Are you?

Welcome to the first ever Gallavich Spring Cleaning!

What is that, you ask? Easy! It’s a multiwork event hosted by @gallavichfanficlibrary and yours truly (with some help of @gallavichprompts​, thank you!) . That means any kind of work is accepted: fics, fanart, videos, gifs, you name it! Oh, and did I mention there are no requirements either? Drabbles and one-shots are more than welcome (my burn-out brain actually thanks you). 

The only rule for this event is: it’s got to be PG-13 - in other words, clean. (Get it? Cause of spring cleaning? *wink wink* I’m very smart). That means no mature teams, no smut, no M18, no ~lemon~. Of course swearing is allowed (I mean, it’s still Ian and Mickey we are talking about), just keep it sfw. Think of it as a reverse kinktober, if you will.

Prompts are under the Read More. You can use only one, several or all of them. Mix and match, if you want to! Repeat them, even!  They’re just your starting points! 

This event will run through the whole month of April, so you may post whenever you want. Tag me (@gallavichthings) so I can see and reblog it as soon as possible. Feel free to also tag the Library if you’re posting fics (oh, and if you can, please put your fics under read mores if they’re too long and you post them here in full, as a courtesy to those roaming the tags). 

For those using AO3, here’s the Collection for this event.

Let’s have some clean fun!

Situation prompts:

Spring cleaning.

It's the first sunny day in what feels like forever, after several weeks of bad weather and storms that have kept them spending most of the time in their apartment. 

Spring: sniffles, pollen, and tissues.

The Big Easter Egg Hunt.

The only thing Mickey knows about his soulmate is that he’s supposed to meet him in the spring.

Teenagers Ian and Mickey somehow end up spending St.Patrick’s Day together, and it’s not a date but it also kinda sorta feels like it might be? 

Spring on the Westside feels different than on the Southside.

Ian and Mickey are slowly turning their apartment into a ‘home’, bringing small touches of themselves into it.

Mickey’s always been a light sleeper who has suffered from nightmares. It’s only when they finally get their apartment sorted that he starts to sleep well and really understand what a good night's sleep can be.

The lease on the apartment is almost up. (Do they stay in the apartment? Move out? Go apartment hunting? Hire a realtor?)

One day Ian comes across an injured cat and nurses it back to health. After a few days he finds a stranger on his couch and the cat is nowhere to see. (Shapeshifting AU)

The last thing Ian expects to see in the mysterious box that Mickey brings to the dugouts is kittens. And he definitely didn’t expect that they would end up caring for them together.

5 times they visited family members + 1 time the family members visited them.

Debbie wants to make a good old Gallaghers’ style BBQ. (Everything goes wrong.)

The king sends his best knight to kill the monster that lives in the forest. Turns out, the monster is pretty charming and doesn’t actually harm anyone. 

Dialogue prompt

“Well, this is new.”

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear! Okay … it’s kind of what it looks like, but just give me a chance to explain.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“So hang on, let me get this straight.”

“Oh, good, you’re here! Hold this.”

See the full post

162 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Gallavich Kinktober 2022

Hello, everyone! Are you ready for some (dirty) fun? Here are the prompts for this year’s kinktober. There are two for each day, one situational and one dialogue. You may choose only one or use both. You can also mix and match two or more days (in which case, please post on the day for the last prompt used and do mention all the days it fits so I can tag it accordingly). Reminder that all kinds of works are accepted and there’s no need to sign up. Simply post on the assigned day (or later, that’s fine, just make sure to mention what day(s) it is for) and remember to @ me so I can reblog it (just mentioning me in the tags won’t do, I can’t always see that). Let’s get this party started!

Day 1 - sex dream X “Touch yourself for me.”

Day 2 -  dirty talk X “Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

Day 3 -  uniform / costume X “You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.”

Day 4 - thigh riding X “If you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat.”

Day 5 -  jealous / possessive sex X “I don’t care how good it feels you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

Day 6 - exhibitionism / voyeurism X “I can’t wait to be on my knees for you later.”

Day 7 -  food X “If you want to cum you’d better beg.”

Day 8 -  stripping / lap dance X “I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it.”

Day 9 - 69 X “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

Day 10 -  latex / leather X “Did I say you could stop?”

Day 11 - orgasm denial X “Open your mouth.”

Day 12 - against a wall X “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”

Day 13 -  sex tape X “I bet all our neighbors can hear you, I bet they all know what a dirty little slut you are.”

Day 14 - piercings X “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

Day 15 -  unusual sex positions X “Did you dress up just for me?”

Day 16 - massages X “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”

Day 17 - hair pulling X “Take it off. Slowly.”

Day 18 - sleepy sex X “Pull my hair!”

Day 19 - face sitting X “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.”

Day 20 - wax X “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.”

