midnight with mickey

Happy March 4th!

Happy March 4th, y’all! On this day in 2005, Rose Tyler met the Doctor.

Originally posted by runnslp

To celebrate, I spent the morning introducing @sandalhat101, who’d never seen Doctor Who, to the fandom. We watched the first three episodes! It was great to go back and relive the olden days. ((One day she shall know my pain…)) I mean, what? :P

In addition, I’d like to share a bit of something I’ve been working on. It’s a JE fixit fic in which Rose was the one who was pregnant on the beach, instead of Jackie. She gives birth to a boy, who’s nearly eight years old when the stars start going out. It’s Mickey who does the dimension hopping instead of Rose, since she has a child to think of, and he finds the Doctor immediately following the events of Midnight. Mickey gives the hopper to the Doctor, who then gets recalled to Pete’s world, which is where the excerpt begins. I hope you like it!

WIP Excerpt (2531 words)

He materialized on an empty, quiet street. Actually, materialize was too kind a word for the way he burst into being, feeling physically shredded on a level to match his mental disorganization. It felt apt, in a way, allowing his physiology to go to pieces, unable to keep himself from stumbling to his knees on the pavement. Even though his superior time senses prevented him from being sick like Mickey, he took a moment, crumpled there on the stone, to just be. Here, in Rose’s universe, no entity, no companions, no TARDIS. He’d taken Rose’s instructions to never let himself be alone. She’d been right, as she usually was, but after all these years he was so tired of running. Of putting on the performance, always being all right, never letting himself feel what he felt for fear of giving into madness. Safe in the knowledge that Rose was here, somewhere, the Doctor finally allowed himself to shatter.

“Are you okay, Mister?” The quiet, cautious voice of a child broke into the miasma of his consciousness, and quite right, too. Here he was, going to pieces on a perfectly respectable suburban sidewalk, while Rose needed him. He wondered how much the child had seen – if he’d seen a man appear out of seemingly thin air and then collapse into a shuddering heap. He was being remarkably calm if so.

He let out a shaking laugh. It was easier to pull himself back together with the child’s presence at his shoulder, and he was appropriately grateful. “No. No, I’m really not all right.” There was a sort of subtle triumph in saying the words at last. He drew in great gasps of air, trying to bring himself back under control.

“Do you need a Doctor?”

He almost misses it, the subtle capitalization the child’s tone lends the term, but the next words don’t leave any room for doubt. “My dad’s a doctor, we-l-l properly speaking he’s the Doctor, but I’ve found other people who want you to call them doctor get cross when you imply there’s only one proper Doctor. Mum says the Doctor helps everyone, though, so he’d help you too, or would do if there was one in this universe. There’s so many different universes, with different versions of people, but not the Doctor, he’s a Time Lord, you see, and his ego is so big it can’t be divided up among different bits of him around different universes. That’s how Mum explained it to me, anyway.” A sniff. “As if I didn’t understand the concept of multidimensional nontransferrence.”

His mind was spinning worse than it had been when he popped out of the Void – he heard every word the child said and it all added up to perfectly rational English sentences (especially the last bit about multidimensional nontransferrence, which he thought was inspired), but at the same time it didn’t make any sense because it was impossible.


He didn’t realize he’d spoken the query aloud until the impossible voice continued, “oh, it’s all quite simple really. You see, Mum told me all the Time Lords had gone, and that they were the ones who used to keep an eye on all the different dimensions. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to infer that they must all have had to stay in one place, the prime universe, if you will, because if there were multiple versions of themselves running about keeping an eye on things separately then they would keep stepping on each other and mucking everything up. Mustn’t cross the streams and all that. I guess that’s why Mum keeps insisting we watch that one movie with the ghosts over and over.”

The unbroken stream of words faded into silence as the child seemed to become lost in thought for a moment, and the Doctor took the time to try to come to terms with what had just happened. In the space of less than twenty-four hours, he’d visited a leisure planet orbiting an Xtonic star, had his mind invaded by a malevolent mystery entity, discovered that Void travel was not only possible, but feasible, been presented with the prospect of finally being reunited with Rose after so long, and nothing, nothing, about all of it has shocked him more than being schooled in basic M-theory by a child. A child who spoke of the Doctor and Time Lords as facts. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the boy, was quite incapable of motion at all, in fact, because he’d just managed to convince himself that it all might be true but with this encounter all that hard-won certainty was slipping away.

