remember when ian looked like that

Sleepy Mickey

Summary: When Mickey’s tired he blabbers about his feelings, and doesn’t remember what he said the next morning.

Word Count: 1301

Notes: This was so cute!!!

Mickey was falling asleep on Ian’s shoulder as all the Gallaghers were watching television in the living room. “Hey,” Ian poked at him. “You tired?” The sound of his voices made all the other look at the pair.

Mickey nodded. “Yes. Come up to bed with me,” he said sweetly. It made the other Gallaghers smile, hearing him so innocent.

Ian smirked. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He kissed his boyfriend’s hair and started to give him a leeway to stand up, but Mickey wasn’t having it.

He grabbed Ian’s waist tighter. “No. Can’t sleep without you. Need you to fucking hold me for me to sleep, you know that. I only sleep when I’m fucking koala bearing you and you’re playing with my hair.”

Fiona had to put a hand to her mouth, she was so shocked. So was everyone else, with wide eyes and dropped jaws. They didn’t think it was possible for a Milkovich to be so soft. They also didn’t know if this was new, but from Ian’s facial expression, he’s seen it all before.

“Alright, we’ll go up in a little bit,” Ian said to his sleepy boyfriend.

“You’re too good,” Mickey mumbled, “way too fuckin’ good to me,” his eyes were shut as he nuzzled his head into Ian’s neck.

The Gallaghers all looked from Mickey to Ian with sad eyes, but Ian seemed to know just what to do. “Shut the fuck up, Mick. You got the roles reversed there,” he chuckled. “I love you, y’know?”

Mickey smiled. “I love you too.”

“What do you love about him?” Debbie pitched in. Out of all their years together, the Gallagher clan had only heard the two boys profess their love for each other a few times.

“Well because he’s fucking nice to me, for one. He’s the only person who would doesn’t only see me as a piece of Southside trash. He always fights for us, that’s nice. He’s really fucking hot too. I mean, Jesus Christ, have you looked at the boy? He looks like a fucking ginger god. Oh, and what he can do with that dick—”

“Okay, Mick,” Ian laughed, cutting him off from his next words. His family did not have to hear about his dick. He sloppily kissed Mickey’s head once again, knowing that that always seemed to calm and silence him.

Lip chuckled. “You really don’t like any other human being on this earth besides Ian, do you?”

“Hmm,” Mickey’s voice sounded like it was drifting away. “I like Liam, he’s my favorite. Carl’s a nut, but he’s cool too, and Debs reminds me of Ian, so I like her. Fiona’s like the older sister I never had, so I can deal. You though, Phillip, you suck,” he shrugged. He was so out of it he barely felt Ian chuckle. “You guys are my family though, so,” he started once again but lost in through his exhaustion.

Ian watched his siblings. He had to hold back his chuckle at their amazed faces. It’s totally clear they’ve never seen him so outward with his thoughts, it’s definitely not a first for Ian though.

Mickey shifted a little, making Ian turn his gaze back to him. “Ready to go up?”

“Mhm,” the tired boy mumbled. He got up with the help of Ian, and they headed to the stairs. All of his body weight was on the redhead, he clearly had no clue what was going on. “Can you make me banana pancakes in the morning? You’re the best cook ever.”

Ian nodded and led him up to the bedroom. “Yeah, Mick, I will.” Before going out of sight, he turned to his siblings. “Nights, guys.”

The two boys were then out of vision for the Gallaghers. “Wow,” is all Debbie said.

With wide eyes, Carl snorted. “What the hell was that?”

* * *

In the morning, Ian woke up first. He unlatched himself from his boyfriend and got dressed to go downstairs to make the breakfast he promised Mickey. Before leaving his room, he gave one last loving glancing at Mickey.

The left the room and trudged down the stairs. When he got in the kitchen, he was met with his family all staring at him. Their eyes started to crinkle into a laughed so he waved his hands. “Okay, okay. What?” He asked as he maneuvered around the kitchen.

“What was up with Mickey last night?” Fiona asked, and everyone else gave him the same wondering look.

Ian shrugged and grinned. “He was really tired. When he gets like that he just spouts off, like his mouth is finally speaking all the shit that’s in the crowded brain of his,” he informed them.

“It was funny as fuck, man,” Lip laughed and poured some coffee in a few cups. Once he was finished he realized that he poured just enough for his siblings, and then left one next to the pot for Mickey. How the hell did he get so settled into our life?

“He doesn’t even remember what he said the next morning.” Ian shook his head and started finishing up a few pancakes. His heart was welling at all the things Mickey said though; he was so fucking cute.

Debbie couldn’t believe that. He seemed well aware of his actions, to her at least. “Seriously?”

“That can’t be true,” Carl protested as well.