Day 21 - cum kink X “I think I like you better with a gag in your mouth.”

Day 22 - innocence X “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

Day 23 - handcuffs X “You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”

Day 24 - scent X “You take my fingers so well don’t you?”

Day 25 - biting X “I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”

Day 26 - nipple play X “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”

Day 27- vanilla / slow & soft X “Is that a thong?”

Day 28 - tattoos X “You look good all soaking wet.”

See the full post

267 notes - Posted September 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Congrats to the most reblogged ones, I guess. Myself included. 😂

Obviously the most popular posts were the event ones (especially this is mostly a reblogging blog), but the fact that the most popular by far was the Kinktober... Y'all nasty. 😝

Thanks for everything! And here's to 2023! (after the gift exchange, of course)

[mayo-in-the-morning]

What's up Mayo fans? It is officially time for episode 2 - A Beautiful Mess!

Can you believe it has been almost two months since we released episode 1?

The reception for our maiden voyage was so warm and wonderful and we loved hearing from all of you, so thank you for listening, we appreciate you all so much, and we hope that this second outing will prove just as entertaining.

We are joined this time by the delightful and multi-talented @gallawitchxx and what a treat it was to get to talk to her about her life in the fandom and all things a/b/o.

If you have anything to say or you want to get in touch, our Askbox is always open, do drop us a line! Feedback, thoughts, questions for the next episode, we love it all.

Next time we will be welcoming special guest @metalheadmickey into the mayo jar to talk about being CEO of sub!mickey and other smutty concerns, so we hope you will join us again soon!

Notes and warnings for episode 2 under the cut

Episode Warnings:

Explicit discussions of sexual content

Discussions of all aspects omegaverse fanfiction including mpreg

Reminder that alpha/beta/omega dynamics when shortened should be written including the / as without the / it is a real word that is used as a slur for aboriginal people in Australia.

Hosts:

Leigh / she/her / @thisdivorce/ vitalspark

Howl / she/her / @howlinchickhowl / howlinchickhowl

With Special Guest:

Bee / she/her / @gallawitchxx / gallawitch

Mayo In The Morning

Fandom History:

The Omegaverse fanlore page, the history section is a particularly wild ride, read with caution.

mpreg fanlore page

An explanation of why the wolf study discussed is defunct by the man who conducted it

Also, we didn't touch on it in the episode but there has been a very intense legal battle in straight published fiction over ownership of the omegaverse, and if you want to know more about that this video is a really good place to start. It's not short, but it is bonkers. Thank you to @messedwithmandy for first sharing it with me.

Also mentioned:

@gallacrafts

Kinktober hosted by @gallavichthings

@ianandmickeygallavich the queen of incredible prompts and co-creator of @gallavichprompts

@galladrabbles

Fanfictions mentioned:

show me how you do it / where I end and you begin / M8te (now with additional chapters!) all by @gallawitchxx

Roleplaying by @ianandmickeygallavich

Our favourite Omegaverse fics:

Bee

You Can’t Always Get What You Want by @chat-noir12 / drip, drip (so slick) and Half of a King both by @breedxblemickey / Hiding in Plain Sight by tehrbear

Leigh

Alpha (alpha) series @traenawrites / Beneath the Surface by @sunoficarus / My World Has Teeth by @notherenewjersey

Howl

No one wanted this (nor was it asked for) by Personalized_Radio

Fic Recs:

Bee

Ball Kings - youllneverrecme

Leigh

Can I? / The Sun Himself / You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast all by Anythingbutgrief

Howl

The Casanova Catering Conflict by horror_business

[arrowflier]

I wish you would write a fic where the gallaghers + kev & vee find out about ian's 87% comment and they all give their opinions and ask why mickey, ian's husband who's been a part of ian's life for nearly eleven years only gets 87% of his heart, if the other 13% goes towards his toxic exes and why since they're not in his life anymore, ian explaining himself and ends with ian taking the comment back so mickey has 100% of his heart

I decided this was perfect for Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It! Thanks as always to @gallavichthings for hosting💖. Also on AO3.

Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart)

It was a normal morning in the Gallagher kitchen.

That is to say, it was chaotic.

Carl and Liam sat across from each other at the narrow table, tossing dry loops of off-brand cereal at each other over Franny’s backpack, which lay open between them. The girl herself was running circles around them both in her pajamas, Debbie chasing after her with a stern face and a frilly dress held in outstretched hands.

“Come on, Franny,” she muttered impatiently as her daughter evaded her again by diving under the table, “just put on the dress!”

Mickey laughed when Franny ran to him instead, trying to hide behind his legs where he stood by the brewing coffeemaker. Ian ruined her attempt by swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around until Debbie snatched her from him, resulting in an angry shriek as Franny writhed in her hold.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in here!” Lip hissed, coming in from the living room where Tami had just gotten Fred settled in his play pen. “If you get Fred crying again, I swear I’ll fucking end you all.”