“Hey, are you okay? Sorry, there I go again, Mum’s always saying I’ve got this gob from someone but she won’t tell me who. It does seem to have a mind of its own though, because here I am babbling on when you might need a doctor. So do you want me to get you one? A doctor that is. If you need the proper Doctor you’re out of luck, I’m afraid, because I can’t go get my… Dad?

The child put his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder and the Doctor turned his head to look at him in the same instant. A charge, like an electrostatic current but ten times more potent, jumped between them, but the Doctor barely felt it. Didn’t need to feel it. Slumped on his knees so that he was looking up into the face of this extraordinary boy, he felt his hearts lodge themselves in his throat.

He has her eyes.

That single thought knocked every other one out of his head – given the state of his mind right then, not the feat it could have been but nevertheless impressive. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d drowned in those honey chocolate eyes and there they were: staring out at him from the face of a six year old boy.

He was so drunk on the sight of those eyes it took him a moment to realize that the face they were set in had the same bone structure he saw in the mirror every day.

What.” The word was hardly a puff of air. His gaze drifted up to discover hair sticking out at all angles like his did when he’s been running his hands through it, except that it was…


“Yup!” Apparently unperturbed, the boy rocked back on his heels slightly, even popping the ‘p’ and leaving the Doctor to wonder absurdly if the tick was somehow a genetic trait or if Rose had picked it up and passed it along, because that’s the sort of thing one did when the world has been turned upside down. “Mum said she laughed herself sick when she saw, but I don’t remember, being so young at the time and all. I’m not sure what exactly is so funny about recessive alleles but apparently they’re supposed to keep me from being rude? Or at least that’s what she says when I’m being rude. Allegedly. Most of the time I think she’s just being sensitive.”

The Doctor let out a stuttered breath which was the closest he could get to laughter without bursting into tears. This had the potential to be the most fantastic thing ever to have happened in his life (well, with the exception of one or two other notable instances) and he was in absolutely no condition to properly appreciate it.

The boy next to him was practically vibrating with excitement and the Doctor could only admire his restraint in the face of his own obvious discomfort. Once his emotions were working properly again through the haze currently clouding his brain, he knew he would be harbouring quite a towering state of rage against the entity who had stolen what should have been, not just one, but two joyous meetings. Instead, he climbed unsteadily to his feet, trying his level best to keep it as much together in front of the child who could only be (he can’t believe he’s admitting it, even to himself) his son - if the nascent bond that had just tried to jump between them through four layers of clothing was anything to go by.

He wished fiercely that he could give the boy the attention he deserved, all the more so since he had apparently missed quite a large portion of his childhood (and oh, how his hearts ached at that thought,) but his miniature double didn’t seem disappointed. On the contrary, he was grinning up at the Doctor as though he personally had hung the sun and stars. The hearts that had been squeezed to nothing in his chest did awkward flip flops. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder instead, feeling again the jolt of the bond that tried to connect even so far from their telepathic centers, and looked seriously into the eyes that he so adored.

“You know… who I am, then?” he asked, unsure of how to broach such a massively emotional topic.

“'Course I do! Mum knew you’d come back someday, wanted me to know everything about you so I’d be ready when you did – or if we figured a way back first. Not one to sit around and do nothing, Mum.”

The Doctor felt a small, but genuine smile cross his face for the first time in a very long time. “No, certainly not,” he agreed.

“I mean, obviously, she was counting on being the first one to see you so she could explain… well, us,” his son said, scratching the back of his head absently, the Doctor watching his every movement in rapt fascination. “I’m making a mess of things, I know I am, but you’re not mad, are you? At Mum? For not telling you?” Somehow, the chipper, talkative genius he’d just been interacting with had vanished, leaving a boy looking very young and uncertain indeed.

The Doctor had pulled him into his arms before he was consciously aware of the action. “No. Nonononononono,” he breathed, over and over into his son’s (ginger) hair. “Never. Not ever. You are brilliant and perfect and so is your mother, and I could never be mad at either of you. Not really.” A thrill ran through him as he said the words your mother knowing they applied to his own son. His Rose.

“Dad?” the child asked, pulling away the slightest fraction necessary to look up at him, an uncertain, heartsbreakingly hopeful smile on his face, a universe of questions contained within the three-letter word. The Doctor’s own hearts attempted to occupy too little and too much space simultaneously, convulsing in a desperate emotion he’d never felt in all his 900 years.