Then Mickey all of a sudden came walking down the stairs in just his boxers and a t-shirt. Like usual, he didn’t even look at anyone besides Ian. Surprisingly though, he did scrunch Liam’s hair when he walked past him. “Hey,” Mickey said as he saw what was on the stovetop. “You’re making banana pancakes.”

Ian chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. “Yep. Almost done.”

Mickey went to go pour himself a cup of coffee, and smirked when the cup was already out for him. He’s really part of their routine now, and he knows it. He looked up to see all the Gallagher siblings staring at him. “The fuck are you looking at?”

Fiona chuckled and grabbed at Lip’s arm. “Have you ever looked at Ian? He’s the fucking ginger god,” she mocked.

“I can only sleep when I’m koala bearing my seven foot tall boyfriend,” Lip teased just as Fiona did. “And you were talking about his dick! I mean, what the fuck?” He cackled.

Mickey raised his eyebrows in a horrified manner. He truly had no clue what they were alluding to though. He turned to Ian in hopes for an explanation. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You were falling asleep last night on the couch,” Ian shrugged guiltily.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Mickey shook his head. Ian’s told him of how he blabbers when he’s tired, and he would never want to do that around anyone other than Ian. “I didn’t say anything else, did I?”

Liam was laughing. “Love, love, love!”

Debbie nodded at her youngest brother. “You love Ian a lot,” she winked. “But you pretty much said you love all of us because we’re your family.”

“You guys fucking suck,” Mickey said as he prepared for more teasing.

Fiona got up to put some of the freshly made pancakes on her plate. “We are your fucking family, so get used to this shit.” She kissed his cheek, knowing that it’d make him uncomfortable, but not caring. “Now eat the banana pancakes that you made the greatest cook in the world make you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and looked at his boyfriend. Just then Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I love my sleepy Mickey.”

“You fucking better,” Mickey pecked him on the lips and the grabbed a pancake. He took a big bite of it. “They’re good fucking pancakes.”


Some screen caps from Chop Suey. Truth be told, though I knew about Ian Svenonius’ involvement back when I got the game, I’d forgotten about it over the years. (I mean, I hadn’t played the game or seen anything about it since, probably, ‘99?) But as I was playing it yesterday, two things stood out to me. Dooner–pictured in the third screen cap from the top–and the beatnik fireflies, pictured fifth from the top. Yesterday, I looked at Dooner and thought: “Oh wow, look at that retro sorta-mod hipster boy, he looks like he should be listening to The Make*Up or something.” (Side note: I totally had a vague sort-of crush on Dooner when I played the game at age 13-15, I remember thinking, god, I wanna meet a boy like that. Reader, I met many boys like that, and most of them were disappointing.) And then, as I clicked on the beatnik fireflies, I recognized the voice of the one who said crazy. I thought: “I am 99% certain that is none other than Ian F. Svenonius.” I remembered that Brendan Canty had done the music, and that Theresa Duncan had been part of the DC punk scene, so I thought it was certainly probable. And then, while watching the credits at the end of the game, I saw that Ian was the fucking illustrator! Like I said, I’d forgotten, and I laughed when I saw his name there. It’s kind of funny and awesome when I think about the fact that Ian S. and stuff he’s made or been part of making has been an important part of my life for well over two decades, now.

Lights Will Guide You Home

“…and ignite your bones”

Ian wakes up on morning, distraught over leaving Mickey, to find a stranger by his bed. Or was he a stranger at all?

Ian walks home from work filled with exhaustion in so many ways. The journey almost pitch black from the shitty street lights not working. He opens the door, the light from inside killing his eyes, and finds Lip and Fiona drinking on the couch.  

“Hey, man,” Lip greets him. “Wanna join?”

Ian offers a fake smile to his siblings. Not having a genuine since…  He things Since you broke up with the man you loved and did nothing as he got chased away with your gun toting half-sister…or was she your cousin. Who the fuck knows. It’s not like your siblings pay enough attention to you to realize your smile isn’t real.

“Nah,” Ian says. “Had a long day. Think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Aww,” Fiona groans, she already seems to be drunk. Drunk Fiona was always a lot of fun. Ian thinks before he shrugs lightly still smiling and heads to the stairs.

Ian’s face drops as soon as he’s out of sight. He gets to his bedroom, Lip’s old one, and starts taking off his clothes.

He sits on the edge and sighs. Another day end, another failed relationship that couldn’t fill the void that was left by-

Ian can’t say his name. Doesn’t want to. It’s left at the back of his throat and he swallows it down hard.

He lays his head on the pillow and welcomes the dreams that will let him escape this reality, at least for a little while.


The morning comes too quickly, the night was filled with tossing and turning and Ian wakes up as he usually does…still tired. His mind is full of regret, guilt, and whatever the hell else kept him up at night and haunted him in his slumber. He rubs his eyes, his body acting hungover despite him not having a drink last night. This is typical until he gets some caffeine in him. Though not even caffeine could hide the disgust and general hatred for himself he felt whenever he thought about…him… Mickey. He lets him think of his name. The man he loved and left again and again. He tried to bury everything he felt with man-hopping and his new job but it didn’t work and Ian knew it.