If anything, the kitchen got louder as everyone there chimed in in their own defense.

Mickey just snorted as he grabbed two mugs and got to pouring the fresh coffee. “Good luck with that,” he offered to Lip, amused. “You get one Gallagher going, you get the whole fucking pack.”

Lip glared at him, opened his mouth the say something undoubtedly scathing and most likely regarding Mickey’s place in the family, when Carl laughed and chimed in from the table.

“Funny, man, that’s what Trevor said to me and Ian at the station yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Ian, who could see the way his husband’s back immediately tensed at the familiar name, the way he gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight and poured the coffee a little too high before setting down the pot with a hard clack.

“Trevor, huh?” Mickey asked, voice deceptively mild, and Ian winced behind him.

Carl didn’t get the memo.

“Yeah, you remember him, right?” he checked. “He still works at that youth place, came in to post bail for some kid when Ian was bringing by lunch.” He shrugged, tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. “We chatted a bit,” he mumbled as he chewed.

Mickey gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white under his tattoos. “Funny,” he said quietly, “Ian didn’t think to mention that.”

Ian sighed, ignoring the eyes of his family on their quickly unfolding drama. They’d been fighting a lot lately, a lot more than they used to, and today had been shaping up to be better, damn it. Now he had to do damage control again instead of enjoying a quiet day in with his husband.

“We’ve talked about this, Mickey,” he started, a tad bit exasperated. It must have come through in his voice, because Mickey’s shoulders went up. “Trevor’s not a bad guy, and I’m not gonna avoid him if I see him around.”

Mickey released the counter to grab his coffee again, taking a long, scalding swallow. “Right,” he said finally, not looking at Ian. “Not a bad guy at all. Just wanted to leave your ass rotting in jail when you couldn’t be his poster boy anymore, that’s all.”

“Mickey…” Ian warned, but it didn’t stop him.

���Tell me, Ian,” Mickey mused, turning to face him with hard eyes. “How much of that thirteen percent belongs to him?”

Fuck. Not that again.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Debbie was the one to ask first, voice cutting through their palpable tension. She’d even stopped trying to force the dress over Franny’s head in the interim, allowing the girl to escape up the stairs unscathed. “What thirteen percent?”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that,” Lip butted in. “Said Mickey got all bent out of shape cause Ian still thinks about his exes, or something, right?”

Ian closed his eyes against the hurt in Mickey’s as his brother revealed that he knew about their squabble. Fuck his family right now, seriously.

“Not quite,” he gritted out, but when he opened his eyes again, Mickey had schooled his face back into disinterest.

“No, that’s just about it,” Mickey confirmed. “Got my nose out of joint because Ian, here,” he gestured at Ian with his mug, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed over the side, “said I only got eighty-seven percent of his heart.”

Someone whistled, low and long. Ian couldn’t tell who.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he insisted yet again. “My whole life is a fucking shrine to you, Mick. If my heart was a room, there’s be posters of you on every fucking wall.” He took a step closer, until Mickey’s mug pressed into his own chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt.

“You really can’t let the others have a little space in that room? Not even in the bottom drawer of a dresser that nobody uses anyway?”

Mickey was still, and silent. Then he spun around and slammed his mug back down on the counter, shoved past Ian, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“To clean out the goddamn drawers!”

It was quiet in Mickey’s wake, and then—

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Carl said frankly, and Liam nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Did you really say that?” Debbie asked, sounding horrified, and before Ian could answer the back door slammed open.

“Morning neighbors!” Vee greeted as she came through, Kev on her heels. She was holding something, a dish covered in foil, and a carton of juice hung from Kev’s hand.

“We brought you guys some…” Vee trailed off when no one even looked at her, noticing the tension in the room.

“Uh,” she voiced, confused, “what did we miss?”

Carl answered, still looking at Ian in disbelief. “Ian told Mickey he keeps stuff from his exes in a drawer, so Mickey’s up there looking for it.”

“Oh, that’s cold man,” Kev breathed, and Ian exhaled.

“It was a metaphor,” he muttered, and Vee heard him.

“A metaphor for what?” she asked, curious.

“For the thirteen percent of Ian’s heart that belongs to other people,” Debbie revealed, and Vee set down her dish with a clatter.

“You said that to him?” she clarified, and at Ian’s reluctant nod, shook her head and turned to Kev.

“You ever say shit like that to me,” she said firmly, “I’ll cut off thirteen percent of your dick.”

—

A few long minutes later, after he had finally escaped his family’s inquisition about the state of his relationship, Ian made his way upstairs, alone.