“Yes,” he replied, pulling his son tighter, answering at least some of them. “Yeah. I’m your dad.” It was one of the hardest sentences he’d ever had to say, his voice faltering halfway through. What right did he have to claim anything of the sort, having only just dropped into his life? But the child let out a happy sob, the sound of which embedded itself into the Doctor’s chest, and clutched himself closer to his waist. Both of them were trembling as they embraced in the quiet street. The child’s hands kept clenching and unclenching in the folds of his suit jacket, under his overcoat. They stayed that way for a long time, the Doctor inhaling the scent of young boy that was somehow still unique to his son, all honey and bruised grass and wind and sunlight, until he felt like it was safe to relinquish, just a little, the death grip he’d been keeping on his sanity. It served to throw into sharp relief, however, just how tenuous that control really was, and he knew he needed to make it to Rose before he completely broke down. He bit back a curse. It wasn’t fair to the child to leave him like this, but neither was it fair to keep him on the hook for his emotional wellbeing.

“What’s your name?” the Doctor asked, all the while railing at the universe for making it necessary for him to have to ask this question of his own son.

“Oh! Uhm…” A slightly muffled cough came from the vicinity of his navel and the boy pulled back to look up into his face. “I’m called Connor.”

“Connor.” The name of his son. He savoured it in his mouth, tasting out the sounds. “It’s, oh, so very nice to finally meet you, Connor.” He could feel tears starting in his eyes, and might have lost the battle with them were it not for the sight of the same in his son’s eyes. Despite his trauma, it was somehow the easiest thing in the world to be strong for both of them. Connor’s mouth tipped up in a watery smile.

“You too, Dad. You too.”

The Doctor’s hearts stuttered in his chest, and he bent to his son’s eye level. “Is it all right if I ask where your mum is right now, Connor?”

This time his son’s grin was decidedly cheeky as he gave his father one final squeeze and let go, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “I’m impressed, Dad. It took you a whole fifteen minutes to ask about Mum. Were you shooting for some sort of record?”

The Doctor’s hands found his own pockets, his posture mirroring his son’s as he studied him. “I’m always impressive, me. Also, never predictable if I can help it. More fun that way.”

Connor sucked in a breath through his teeth, his tongue poking between them slightly. “Dad, that was where you were supposed to say that I’m just that brilliant and engrossing.”

The Doctor winced playfully, but his eyes were serious as he caught his son’s gaze. “Is that so? I guess I’m just rusty at this whole fatherhood thing.” And if that isn’t the understatement of the millennium… “You’ll have to be a bit patient with your old man, yeah?”

Connor nodded solemnly, wrapping his arms around his father again, an embrace which the Doctor returned wholeheartedly. “'Course, Dad. Always.” When he pulled back, he had a box in his hand, which he then offered to the Doctor.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously.

“It’s for Mum,” Connor replied. “It’s why I’m not with her right now. Apple tea. I bring her some every year, on the anniversary of… well…”

The Doctor looked about himself, taking in the early spring scent of the air. “Do you mean to tell me it’s the fourth of March today?”

“Got it in one, Dad. Mum said you were good.” The Doctor winked at him, and then sobered. Apple tea. Every year, the scent of apples, and Rose, alone with her memories the same way he’d been, without her. No more. He let out a long breath, holding out his free hand towards his son.

“Well then, Connor Tyler, let’s not keep your mum waiting!”

Dating Wanda Maximoff;

{ Headcanons }

-You both probably started out as bffs first 

-Whenever you did start dating, you hid it from everyone on the team for over a year

-Except for Nat

-Nat knows everything

-And Pietro knew too (because he’s very much alive and well and lives in Stark Tower with his sister who he loves very much)

-The rest of the team found out after trying to find you and you weren’t in your room

-So they asked FRIDAY where you were and she totally snitched on you and Wanda

-Clint gave you the dad talk about respecting Wanda and if you broke her heart he would break your face

-Tony then felt obligated to give Wanda the same talk on your behalf

-Wanda almost using her powers to beat up on boys who tried to hit on you 

-You actually using your fists to beat up boys who hit on her

-Going to pride together!!!! 