The bright sun blinds him as Ian looks towards the opened window.

He sighs and turns over to his side and notices a large lump by him on the bed. At first he thinks it’s a pillow but quickly realizes it’s a person. He quickly shifts all the way to the other side of the bed. It’s probably someone Frank let in for some cash or drugs. Won’t be the first time.

Ian leans back and extends his leg slowly pushing the person further and further off the bed until they get close enough to the edge and Ian kicks them off as forceful as he can.

A loud thump is heard and a groan soon after. Ian quickly jumps off the bed and grabs the bat he always has by his bed.

“Well that’s one fucking way to wake up.” The person says. It’s mumbled enough that Ian can’t quite make out if he knows them or not.

He comes over to the side of the bed the person fell out, his grip on the bat tightening. He can see now it’s a man though most of his body is still covered by the sheets that fell with him.

Ian holds up the bat higher and is about to shout at the man when the man’s arm escape his cover prison to rub his head and Ian sees his hand.

The bat slips out of Ian’s fingers and crashes down on the floor making a worse noise then the body that hit it a few minutes ago.

It can’t be he thinks but he sees it clearly.



Keep reading


Summary: Mickey becomes suicidal after his father rapes him, and when Ian finds out it’s the farthest thing from happy, but they work their way there.

Word Count: 2076

Notes: Warnings! Mentions of suicide and self harm!

Ever since Mickey was a kid, his dad had physically, emotionally, and sexually assaulted him. To him, the rape was the worst. An asshole of a man rapes his son, and the go bashes on any gay person he can find— oh, the irony.

Some days it was worse than others, like the last time it happened. For the first time in a long time, when Terry started brutally stripping his son, Mickey tried to fight back. He kicked, he punched, he hit, but nothing seemed to work— it only provoked the older man to be rougher.

When all was said and done, Terry stumbled off to the Alibi, leaving his son in infamy. Mickey eventually found the strength to pull himself up from the floor and stumbled to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw the bruises and blood that covered his body.

He felt numb, like always. Truthfully, he couldn’t even tell if he was fully alive— so he pulled out a razor blade. He ran the blade again his wrists, watching the blood trickle. He did it until he felt it, but that normally took a while.

With being so caught up in harming himself into feeling something, Mickey didn’t even hear the front door open. “Mick!” A voice called out, a voice that he immediately recognized as his boyfriend.

The blade quickly fell from his grip, causing a clinging down against the tiled floor. “Shit,” Mickey whispered to himself.

Ian had heard the noise come from inside the bathroom. He thoughtlessly made his way there. When he knocked on the door, there was no response. Confusion and worry filled Ian’s mind, so he knocked again, but this time he heard the sound of muffled sobs. Without any hesitation, Ian pushed the door open.

Ian saw a sight that he never thought he would have to see— Mickey with tear stains running down his face, cuts on his wrists, and a broken expression. He rushed forward and grabbed a towel off the floor to cover Mickey’s wrist with. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

Mickey sunk to the floor and pushed his face into Ian’s neck to cry. “What the hell, Mickey? What happened?” Ian was crying as well. He had no clue why Mickey would ever do this to himself.

Mickey just sobbed harder and harder, allowing the blood to soak into the towels and Ian’s shirt. The darkness he was feeling was starting to consume him. “I’ve never told—” He started hyperventilating.

“You’ve never told me you weren’t happy, Mickey. Please, talk to me. Please,” he begged and tears streamed down his face.

“I-I– My dad— it’s my dad,” he choked out. “It’s worse than you’ve ever known,” he mumbled into Mickey’s neck. “He– he–”

“What did he do, Mickey? What did he do?” He tried to keep himself from falling apart.

“He rapes me,” Mickey voice suddenly sounded hurt, but stern. “And when he does it, I feel nothing so this is the best option. I need to feel something, Ian.”

Ian let out a hard cry. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you!”

“No, you couldn’t have. Do you know why? Because I fucking love you!” This was his first time admitting that. “I love you and you shouldn’t be with someone who can’t hold their fucking own,” he got up and ran out the door. He didn’t go into further explanation, he just got up and ran, leaving Ian to sit in Mickey’s blood with confusion.

* * *

Mickey ran; he ran so fast that his heart was pounding through his ears, his legs were tingling, and his mouth was starting to go dry. It started to feel like an escape, but it wasn’t enough— nothing was.

As he arrived to his destination, he abruptly stopped to stare at the abandoned building. The concrete was splitting, and weeds were growing along the sides of the walls— it looked isolated and worn out, like him.