When he got to their bedroom, Mickey wasn’t actually going through their things. He was just sitting on their bed, back to the wall, spinning his wedding ring round and round on his finger. Next to him, balanced on their folded blanket, sat the little box with the fancy ones they used in the ceremony just so they wouldn’t have to take theirs off.

Ian’s heart beat harder. That box had been sitting safe in the bottom drawer of their shared dresser.

The one that nobody used.

“Hey,” he said softly from the doorway. Mickey didn’t look up.

“You okay?” Ian asked, and that at least got a response.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Mickey returned, eyes on his knees.

He didn’t. Not really. He looked haggard, and upset, his hair spiky where restless fingers had combed through it. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were rimmed in red.

Ian let himself into the room, sat opposite Mickey on the bed with his feet still firmly on the floor. He reached out to trace a finger over the rings in the box, and then the ring on Mickey’s finger.

Mickey let his own hand fall away when he did.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, right?” Ian asked, suddenly desperate to hear Mickey agree. He needed to know that Mickey understood, that just because he remembered his past, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dedicated to his future.

But Mickey just shrugged.

“Not a lot of ways you can mean it,” he said, and shit. Ian had really fucked up this time. “Either I have your whole heart or I don’t,” Mickey continued, “and I don’t. So,” he shrugged again, “whatever.”

Ian took a moment. A long one. He thought of Mickey’s reaction the first time he had said it, when he was mostly just teasing. The way he had been shocked to think that Ian still had fond thoughts for other men. And he thought of his family downstairs, each one more fucked up than the last, all in agreement over the severity of his error.

And to be honest, he still didn’t quite get the uproar. But maybe that was because none of them got his side, either.

“You’re right,” he began, “you don’t.”

Mickey tensed further, pulling away from him on the bed, but Ian wasn’t done.

“You have all the good bits, you know,” he continued. He went to rest a hand on Mickey’s chest, saw his stiffness, and pointed at his own instead.

“You have all four chambers,” he told him. “Atrium and ventricle. You keep my blood moving, keep it useful, keep me alive. And you have my valves,” he added, trailing a finger side to side to point to the right spots as he spoke. “Mitral and aorta, pulmonary and tricuspid.” He smiled. “You keep me going in the right direction.”

Mickey was softening, he could tell, the tension seeping from his limbs as Ian droned on. He kept going anyway.

“You have all my arteries, Mick,” he whispered. “You’re in all my veins. You said I was under your skin, once?” Ian laughed. “Well you’re under my skin, too. And in my muscles, and in my blood.”

“And the others, they’re like…” he hesitated, searched for the right words. Better words than he had used before. “They’re like cholesterol,” he settled on, “plaque. Or…like the scar tissue from a triple bypass, the parts that don’t work anymore.”

Mickey’s lips quirked, despite himself, and Ian counted it as a victory.

“You have a lot a heart surgeries, Gallagher?” he questioned softly, catching on.

Ian smile widened, and he reached out to take Mickey’s hand. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Maybe a few,” he admitted. “And maybe I’m better for it.”

He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips, held it there.

“I don’t mind the broken bits,” he told his husband. “The pieces they left behind. Because you pushed through them every time, and made me healthy again.”

Mickey fidgeted, and nudged himself off the wall to settle closer to Ian’s side.

“Alright,” he allowed, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ian asked earnestly. “Because I want you to, you know.” He dropped Mickey’s hand to hold his face instead, gently stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to know that that thirteen percent, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the parts that are you.”

"I chose you, Mickey," he murmured. He reached out blindly for the spare rings in their box on the bed, worked one free. Slipped it onto Mickey's finger without looking away from his eyes. Mickey's hand clenched around it, around Ian's hand, and held tight.

"I married you," Ian added. "Because I love you with every real part of my heart, every little bit that works."

“All eighty-seven percent?” Mickey prods with a soft expression, leaning forward until his nose brushes Ian’s.

“All eighty-seven percent,” Ian confirmed, and kissed him.

[gallavichfanficlibrary]

Jumping off the last ask about WIPs... Do you have any recs of WIPs that are abandoned/haven't been updated in a while but that are still worth a read and end on a happy/fulfilling note? I feel like there are probably a lot of fics out there from years ago that just were never finished but that are still good reads? Thank you!

Still hoping these get updated one day! ✨

Benchpressed Mickey hates the gym. He wouldn't have gone at all if it wasn't for the fact that he has a month of free trial membership. But then maybe that gorgeous weight-lifting redhead is enough to inspire Mickey to show up again. And again. And again. It ends on a very nice note, so it’s possible to read it without the “unfinished” feel!

Promised Land Six years ago, Terry Milkovich shattered Ian and Mickey's carefully constructed relationship and their close friendship with Svetlana. Then came prison - Mickey stupidly taking the fall for the Iron Eagles motorcycle club in a suspicious deal gone terribly wrong.