-And with the rest of the Avengers who go to support you two

-Hiding from the press while going out on dates by wearing crazy disguises and going to mostly underground places

-Wanda’s favorite disguise definitely being facial hair

-Especially if it looks like Tony’s

-(Tony doesn’t find it as funny as you two do)

-Pietro thirdwheels on your dates sometimes and neither of you really mind

-The press actually thinks you’re dating Pietro lmao

-They assume you and Wanda are just really good gal pals

-Trying to learn her language and saying stuff like “The cow wears green panties” instead of “I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world”

-It only makes Wanda think you’re that much cuter

-You try and teach her about American culture so you take her to McDonalds and Supersize her order

-Wanda actually LOVES it and makes you go on midnight Mickey D runs

-You and Wanda just love and support and treasure each other and it’s beautiful and wonderful 

“Mickey Mouse: Merry & Scary”  on DVD on August 29th

Invite Mickey and Donald into your home as they bring laughs and merriment to not one, but two holiday seasons!

“Mickey Mouse: Merry & Scary” is arriving on Disney DVD August 29, and you’ll want to catch their Halloween and Christmas hijinks! The DVD will feature two 22-minute hilarious holiday episodes:

The Scariest Story Ever: A Mickey Mouse Halloween Spooktacular!

For Halloween, Mickey has tricked out his house like a “tomb, sweet, tomb” and along with his pals, Donald and Goofy, plans to tell hair-raising Halloween stories! However, his attempt at being scary falls flatter than a pancake. Can Mickey conjure up a truly terrifying tale before the stroke of midnight?

Duck The Halls: A Mickey Mouse Christmas Special

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…to migrate south for the winter! But Donald wants to stay put and celebrate his first Christmas with his friends. Mickey creates the ultimate list of everything to make Donald’s first Christmas great, but before you can catch a snowflake on your tongue, Donald has turned into a shivering, sneezing duck-cicle!

The DVD will also include five 3-minute shorts:

  • Ghoul Friend
  • The Boiler Room
  • Black & White
  • Entombed
  • Split Decision
Pills & Flowers (ian x mickey fic)

milkovicked this ended up being way longer than i intended, but here you go. based on this prompt:

“ian asks mickey if he will go pick up his meds and mickey agrees and then ends up deciding that he’s gonna go all out and get ian chocolates and flowers and shit because he sees a flower stand on the way back to the house and there is flustered embarrassment when the flower person asks about his girlfriend and he has to explain who they’re for and same thing with the chocolates and obviously ian loves that mickey wanted to be spontaneous like that (i’m sorry i really want fluff okay lovey fluff)”

If anyone wants to shoot me a prompt for an ianxmickey one shot, head over to my ask box :)


“Have you taken your meds yet?” Mickey says, almost out of habitat this point, as he walks over to grab his mug of cold coffee from the kitchencounter.

“I will, I will.” Ian responds, waving him off, preoccupied with playing peek-a-boo with a delighted Yev.

“Nah, man, the doctor said you had to take them every day, come on.” Mickey reaches to open the cabinet where they kept the little orange bottles.

“Fuck the doctor.” Ian mumbles quietly, but Mickey hears it anyway, and sighs.

He walks over to the table, where Ian’s sitting, facing the squealing baby.

It’s shit. Mickey hates all of it. Mickey hates how the pills make Ian feel like he’s not self-sufficient, like he’s sick or crazy or messed up. Like he can’t take care of himself. And looking at how Ian’s staring blankly at the table right now makes him want to flush the pills down the toilet. He wants to just make Ian feel better and the most aggravating part is that he doesn’t know how to do that.

It used to be different. Ian was always clear on what he needed, on what he wanted from Mickey. It was just that Mickey was too scared, too defensive, to give it to him.

But now that Mickey’s let that all go, now that he wants to give Ian everything he can, he has no idea what it is Ian needs, and it makes him want to punch a fucking hole in the wall. Not knowing how else to communicate this to Ian, Mickey hesitantly lets a hand fall on Ian’s shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Hey, come on.” Mickey says, his voice softer now, as he sets the bottles on the table. “I know it sucks. A lot fucking sucks right now.”

Ian turns to look up at Mickey and gives him a little smile.

“Okay.” He says, simply, and starts opening his pill bottles.

“What?” Mickey stares at him, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “What, it was that fucking easy this whole time?”

Ian laughs, easily, and it actually makes the knot in Mickey’s stomach unclench a little. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass about the whole med thing. I know I have to take them; I just hate it. I hate that I have to be medicated just to feel normal.”

Mickey takes a seat next to Ian, pausing for a second to wipe some drool off of Yevgeny’s chin.