Mickey knew what he was going to do. He wiped his tears and made his way inside. Once he got to the top floor of the building, he grabbed the bottle of pills and the bottle of vodka.

Lazily, he sat down and popped both bottles open. He poured all of the pills into his hand before sucking in a deep breath and saying, “This is it,” to himself.

Then he started— he took the pills two by two and drained it down with the vodka. It burned his throat a little, but he didn’t mind. This is what he thought he needed to do because the world would be better off without him; no one needed a weak kid pissing them off everyday. He knew he didn’t belong here.

Now he was feeling a new type of numb, it was completely physical this time. He couldn’t feel the cold concrete floor beneath him or the glass bottle in his hands; he didn’t even feel the bruises that he father had left on him. It was different. When the sounds started to be muffled and his surroundings started to go blurry, is when he heard it— when he heard someone or something calling out for him. He forcefully opened his eyes and saw a blurred out person with flaming red hair, and that’s what gave it away– the red. It was Ian, because who else could it be?

The seconds felt like lightyears, but when they finally passed, all he could see was red turn to black, and all he could hear was buzzing turn to silence.

* * *

He didn’t know if it was hours or days that he had been unconscious, but when Mickey opened his eyes, he was laying in a hospital bed. To his surprise, he remembered everything that had happened. Hazily and slowly looking around, he saw Mandy, Iggy, and the whole Gallagher family. From Ian’s bloody clothing, Mickey had come to the conclusion that it had only been hours since he attempted ending his life.

Ian was at sitting his side, tapping his leg rapidly. While everyone else was standing with distraught looks on their faces.

Iggy was the first one to notice that he was awake. “Hey, asswipe,” he walked forward and rubbed his leg. The blond Milkovich boy’s tone was sad, which is something that Mickey had never heard a single day in their life— not even after their mother died.

Everyone rushed his side and greeted him. Some called him a dumbass, others thanked God that Mickey was alive, but Ian just sat there with Mickey’s hand tightly in his and cried.

“Don’t you ever do something that fucking stupid again, Mickey,” Mandy scolded him as tears welled in her eyes. She’s always so strong, but she couldn’t hold it back right now.

Lip maintained a prominent frown the whole time. He released Debbie from his grip and walked over to the boy laying in the hospital bed. “You’re a fucking idiot, man,” he said and placed his hand on the top of Mickey’s head for a moment. “A fucking idiot,” he repeated.

Everyone then stood in silence and listened to Ian and the kids cry. Ever since the Gallaghers found out about Ian and Mickey’s secret relationship, they’ve grown fond of the Milkovich boy.

After the doctor than came in, Fiona put her hand on Carl’s back. “C’mon, guys, let’s give Ian and Mickey some time alone.” Everyone then followed her out of the hospital room.

Once everyone had cleared out, Ian wiped his tears away. He stood, still clutching Mickey’s hand with one of his own, and ran his other hand through the Milkovich boy’s hair.

“You can’t try to leave me like that, Mick,” Ian said desperately. His heart hurt him as he thought about how he didn’t notice that his boyfriend felt so empty and alone to do something so tragic. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that you’re dad is such an asshole to do that to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t know about it— that I didn’t know how you felt. I’m so fucking sorry,” Ian cried out. He felt so sorry for everything that Mickey had gone through, and he knew damn well that his boyfriend hated when someone pitied him, but he couldn’t control the tears coming from his eyes and the apologies coming from his mouth.

A single tear shed down Mickey’s cheek. He tightly shut his eyes, and used all of his strength to suck in a breath. He wanted to say so much, but all that came out was, “No.” It wasn’t meant to sound disrespectful or malicious, it was just a way of telling him that he shouldn’t feel sorry, but from Ian’s response, Mickey knew that he definitely did not see it that way.

Ian ran out of the room the same way Mickey had when he confessed his love and told the redhead about everything that his father had done to him earlier that day. Mickey wanted to scream for him to come back and that he needs him, but his voice wouldn’t let him speak.

Suddenly all the feelings that disappear after an assault came rushing back— sadness, fear, worry, guilt. But once again, he was left to wallow in his misery. He ran out of tears though, so he just laid there and stared at the ceiling, letting his feelings consume him.

* * *

Not even two hours later, Ian came back. Clearly he must’ve done something stupid because he had a black eye— which undoubtedly distracted Mickey from his negative emotions. When he got close enough to the hospital bed, Mickey went to reach out for the bruise, but the redhead shrugged it off. “M’fine.”

Mickey nodded. “Why’d you leave?” He said with a prominent amount of sadness. It made Ian’s heart shatter for the hundredth time that day.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve stayed. I just– I just had to get myself together,” Ian admitted. “I got Terry arrested,” he then said as he motioned for Mickey to scoot over in the bed so he could lay down too.