The Boyfriend Experience Mickey gets up the courage to hire Ian for "the boyfriend experience”. Escort service AU.

Irish Twins A Story about Ian and Lip's relationship. Sequel to 'Redheaded Stepchildren' that picks up the story from Lip's perspective. Canon up to 4x12, not in line with Season 5/6 canon. Ends in such a way it definitely feels as if it’s just not marked as done, unsure of what direction it was going to take!

Masters of Mayhem When you're from a tough neighborhood, you learn early on that you survive in one of two ways: You either fight harder or you run faster.

Friends Ian is five when Mickey moves in across the street ad his whole entire world changes in the blink of an eye. This fic follows the boys all through their lives and it’s kind of impossible to end it without killing them off, I guess? :D Worth reading!

Have Yourself a Gallavich Christmas This is the sweetest Christmas fic that was written for Gallavich Advent Calendar thing hosted by @gallavichthings. It’s following the events of Dreaming of a Shitty Apartment, but can be read as a post-prison canon divergent. It’s only unfinished cause there were 25 prompts and the author only did three :D 

I can’t marry him Over two years after 7x12, Ian panics when he thinks his boyfriend is going to propose to him.

Rapid Eye Movement Now, each night, the seemingly connecting dots tease his mind with a vivid outline of someone, colors and skin bleeding slowly into the shape, only for a huge white hole to burn through it all. It’s like film melting in a projector.

Twelve Steps Mickey Milkovich is a street rat junkie just trying to earn a buck for his next fix. But when he meets Ian Gallagher, he wonders if maybe recovery really is possible. Even for someone as far gone as him.

[gallawitchxx]

A.U.gust 2023 | DAY TWENTY-ONE – Celebrity

thanks to @gallavichthings for hosting! 🥳

You’ve seen him a thousand times before on screens, billboards, magazines at the fuckin’ check-out line. But to see him now—his fiery hair pressed to the first pillowcases you ever bought, his freckled chest rising and falling with every sleep-addled breath? 

Jesus, it makes your heart swell and your dick hard.

It doesn’t seem real. Not the chance meeting nor the night that followed. His lips had felt incredible against your skin; the press of his hips perfect against the swell of your ass.

You close your eyes, then open them again. 

He’s still there.

Just checking.

[gallawitchxx]

A.U.gust 2023 | DAY FIVE - Cyberpunk

thanks to @gallavichthings for hosting! 🥳

Ian slips past the Confederation guards, punches the code into the hidden keypad, and heads up to their hideout: the abandoned buildings that have held so much of his pain, now the only place he finds peace.

Mickey’s splayed across their makeshift bed, cleaning a Renegade weapon.

“Thought you got rid of that after the last raid.” Ian’s hot with anger. Fear.

He scoffs. “Don’t hurt to be prepared."

“I don’t want you to get caught again, Mick! You’re barely free as it is.”

Mickey puts down the gun. Eyes Ian softly. “What you and I have makes me free.”

[sisitrip]

For the @gallavichthings event A.U.gust 2023 prompt "Cyberpunk", I offer "B8ted Breath."

Thank you @gallavichthings and the people behind that tag for hosting! I don't know what this is, but whatever it does turn out to be, I had fun.

Housekeeping:

Funerarium - Funeral Home

Gravecodes - Condensed data containing video/audio of the deceased that can only be viewed in my dystopian funerarium.

Rig-mech - A terraforming machine technician who works on rigs used to make inhabitable outposts, habitable.

_____________________

Ian heads into the funerarium’s Reflection Room, a glass encased dome filled with fake flowers and a dry fountain sitting in the middle of its large space. He’s made coming here a habit after a gravecode visit. A sort of cherry on the morbid cake of his self flagellation. 

He takes a seat on the ring of the fountain and pulls out a small, collapsible metal cup and a mini carton of milk. As always, he feels dumb doing this, but it comforts him after a rough viewing.

He’s pouring the milk into the cup when a B8 CL-WS unit glides noiselessly into the room. Boxy and sitting atop soundless rubber wheels, it rolls around cleaning non-existent dust off the floor. He smiles, thinking not for the first time that this particular cleaning unit looks a little like a robotic military tank.  

“Shit,” he curses softly as he overflows his cup and it spills on the floor. The B8 immediately makes a beeline for him. He lifts his feet as the unit’s small, microfiber pad swipes through the liquid then blows heated air to dry what's left. 

He laughs knowing he must look ridiculous with his feet hanging above the floor and his dumb collapsible cup raised in an awkward toast. The unit goes on blowing warm air, unmoving. This is the longest wipe and dry he’s ever seen. He couldn’t have spilled that much. 

“Uh, I think it’s dry now,” he says. 