He’s about to respond—not that he knows what he’s even going to say—when Ian empties the second bottle into his open palm.

Only one red pill falls into Ian’s large, freckled hand.

“What the fuck?” Mickey exclaims and grabs the orange bottle to look at the date. He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Ian looks at him, the expression on his face somewhat amused.

“We forget to refill them again?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Mickey nods, cussing himself out inside. If Lip knew he forgot again, he’d give him that whole speech about how Ian should be staying at home “with his family” again. “I’ll just call the pharmacy, I don’t think you need to get another prescription.”

He fucking hopes Ian doesn’t need another prescription because it would take at least a week before they could get an appointment with that fucking doctor—the one who seems to have a permanent stick in his ass—and Mickey knows that after a week without his meds, Ian would not be doing well.

So Mickey leaves the room, with a kiss to the top of Yev’s head and another squeeze to Ian’s shoulder.

As he leaves, he sees Ian shrug and swallow the last pill. At least he’s good for today.

When he returns, it’s with a relieved grin.

“Good news: no need for a new prescription. Should be ready in twenty minutes. You can just grab ‘em and be back for lunch.” Mickey says, easily falling back into his seat.

“Great.” Ian nods, with a smile, but something’s not right. Not there.

Mickey sighs heavily and leans forward.

“Okay, out with it. What’s wrong?” he demands.

“What? Nothing,” Ian lies. Mickey raises his eyebrows, because, seriously? Is Ian really going to try and lie when it’s just so obvious? The way his voice goes up, the way he gets all twitchy, Ian has more tells than a rookie at a poker game on 12th Avenue.

“Spit it out.” Mickey waits, crossing his arms.

Ian sighs and averts his eyes away from Mickey’s face, instead choosing to focus on how Yev is avidly playing with a set of keys in his high-chair.

“I don’t know. It’s just…that old geezer who works down at the pharmacy always gives me these looks like…I don’t know.” He repeats, wringing his hands uncomfortably.

Mickey thinks he knows what’s going on.

Ian’s ashamed of needing the pills, of having to go there and sign his name and basically admit that he can’t function without those chemicals.

“Okay, I’ll go.” He says, simply, already getting up.

“What? No, Mickey, it’s fine, I can—” Ian rises as well, trying to stop Mickey, who’s already got his shoes on.

Mickey smiles a little to himself and then shrugs at Ian, to indicate it’s no big deal, whatever.

“Nah, man, I promised I’d bring Yev over to see Svet anyway—she’s been bitching about it for god knows how long—so it’s on my way. I’ll be back in about an hour, yeah?”

It’s not exactly on the way, but it’s close enough, and it’s not like it would make a big difference anyway.

To Mickey’s complete surprise, Ian plants his lips on Mickey’s cheek and murmurs, “thanks”, when he pulls away.

“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey shrugs again, trying not to let Ian see the blush that’s creeping up his face. Instead he focuses on Yevgeny, and getting him into his shoes and sweater.

“Here, let me.” Ian says, plucking Yev out of Mickey’s arms. “You’ll need to have the prescription number, otherwise they won’t let you get them, ‘cause they’re not under your name.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Mickey nods and goes off to grab the now empty orange bottles on the table. Once he’s copied the number off of them into his phone, he’s about to go and grab Yev to leave, but he pauses at the doorway, and watches Ian interact with his young son.

“And you’re gonna get to go see your mommy and you can tell her how much fun you had with your daddy. Right, Yev?” the baby squeals happily as Ian fits his pudgy arms through the sleeves of the sweater. “Yeah, that’s right!”

Mickey can’t help a smile sneak onto his face as he watches this scene unfold in front of him. But then Ian looks over at him and smiles, and says to Yevgeny, “looks like your daddy’s ready to go!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, come here.” Mickey says, picking up Yev and settling him into stroller. He turns to Ian to say, “back soon,” and is rewarded with Ian’s hand ruffling up his hair. He scowls at him like he’s pissed, but Ian just grins because he knows he isn’t.

Mickey finally leaves, and begins heading over to the local pharmacy they’ve been using. Originally, Ian wanted to use the piece of shit place down the street, where Mickey used to do deals in the bathroom when he was fifteen, but Fiona was adamantly against it. When Mickey surprisingly sided with his sister, Ian agreed to get his prescriptions sent to the CVS down by where Sheila Jackson used to live.