Mickey gasped and tensed up. Even more fear rushed through his body. Does he know what Terry will do to him— to us— when he gets out of there? Worried thoughts crowded his mind.

Noticing the nervousness on Mickey’s face, Ian spoke again. “Tony said he’ll get life in the slammer for child molesting,” Ian said and Mickey winced at the last two words.The taller boy frowned and traced the outline of Mickey’s face, hovering his fingers over every cut and bruise that Terry had inflicted. “And on top of that, they searched your house and realized how much he was breaking probation, so he should be locked away for good,” he added to the information.

Mickey processes what Ian had just told him and let out a huff. “A-are you gonna leave?” He speaks in wonderment.

Ian wraps his arms around his boyfriend. “No. I’m never leaving you, do you understand? I’m never fucking leaving you,” he said in the most genuine and convincing tone that Mickey had ever heard. “And I am sure as hell never going to let anything happen to you ever again. I love you so damn much, Mickey.” He placed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head.

The dark haired boy let out a sigh of relief, and in all honesty, Ian was thankful to hear it. “I love you,” Mickey whispered.

Ian kissed his head again. “I need you to promise me something.” Mickey nodded. “Promise me if you ever start doubting your life matters to anyone or start feeling empty again, you’ll tell me. I need to know that shit, Mick— I need to be able to help you.”

Mickey nodded and hugged Ian tightly. “I promise.”

For a brief moment, the Milkovich boy thought about what his future could look like. He knew from what the doctor said that he’d need a three day psychiatric evaluation, and he assumed that they would also make him see a therapist due to the fact that he’s an abuse and rape victim, but he looked at this as a way to improve himself— to overcome those obstacles. He thought about how Ian would be there every step of the way, and how he might actually end up happy— everything could actually be okay for once.

anonymous asked:

Hey. Can you make a gif of Anthony unbuttoning his shirt because he was trying to make Ian laugh? I can't find the video.. but I remember it was some sort of a try not to laugh challenge and they had water in their mouths..( also I feel like this is another Ianthony moment that people don't talk about much..)

Hiya, sweetie! :D Ah, yes. I remember this video well. Such a blessing to our little fandom, it was! Not only did Anthony start to sexily unbutton his shirt while looking STRAIGHT into Ian’s eyes, but he also tickled him earlier in the video! Yes, you heard me right! He TICKLED him. I made some gifs when this came out, but they’re quite old and was made when I was still trying to figure out Photoshop. You can still check them out if you’d like by CLICKING HERE. :)

I’ll tell ya, though. Nothing else gets my imagination going like this gif does!


Guardian Angel

Summary: Mickey is Ian’s guardian angel.

Word Count: 959

Notes: i would like to suggest never doing a half marathon to all of you, i’ve done four as of today. each time i realize it sucks

Ever since Ian was a kid, he’s had dreams of a certain boy. This boy was beautiful with jet black hair, glistening blue eyes, and the words “FUCK U-UP” tattooed across his fingers. He was short, but his muscular stature made up for it. His name was Mickey, and Ian had absolutely no doubt that this was his guardian angel.

Whenever something bad would happen or when Ian was upset, there Mickey was. He sort of had a funny way of showing guidance and care,

with his fake insults and unlimited amount of cursing, but to Ian, it was the only way that worked. No one in the real world could build him up the way his guardian angel does.

* * *

The first real test that Mickey was faced with was when Ian realized he was gay. Ian had always known that he had absolutely no interest in girls, but once he realized he had the hots for a boy in his class, he was fucking scared.

As usual, Mickey came to him in a dream. In this dream, Ian was sitting on his bed, and then Mickey appeared. He had a cigarette between his lips. “Hey, Gallagher.”

“Hey,” Ian replied with a bashful tone.

“What the fuck’s botherin’ you?” Mickey playfully shoved the redhead.

Ian let a big huff of breath. After starting to rapidly tap his feet is when he spoke. “I, uh, I think I’m gay,” he admitted quietly. As soon as he finished speaking he instinctively looked around to check his boundaries— it was dream though, no one was there.

Mickey nodded and sat next to him. “You’re definitely fucking gay,” he said with a bit of humor in his voice, causing Ian’s head to snap up and look at him.

“I’ll get killed in this town. Being a fag isn’t nothing to be proud of, Mick.” Ian shook his head. He was clearly troubled by all of this.

The guardian angel took a drag of his cigarette and then handed it over to the redhead. “Being straight ain’t nothing to be proud of either if you think about it,” he shrugged. “I think all that discrimination shit, or whatever it is, is stupid.”

“Obviously you’re going to think that, Mickey. You’re my fucking guardian angel,” Ian shrugged.

Mickey quirked an eyebrow. “Who said I’m your guardian angel?”

“You,” Ian shrugged and laid back on the bed.