The B8 just continues blowing air and he can feel it sliding uncomfortably up his pant legs. Great. It’s malfunctioning.

“Area sanitized. Retract.” 

The unit doesn’t move.

“Um, retract,” he tries again, legs starting to ache in their raised position. “C’mon, retract dopey.”

Nothing. 

Ian notices the code on the unit’s exterior has been altered. An ‘A’ has been scratched over the dash between the CL and WS. Despite his irritation, he laughs. It’s probably been done before, but for some reason, seeing that silly CLAWS etched into this broken cleaning unit is what he’d needed. 

“Claws my ass, you box of junk. I should give you a kick,” he chuckles. 

“I wouldn’t do that. She's been retrofitted with a mini-flame thrower.”

The voice startles him so badly, he falls backward into the fountain, cup flying. He bounces his head off an ornate cherub and sees stars.

“Jesus fuck!” he shouts, flailing as he tries to get out of the fountain without kicking the stupid B8 unit that was now whizzing back and forth over the newly spilled mess. 

A hand braces itself on the rim of the fountain, bearing faded knuckle tattoos that spelled “FUCK.” He stares at it dizzily, fascinated by how menacing that hand looked despite its small size. 

“If you’re thinking of taking a bath in this thing, it ain’t gonna happen, Cherry.”

A man, sporting a black military cap atop longish dark locks, peers down at Ian with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen this close. The looming man’s expression was equal parts amused and irritated as he held out his other hand.

Ian takes it and lets himself be hauled to his feet to properly look at his rescuer. This man was no more than 5’7” with a small, but compact frame and not the hulking menace he thought he was. Not usually Ian’s type, but those eyes. They were something. 

He stares a little too long and the man snaps his fingers in front of his face. 

“How hard did you ring your bell, man?” 

Caught without an excuse for gazing longingly, Ian's face warms.

“That thing almost burned the hairs off my legs,” he complains, reaching down for his cup only to have the B8 snag it with a hook and toss it into a compartment on its back. “For Christ’s sake!”

The man rubs a finger across his ridiculously kissable mouth, chuckling quietly. Despite his irritation, Ian finds himself fighting an answering smile. 

“The fuck you expect a cleaning unit to do?” the man scolds. “You drop shit, it picks it up.” 

Ian rubs the small lump that’s starting to swell on the back of his head, anger flaring at the less than contrite attitude. 

“I didn’t drop a damn thing. It flew out of my hand when you ninja'd out of thin air.” He glares at the man, noting his uniform, an all black jumpsuit bearing the name of the facility. “You work for Obriad?”

“That’s what the jumpsuit says.” 

The man leans down, presses a series of buttons on the underside of the B8 and it takes off, zooming away towards a black door partially obscured by two huge, fake palms. The unit stops at the door, waiting patiently, like a dog. 

“Then you might want to take that unit out of commission until it can be repaired,” Ian suggests, drinking the milk and taking in the tattoos on the man’s other hand. He snorts. Fuck U-Up. This one's a walking, talking poet. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that B8. You spilled milk and it kept cleaning until it was dry. No use crying about it,” the man says, as if he's addressing a child. 

Angry and at a loss for words, Ian drains the milk, taking in the man’s half smile that could be flirtatious or condescending. It feels like both. He regroups.

“I'm not going to argue about a faulty B8. Just try not to have it burn the hair off anyone else’s legs.” 

He turns to walk away and is stopped by the snottiest intonation he’s ever heard. 

“Sir, yes sir. Obriad extends its sincerest apologies, Mr. ...?” 

Ian allows himself a quick grin before turning to look haughtily over his shoulder. Yeah, that smile he’d been confused about earlier? Definitely flirty.

“Gallagher. And you’re …?” 

“Devastated by your displeasure.” 

Ian laughs and that seems to please this exasperating man who continues. 

“It's Milkovich. I run operations here and rest assured, your leg hair will be safe from now on.” 

Ian gets a smile that eclipses every light in the room. Hell.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Milkovich.” 

He gives a short, weird wave, suddenly unsure of how his hands work. Neck burning, he walks quickly to the e-lifts, silently cursing his inability to ever play it cool.

“It's Mickey.” 

The softly called name reaches him at the doorway of the Reflection Room. He turns and Mickey is walking backwards toward that palm framed door, hands in his pockets. Ian considers for less than a second before offering his own name.

“Ian.”

Mickey touches the bridge of his cap and salutes him in an exaggerated farewell worthy of a sultan. Ian huffs a soft laugh and heads to the e-lift. After depressing his thumb to the location pad, it opens. 

He spends the quick descent and vertical shifts to his transport thinking about how Mickey seemed less like a funerarium operations director and more like a rig-mech. Gruff and teasing, his demeanor was better suited for that kind of rough outpost work. Ian should know. He'd bedded more than a few of them. 