So that’s where Mickey goes now, and he walks in looking like quite the sight, with a sleeveless flannel shirt sticking to his back thanks to the merciless weather of Chicago in July and knuckles reading FUCK U-UP as his fists clench around the stroller.

An old lady with a lilac parka and a walking stick shoots him a look that is half-terrified and half-judgmental and Mickey grinds his teeth together. Who the fuck does this old bitch think she is, seriously?

When she doesn’t take her eyes off of him, he unclenches his jaw and shoots a sharp, “Can I fucking help you?” at her. Her eyes widen and she quickly scurries away—well, as quickly as old women can move.

Mickey smirks to himself and approaches the counter.

“How may I help you?” the elderly man behind the counter asks in a monotone.
“Uh, yeah, I’m picking up a prescription for Ian Gallagher?” Mickey says, uncomfortably. He doesn’t really know how this shit works—Ian’s always picked up his own meds, though usually with Fiona or Lip or someone with him.

The man scrutinizes him from behind his glasses and Mickey shifts from foot to foot, awkwardly.

“You’re not Ian Gallagher.” He says, and Mickey automatically wants to retort that that’s none of his fucking business, but he restrains himself.

“Yeah, I’m just picking it up.” Mickey really wants to just get the fucking pills and get the hell out of here, and he’s starting to see why Ian hates coming here.

“Do you have the prescription number?” the old man asks, still looking at Mickey skeptically.

“Yeah.” Mickey says, and pulls out his phone to recite the number at him. After this, the man rolls away on his chair to retrieve the prescription. With another glare, the elderly man hands over the small paper bag and has Mickey sign for it, and then Mickey turns away to go.

“Jesus, what is it with these fucking geezers?” Mickey mumbles to himself under his breath.

He’s quicker to get over to Kev’s house, because he doesn’t want to linger. He just wants to drop off the kid and get the hell out of there before a Gallagher spots him.

After four insistent knocks on his former business partner’s door though, his patience is wearing thin.

“Hey, open the fucking door!” He yells. “Or I’m leaving the kid on the fucking front porch!”

He’s about to slam his fist on the door again when it swings open. Kev’s there, looking flustered and out of breath.

“Oh, uh, Mickey! Good to see you, man! What are you—?”

“Save it, man.” Mickey shoots and pushes the stroller inside. “I don’t care that you’re banging my wife.”

“I—what?” Kev sputters, but Mickey ignores him, because Svetlana’s just come into the room.

“I drop him off Wednesday.” She says, simply—no bullshit, no small talk.

“Not at fucking midnight this time either.” Mickey warns, but when Svetlana nods instead of retorting, he sighs and says, “thanks.”

This seems to surprise her, but she nods again and leans forward to take Yev out of the stroller.

Mickey turns to leave and Kev follows him to the door.
“Uh, leaving already? Why don’t we, uh—?”

“Seriously, dude.” Mickey faces him once he’s outside. “It’s not me you have to answer to.”

And with that he leaves, the paper bag still clutched tightly in his left hand. He’s glad he got out of there quickly, but he thinks it too soon, because as his luck would have it, he hears a familiar voice calling, “Hey! Mickey!”

He doesn’t bother to cover his groan as he turns around again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, weren’t you supposed to be back at school?” he says, because God, will he ever get rid of Lip Gallagher?

“Chill the fuck out, I was just picking up my mail.” Lip responds.

“Right, well, if that’s all, then I’ll just be on my—”

Before Mickey can walk away, Lip cuts him off.

“Are those Ian’s?”

Mickey feels a primal growl rising in his throat.

“Yeah.” He says, almost like a challenge, like a ‘so what if they are?’

“You picked them up?” he asks.

“Well, since I’m the one fucking carrying them, I’m gonna say yeah, I did.” Mickey scowls at him.

To his surprise, Lip grins. “Alright, alright, just kinda threw me off. Catch you later.”

And then he turns away from Mickey and walks away. Mickey looks after him for a minute, wondering what the fuck kind of interaction that was, but then shakes it off and starts heading home.

He cuts across the park to make his trip shorter—not that you could really call that piece of shit a park. He remembers coming here with Mandy when they were younger, just to get out of the house, to get away from the stench of whiskey and the echoing yells coming from their parents’ bedroom, but it’s not like the park was much better. Sure, some kids would be there. But it was mostly drunk homeless men sleeping on the benches, and wafer-thin cokewhores sucking guys off behind the swings.