“Well then listen to me. The Southside is a fucking shitty place. You know damn well that there’s people here that are will to beat the shit out of you just for the fun of it, but you should never be ashamed of yourself. You are who you are for a fucking reason, Ian, be proud of it.” Mickey then cupped the back of Ian’s neck with his hand. “Everything always works out, doesn’t it?”

Ian looked at the beautiful black haired angel. He smiled, Mickey always knew what to say. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks a lot, Mick.”

Mickey nodded. “One last thing before I fuck outta here,” he stood. “If anyone finds out and gives you shit, beat the shit out of them,” he winked and then disappeared, causing the dream to end. Thankfully Ian always remember what he had been told— he couldn’t be more gracious.

* * *

The next time that Mickey’s guidance skills were put to the test was when Ian found out about his bipolar disorder. This wasn’t like the usual gigs where he’d have to get Ian out of sad or lonely thoughts, this was real shit.

It had been hard for Ian to sleep with so much on his mind— so much that it caused him to physically shake until he finally drifted off. Luckily, a much needed guardian angel was waiting for him. “What’s up?” Mickey said as if he didn’t have a clue.

“Don’t fucking ask me when you already know,” Ian shrugged and turned his eye sight away from him.

“Ian,” Mickey grabbed his face. “Don’t be a bitch,” he gave a comforting smile, and moved closer to the boy.

Ian let out a frustrated groan. “Fucking Monica.I’m going to be fucking Monica. get ready for Hurricane Ian any time now!”

Mickey shook his head. “You aren’t your mother,” he said blatantly. His voice held an undeniable truth— it made it hard for Ian to roll his eyes at it.

With tears welling in his eyes, Ian’s bottom lip started to tremble. “I’d really like for you to explain how I’m not like her.”

Mickey smirked because he could definitely do that. “Do you love your family?”

Ian’s eyes widened. “Of course I love my family.”

“Would you ever do anything to hurt them? Or would you do what ever you could to prevent that?” Mickey crossed his arms, already knowing the answer

“I would do whatever the fuck I could to prevent that. I’d never intentionally hurt them,” he spoke honestly. He then noticed what Mickey was doing— showing him that he has a different mindset than his mother.

Mickey grinned as he saw puzzle pieces coming together in Ian’s mind. “You see?” Ian nodded. “To do that though, you need to take the fucking pills, Ian.”

Once again, Ian nodded. “They fucking suck.”

“I know that. It’s gonna be hard, but you’ll adjust. And you know I’ll be here whenever you need me,” Mickey looked Ian in the eyes.

Finally a smile creeped onto Ian’s face because  like always, Mickey was right. “Thank you.”

“I’m the best fucking guardian angel ever,” Mickey said with a joking cockiness. “I’ll see you around, asswipe,” he said sarcastically and then disappeared.

As Ian slept, that same faint smile was plastered against his lips. He got lucky to have such good guidance.

7x10 review: “Noel Fisher and Cameron Monaghan in: Try To Retcon THIS, Motherfucker”.

*Takes a deep breath*

Okay. I can do this. 

*Deep sigh*

I can do this. 

Last night’s adrenaline left me somewhat in shock, so sorry if this review’s gonna be different from the others. I think there’s gonna be less humor, because my mood is swinging from anxious to hype twenty times in a minute.

You’re probably wondering what’s up with the title. What is up is that last night, an epic battle began. That’s right. I don’t know if Noel and Cam were aware of what they were going into, I don’t know if it was intentional, or instinctual. All I know is that I saw two forces fight against one another last night on screen: the power or love and the power of manipulation. 

Allow me to explain. This is gonna be hard, guys, but stay with me. Fight with me. 

If you read through all of this, you are officially promoted to Gallavich Knights. Or somethin’.

Keep reading


Getting closer to Christmas….

and closer to letting you know who I am!  

Special shout out to Coach Gotham for this chapter.  She’s a true gem who’s always up for a brainstorm, and manages to give exactly what is needed.  

Enjoy WTT!


“The picture stays Janet!  Ye won’t change one fucking thing on that label.”

“I dinna care a whit about the picture, Brother, although I canna for the life o’ me figure out what in hell it is.  But no one names a wine, Jamie!”

Willie, Laoghaire, Rupert, Murtagh, Dougal, and Ian sat still as stones around the conference table. Laoghaire didn’t know whether to take notes on this part of the meeting or not.  She leaned over to Rupert and whispered her question.

“Nay, lass,” he told her. “Dinna take notes when they use the f-word.”

She’d never seen the Fraser siblings this angry with each other.  She’d never seen Jamie like this before.  His eyes were dead, and he was definitely thinner. He seemed constantly on edge.  Even a ‘good morning’ seemed to piss him off.  