The transport calculates the best route home and it's only halfway there that he realizes he's left his cup. He tells himself that he has to remember to ask Mickey for it on his next visit. It was everyone's duty to keep waste to a minimum, right? Retrieving a perfectly usable cup was the responsible thing to do. Honor demands it.

He looks at his reflection in the impenetrable plexishield of the window and the smile he wears is unique if for no other reason than it's a first on many levels. 

It's the first time he's smiled in months. The first time he's smiled in this stupid transport he'd inherited from Monica. 

More importantly, it's the first time he's ever smiled after a gravecode viewing. 

He stares unseeing at the dry, rundown landscape of the approaching outpost and can't decide if this development is a good thing or cause for concern.

He shrugs. It doesn't matter. It feels good and that’s so rare for him, he savors it. 

Maybe finding something to smile about in a funerarium is sacrilege. Maybe it’s not.

Whatever it is, he’ll be back next month if only to see those blue eyes again.

[arrowflier]

oh my god your xmen au!! i've just recently thought about them having powers and ian should def be a healer ❤️

it's so good, i'd love for you to continue or like... do another mutant au (same setting but later? im not picky haha)

as always, your writing is truly amazing!

Yeeesss thank you thank you thank you. I've been wanting to so bad but I'm already neglecting all my WIPs so I needed this excuse.

For everyone else, original here. I'm also tagging this for A.U.gust (hosted by the amazing @gallavichthings) because their professions are inspired by prompts 7 and 19.

---

Ian was crouched over a client, hands flat on a wrinkled and twisted back, when Mickey fell through the door.

Ian stiffened, and not just because his gift was working on the man stretched out on the table in front of him. Mickey attempted to straighten himself on the coat rack by the door, but only succeeded in knocking it over, hands slick with blood.

Not his own, by the looks of it, and that was the only reason Ian kept working.

“What’s that racket?” his client croaked, trying to lift his head, but Ian pressed harder and pushed his gift deeper into the man’s muscles, forcing his neck to relax.

Ian winced as his own neck tensed further, but forced his head straight so he could watch as Mickey stumbled through the room before finally collapsing onto a chair. His head was down, but Ian could see faint streaks of red at his hairline, glistening in his dark hair when he ran a shaky hand through it. The spikes on his shoulders, exposed by a tear in his black shirt, lay flat and weak and similarly wet against his pale skin.

Ian swallowed hard, and removed his hands from the body in front of him.

“You’re done,” Ian rasped, waiting for the usual weariness and weakness to fade. He rubbed his eyes with a hand that felt more gnarled than it was, and grimaced. His eyelids felt like sandpaper.

“That’s it?” his client asked. They weren’t one of his usuals, just someone that heard about him from a friend. Ian tried to accept new clients where he could, especially those that found him by word of mouth—there wasn’t much else he could do in the way of advertising without a license or registration for his unorthodox mutation.

“That’s it,” Ian confirmed, and tapped the edge of the table impatiently, waiting for the man to get up and leave. He should be perfectly capable of that sort of movement for at least a few days, if he didn’t do anything too stupid with his newfound physical freedom.

“I heard you offer…other services,” the old man said slyly, twisting to look at Ian as he sat up and swung his legs toward the floor. “For a price, of course,” he added, smiling like he knew something.

Clearly, he did not.

“No anymore,” Ian answered shortly. “And never for patrons of your type.”

“Of my type?” the man repeated, voice now rising with suppressed anger. “And what does that mean, you mutant scum?”

“Means he don’t like wrinkly old man balls no more,” Mickey called out from across the room, and Ian had never been so grateful to hear his rough voice, despite what it was saying.

“It doesn’t,” he assured his client. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

“No need to explain, boy,” his client stated—probably ex-client now, and Ian should really feel worse about watching him leave.

Instead, he held his breath until the door slammed behind that narrow, weak back, and then immediately darted over to throw the bolt.

Room secured, Ian took a moment to breathe, in and out, as the last of the other man’s fatigue finally left him.

“You gonna stand there all night?” Mickey asked, somewhat quieter, behind him. “Or are you gonna come patch me up, doc?”

Ian turned to see Mickey struggling to rise from his seat, and was there in a few long strides to push him down again with a firm hand on his shoulder. Mickey hissed as Ian rubbed his spikes the wrong way, but let himself be secured.

Without thinking about it, Ian stroked his hand down, following those dangerous barbs along the length of Mickey’s bare arm. He wasn’t worried about them; he had seen firsthand the danger they could do, throughout the years, but never had Mickey harmed him.

Well, at least not without reason.

And he had clearly come to Ian for a different reason, this time. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and in that time Mickey had apparently found someone new to piss off, judging by the blood on his spikes. Someone that didn’t already know all his tricks.