It’s pretty much the way Mickey remembers it. There’s a bearded man rambling on about communism to thin air, and a girl with yellow teeth and a wasp’s nest for hair approaches him, but he quickly waves her off.

“Hey, um, would you wanna buy this Star Dust?” a female voice asks, almost nervously, and Mickey spares half a glance at the small brunette before shaking her off and continuing to walk.

“Nah, I’m off the stuff. And you’re gonna need to be way less obvious if you don’t want your ass thrown behind bars.”

“What?” the girl asks, and Mickey actually stops to look at her. She’s skinny, but not heroin-skinny, and her cheeks are full and rosy, and from the look in her big brown eyes, she really has no idea what Mickey’s talking about.

Then he looks down at what she has in her hands and a grin spreads over his face. Flowers. They’re flowers.

“This is what you meant?” he asks, pointing to the white roses in her arms. She nods, unsurely.

And then Mickey starts to laugh. Because what are the odds that he stumbles across some naïve girl trying to sell flowers in this part of town?

“Um…does that mean you’re gonna buy some?” she asks, still looking at him unsurely.

“Depends.” Mickey says, still grinning. “This all you got?”

She looks more eager now, and she shakes her head. “No, my truck’s right there.” She points, and Mickey looks over—and sees a huge truck, parked on the curb at the end of the park, painted a bright pink, with Carly’s Flower Arrangements written across it in cursive writing.

He almost starts laughing again, but instead he walks over to the truck with the flower-girl, a grin still on his face.

He’s never been one to buy flowers before. But then he remembered the look on Ian’s face when Mickey told him he’d go get his meds for him, and he just feels like he should. He wants to. Even though he can’t fix Ian, can’t save him, he needs Ian to know that he loves him. He never has before—god knows he’s done the complete opposite—but now Ian needs him, and hell if Mickey’s going to let him down.

The brunette jumps into the truck and opens up a window, much like a food truck, or Lip and Kev’s old ice cream truck.

“So you Carly?” he asks and she nods.

“That’s me! Hey, out of curiosity, what did you think I was trying to sell you?” she asks, a smile now spreading across her face.

“Well, you said star dust, so I kinda assumed.” Mickey says, shrugging. She still doesn’t seem to understand, just shaking her head.

He furrows his eyebrows at her.

“You know…star dust? Snow? Gutter glitter?” he shoots them out like they’re members of One Direction and he’s a 12-year-old girl.

She just looks even more confused.

Mickey snorts. “Crack. You know? Cocaine?” he says, slowly, and then grins as the girl blushes crimson when understanding crosses her.

“Oh.” She mumbles.

“Yeah, you might want to reconsider your names.” He looks back at the park, where the homeless man has started yelling at a tree. “And maybe your location.”

She lets out a little laugh at this. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. You’re the first guy who hasn’t either asked me for a blowjob or told me that I’m Stalin reincarnated.”

Mickey shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a gentleman.”

She laughs again. “Well, it’s appreciated. So what can I get for you, if it’s not crack you’re after?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Mickey says, scratching the back of his neck. How the hell is he supposed to know what kind of flowers Ian would like? Would Ian even like flowers? Is that ridiculous?

Carly spares him from his inner worry.

“Tell me about her.” She says, softly.

He looks up at her. “Tell you about who?”

“Your girlfriend. The girl you’re buying these flowers for. Tell me about her. What’s she like? It’ll help, trust me.”

“Oh.” Mickey looks down and shifts from foot to foot, which he does a lot when he’s nervous. “Well, see, it’s not exactly like that.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, and the confused expression she was wearing a minute ago returns.

At this, Mickey smiles a little, because she reminds him a little bit of Ian when he was younger, when they first started hooking up—the oblivious kid who grinned at him from behind the glass, his stupid red hair hanging in his stupidly cute face.

“I mean, his name is Ian.” Mickey says, confidently. “He wears a lot of shitty plaid, and he’s obsessed with superhero movies, and he hates the smell of sandalwood, and he smiles like a little kid but he fucks like a wild animal.”

He grins when another blush takes over Carly’s face.

“Right. Sorry.” She mumbles.

“No worries.” He shrugs. “Any ideas?”

“Oh! Yeah!” she exclaims, suddenly chipper. “I got just the thing.”

She turns around and Mickey’s left waiting awkwardly in front of a giant ass pink flower truck, not really sure what to do with himself.

When she returns, she’s holding a small bouquet of simple long white flowers. As Mickey looks at them, he realizes they’re actually kind of perfect for Ian.