Dougal piped up.  “I ken exactly what it is, and it’s bloody clever, Jamie.”  He turned the wine towards the others and used his index finger to point out the undulating lines, “Look at it one way, and it’s the Scottish mountains in the distance wi’ what seems like a burn right here.  But, here’s the clever bit.” Dougal grinned at his audience.  “If ye look right here, it’s the curve of a woman lying on her side.  And the burn becomes a tendril of her curly, dark hair.”

Laoghaire gasped.  Willie grinned.  Rupert laughed.  Jenny screamed. Murtagh scowled.  And Ian sat straight up and twisted in his chair to stare at Jamie.  

“Sassenach.”  Ian said.  “You named the Merlot ‘Sassenach’.”  

“No.  Absolutely not.”  Jenny was livid.  “Ye call it Merlot.  Ye don’t name them with names, for God’s sake.  And look at the Shiraz?  It’s called Mo Neighean Donn!  Who is going to know what that even means, Jamie?  Honestly, the Fraser name will be a laughing stock.”  

Jamie had had enough.  He slammed his hands down on the conference table and hauled himself to his feet, leaning across the table into Jenny’s face. “I’m the CEO of this company, and I don’t have to discuss the running of it wi’ my sister!” he roared.  

Jenny rose up now, too. “Oh,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Laird –“

“Dinna say it, Janet,” Jamie growled.

“-Broch Tuarach!” she finished

“Ifrinn, Jenny!”  Jamie pounded the table again.  “Dinna throw that ancient title at me!”

Laoghaire looked at Rupert, pen poised.  “How do I spell that?”

Rupert shook his head, “Nay, Lass. ‘Tis Jenny mockin’ her brother. Just….just put yer pen down, aye?”

Blessed St. Michael, Jamie thought.  His head hurt.  He hadn’t slept in days. And his heart ached.  Physically ached inside his chest.  At times he couldn’t catch his breath when the grief rose up to meet him.  The labels and the names had come to him during those four days with Claire.  She was his muse, his inspiration.  Each label was drawn by hand and sent to the printer.  He hadn’t shown anyone.  He knew they were beautiful.  Just like Claire, they were unique.  Some of his best work.  And he knew you didn’t name wines.  Naming them brought her closer.  Laughing stock.  That’s fine, he thought.  For I am truly a fool.  

Dougal stood up and placed a hand each on his niece and nephew.  “Come on now, you two.  Sit down. It’s no’ as bad as all that.  In fact, I can tell ye right now where I’m going to sell this wine.”  

Jamie sat heavily and rubbed at his temples.  Jenny huffed, crossed her arms and legs and flopped back in her chair.    

Dougal continued. “Wi’ names like these, I’m going to all of the resorts in the Highlands first.  Places that cater to weddings and such.  Can ye imagine a bride and her groom planning a wedding?  Havin’ a tasting paired with a white wine titled “Mo graidh”?  Huh?”  He looked around the table and rubbed his hands together.  “A wine called “My Love”!  Mary, Michael and Bride, it’ll practically sell itself!”  

Everyone looked around the table that was rife with tension.  Jenny spoke first, skepticism evident in her voice.  “If ye think so, Uncle.  No’ that it matters. The deed is done.”  

Jenny looked at Jamie, “For the record, I dinna like it.  Not one bit. But, if Dougal says it’ll sell, I believe him.”  She stood up, and turned to leave, mumbling, “That man could sell potatoes to the Irish.” Jenny’s exit broke the mood.  The rest followed suit, but no one dared say a word to Jamie.  

Dougal clapped his nephew on the back, and leaned down close to his ear. “It’s brilliant, Jamie.  Pay no mind to Jenny.  I see what you did.  Subliminal. Genius.”  And with that, Jamie found himself alone.  

Back in his office he looked again at the wines lined up on his desk.  The labels were beautiful.  And he hated each and every one of them right now.  Hated the memories they dredged up.  Hated the loneliness they made him feel.

Jamie looked at his calendar. Twelve days.  Twelve days until Christmas.  He never felt less festive in his life.  He always went to Lallybroch for Christmas. Lallybroch was their family estate, and the home of Jenny and Ian and their children.  Mrs. Crook was still their housekeeper.  Jamie couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t part of their family.  He always looked forward to Christmas there. Cutting the tree from the woods around the estate and dragging it back.  Playing with his nephew and nieces.  Maybe he’d stay in town this year.  Right.  Despite her anger, Jenny, nor Ian for that matter, would let him do that.  Well, he had twelve days to find some holiday cheer.

Jamie sat bolt upright in his chair.  Twelve days. For the first time in weeks he felt like smiling.  Twelve days! He scrolled through his contacts and made two calls.  Then he called down to the art department and told them what he needed and to have it ready in ten minutes.  Closing his computer, he packed it up in his bag, told Willie he was heading home for the day and headed down two flights.  Jamie, lad, Dougal said ye were a genius. Now ye need to prove it. Prove ye can fix this massive misunderstanding with a wee subliminal message.  