“You have to stop doing this,” Ian said accusingly, gesturing at Mickey in general, and the other man snorted, then winced when it opened a cut on his face.

“Define ‘this’,” he challenged, and Ian shrugged.

“Picking fights, I guess,” he answered. “I know you have that new gig at the bar, security or whatever—”

“Bodyguard, doc, it’s a little more impressive—”

“But you don’t always have to jump straight to violence.”

“Why” Mickey asked, quirking a bleeding eyebrow. “I’m paid to be a badass, Gallagher, and you always fix me up just fine.”

Ian shook his head, eyes scanning for the worst of Mickey’s injuries. Thankfully, they were few—a slowly seeping gash at his hairline, the source of the blood about to drip into his blue eyes; an oddly bent finger; a patch of quills at the base of his neck that looked nearly torn out, like someone had gotten hold before Mickey flexed them.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Ian insisted absently, trailing his fingers from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck, to his face, heedless of the red trail they left on pale skin.

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, bending his head obediently when Ian pushed it back for better light. “The principle is that you like havin’ an excuse to get your hands on me.”

“Could get my hands on you anyway,” Ian mused, digging his fingers roughly into Mickey’s hair as if to prove a point.

Mickey hissed, but smirked through it.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned lightly. “Think I'm that easy, huh?”

“Know you’re that easy,” Ian murmured, leaning in closer than he strictly needed to to finish surveying the damage.

Mickey blinked, eyes only inches away from Ian’s own.

“Get those healin’ hands on me then,” he breathed, and Ian didn’t bother to point out that they already were.

Instead, he moved one hand over the scratch on Mickey’s scalp, one hand to the damaged quills on his neck, and his mouth to Mickey’s bottom lip.

And he reached inside himself for his power, and pushed.

They both gasped, deepening the sudden kiss almost by accident as Ian’s power coursed through them, between them. Mickey’s cuts started to heal even as they opened on Ian’s skin, quills bristling and growing strong again as tiny pinpricks of red showed on Ian’s own neck.

Let go of her, Ian heard in his mind, Mickey’s voice ordering some creep to release the girl he was trying to carry from the club.

I’m just gettin her home, man

Thin fingers reach for Mickey’s jacket, Ian’s jacket, their jacket. Grasp the hem, tug faintly, fall again on a limp arm.

I don’t fuckin’ think so

Pain in his fists, then pain on his back as someone else joins the fight, someone Ian can’t see. Sharp fingernails in his hair, on his neck, gripping, twisting.

A flare. Quills puffing from their sleek layer against warm skin, finding their target. The slippery wet feeling of blood on his shoulders, wetting them down again.

Okay, it’s okay now as frail hands grasp at him again to stand straight. Come on, it’s okay.

Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s wounds as the last ones finally closed. He ignored the wetness in his eyes, the wetness on Mickey’s face, pretended they were blood and not tears.

“You did good,” he whispered against Mickey’s searching lips. “So good, Mickey.”

“Shut up, doc,” Mickey murmured back. “Give me something different to feel good about.”

So Ian did.

He kissed him again. Bit his lip, licked it clean. Ran a finger over the indentation, felt the bite on his own mouth as he soothed it. He scratched at Mickey’s back, didn’t recall when it was bared, felt hot lines down his own and couldn’t tell if they came from Mickey’s dirty hands or his own neatly trimmed nails.

It was always like this, when it happened. A feedback loop, not knowing where he stopped and Mickey began as they hurt and healed and hurt again. Hurt in good ways rather than bad, ways they had been hurting and helping each other since they were just children in a schoolyard chasing bullies. Ian lost himself in it, lost himself in Mickey’s mouth and eyes and skin and his own touches upon it, a constant blooming sensation deep in the reserves of his power.

He wondered what it felt like for Mickey, but then he didn’t have to. He never had to. He could feel that too: the tug of quills pushed the wrong way, the press of them into skin at both point and base, the prickling sensation when they settled, flared, settled again within sensitive skin and muscle.

But they never stabbed on purpose. They never hurt more than he could take; than they could take. And as he let Mickey stand, let him walk Ian back toward the bedroom on newly strengthened legs, Ian embraced all the feelings it invoked in the both of them.

Tomorrow, Mickey would most likely leave again, possibly even before breakfast. He would go back to his job, the one Ian didn’t like, and work and live and thrive until he needed Ian again.

It would feel worse, that separation, if Ian couldn’t feel the truth in every movement they made against each other in the night.

Mickey didn’t need Ian to fix him up; he never had. He had been doing fine on his own long before they met.

No, Mickey didn’t come to Ian because he liked to pick fights. He picked fights because he liked to come to Ian, and for now, that was enough.