“What are they?” he asks, unable to hold back his curiosity.

She smiles, pleased with herself. “White dendromium orchids. I call them White Butterflies.”

Mickey stares at her and blinks. “You can remember that but you don’t know what star dust means?”

She laughs. “You want them or not?”

Mickey grins back. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take them. He’ll like them. How much?”

She smiles softly. “Just take them.”


“Yeah, I figure I owe you one. I’d probably end up arrested if it wasn’t for you.” She jokes, wrapping the flowers up in newspaper and handing them to Mickey. “I hope your, uh, boyfriend or, uh…” she stutters, awkwardly, and then pauses to take a breath. “I hope Ian likes them.”

“Thanks.” Mickey says, genuinely, beginning to walk away. “And do yourself a favor?” he calls back to her. “Don’t try to sell fuckin’ flowers in the South Side!”

With that, he leaves, shaking his head a little, incredulously.

It’s not a long walk till he gets home, and when he closes the door behind him, he hears Ian call, “Mick? Is that you?”

“Yeah!” he yells back, walking into the kitchen and dropping the paper bag on the table, just as Ian walks in.

He’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, as his hair’s dripping wet and all he’s got on are a pair of jeans. Not that Mickey’s complaining.

“Since when do you read the newspaper?” Ian snorts, looking at what Mickey’s clutching in his left hand.

“Oh. Right. About that.” Now Mickey starts to feel a little awkward, but he still holds up the flowers and pushes them towards Ian.

Ian looks down, confused, but then realization dawns upon him and he stares at Mickey, his eyes wide in shock.

“Are these—?” he starts to ask, but Mickey cuts him off.

“Fucking take them, would you?”

Ian beams, wider than Mickey’s seen him in a while, and launches himself forward to press his lips on Mickey’s. Mickey stumbles backwards in surprise, but then melts against him, his hand automatically finding its place on the back of Ian’s neck. It’s exactly what Mickey will never admit that he loves—sweet and soft, yet fierce and full of emotion and Ian playfully bites Mickey’s bottom lip before he pulls away.

“Thank you.” He says, resting his forehead against Mickey’s.

Mickey shrugs. “They’re just flowers. Whatever.”

Ian laughs. “You’re an idiot.”
“Hey!” Mickey says, defensively.

Ian just laughs again and pulls Mickey back to him, so he can mold their lips together again.

“Don’t get why you’re so into all that cheesy shit.” Mickey mumbles when they come up for air.

“Then why do you do it?” Ian asks, cheekily.

Mickey shrugs it. “’Cause you like it.”

Ian looks at him, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“What?” Mickey asks, uncomfortable.
“Nothing.” Ian responds, still smiling, and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, nestling his face into his neck and then murmuring against the soft skin there, “love you, too.”




Vera Bradley and Disney have teamed up to bring you two new patterns: “Midnight with Mickey” (Right) and “Just Mousing Around” (left). They’ll be released in the fall and you’ll find them on duffel bags, totes, cosmetic bags and many more items! You’ll be able to purchase them at Disneyland and Walt Disney World Resorts. They’ll also be sold on the Disney Parks online store at a future date in the fall. For all my followers in Florida you can get a sneak peek at the patterns in Epcot at the Festival center between Mission: SPACE and Universe of Energy in Future World through March 6-May 19, 2013.

To me this is a dream come true! My two favorite things in the world now as one! I know what I’ll be doing come Fall!

-Admin M


They’re Finally Here! 

Well September 21, 2013 to be exact. You guys first heard about the collab between Vera Bradley and Disney in March and I’m pleased to say, six months later, that Vera and Disney have decided on a release date. 

For those of you who need a refresher, Vera Bradley and Disney have collaborated to make two new patterns: Midnight with Mickey (top) and Just Mousing Around (bottom) which will be available on several popular styles.

There will be a special release party for the patterns in Florida, on September 21st, at the World of Disney in the Downtown Disney Marketplace. The event starts at 7:30 a.m and offers people the first chance to buy the collection.

For all my Californians, you’ll be able to buy these items on Monday, September 23, at the Disneyland Resort.

If you can’t visit the Disney Parks anytime soon, you can visit the Disney Parks online store starting some day in October 2013.

Are you guys excited? What pattern are you going to buy? For me it’ll definitely be a cosmetic bag in Midnight with Mickey!

- Admin M