Claire arrived home from her shift around 8:30 p.m.  She’d done two day shifts for Mary, and was now off for the next two days.  She planned to do laundry, sleep, and clean. In that order.  

Claire unlocked her door, dropped her bag and stopped.  Normally the room was pitch black.  She’d taken to drawing the blinds on her window because the sight of the fire escape made her heart hurt.  But the blinds were open.  And the glow from the street lamps made eerie shadows in her lounge.  She flicked on a light and gasped.  

Spotless.  Her flat was spotless.  Her kitchen was free of the dishes she’d left there this morning.  And she could faintly smell the solution that was used to wash her floor.  But what really rendered her speechless was the huge Christmas tree in the corner by the window.  The smell of pine was heavy in the room aided along by the natural garland that lay over her mantle.  Jamie. He must have found the key she’d misplaced in his flat. She hadn’t the heart to return the one he gave her.  It could only be him.  Oh, Jamie.  There was also a huge floral arrangement on her kitchen island. Flowers in reds and golds and white, dripping with cedar greens.  She couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes, spilled over onto her cheeks, and dripped from her chin. She closed her eyes, buried her nose in the bouquet, and wept.  

She pulled herself together enough to grab a shower, and padding back into her kitchen in flannel pajamas, she opened the fridge to make something to eat.  The tears rose again.  She should have guessed.  He’d stocked the fridge with ready to go meals from one of those gourmet delivery places.  

Why, Jamie?  Why now?  

She sifted through the labels and found a pasta option to heat up.  As it cooked she thought about what it all might mean.  Was this his way of saying sorry? That was all well and good, but to be honest she would rather he actually say the words to her.  

Maybe he was trying to say he understood?  But understood what, exactly? That she would need this type of support while she went back to school?  That he could make things easy for her?  He can throw all his money into cleaning services and pre-cooked meals. That’s not the support I need. Or want.  It was all so confusing.  

As she sat at the counter eating, she spied something else.  A small white box was under the tree.  Damn you, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Damn you for surprising me AGAIN! 

 She got up and brought the white box back to her seat.  It was clearly a pastry box, tied with brown string.  But the artwork on top was breathtaking.  An origami partridge.  She carefully lifted it off the top of the box.  It was about the size of her hand, and folded in such a way that it stood on its own two feet. The markings were clearly drawn in ink. Jamie.  His name reverberated through her.  Setting aside the paper bird, she opened the box and smiled.  A danish pastry.  Not just any danish, but a pear danish.  A partridge in pear tree.  And Claire laughed for the first time in weeks.  

With only laundry and sleep to focus on, Claire woke up the next morning in better spirits than she had in a while.  Maybe she would get some shopping done for her friends. 

Heading out after lunch she opened the door and froze.  There on the threshold was another white box, but also dangling in front of her face were two origami doves.  One looked to be landing on an invisible branch, and the other seemed to already be perched.  Their wings were cut to show the finest of feathers.  The workmanship was so exquisite it was almost surgical in its precision. Jamie, love, these must have taken hours.  Claire grabbed a chair to remove the tape that hung them from her door frame.  Carefully she carried them inside and stood still, thinking of where to keep them. When it came to her, she didn’t hesitate.  She hung the turtle doves and went back to the door to retrieve the second package. Another pastry box, but this time it was a gorgeous pear tart, and another beautifully crafted partridge.  She placed the partridge on a branch of her Christmas tree along with the first one, and before she could change her mind, or dwell on what was happening, she headed out to the shops.  

Later that night, Claire lay in bed looking up at the two doves hanging from her ceiling.  For the first time in days, she dared to hope.  

remember that one time in the sword thief when they were in the cave and the bats fly over them and ian’s like “hey look amy bats. bats amy. in a cave that previously seemed to have been blocked off for centuries. living bats. I WONDER WHAT THAT’S ABOUT HUH?”

essentially telling her there was another way out

and people characterize him as a ruthless killer

anonymous asked:

on your post about natural chemistry & professional chemistry.. what exactly do you mean by "professional" chemistry? please explain thoroughly!

OK so to me, professional chemistry is when two people just don’t look awkward together onscreen. It’s not a disaster watching them but it’s not something that elevates a scene either, for instance and I’m using this example even with all of the Bamon fans after me, the reason why there is such an intensity around Bamon is because Kat and Ian have natural chemistry that surpasses what the scene is actually supposed to be, like here:

Even if the gif isn’t slowed down, this moment, I remember watching it and feeling like there was so much sexual tension between these two people and that’s not this scene is about, Bonnie is legit just supposed to be irritated and Damon is supposed to be getting on her nerves because he’s irritated too but it just looks like they’re both sexually frustrated but that’s their chemistry, it’s not the narrative.

And they feed of off each other’s energy and there’s a rapport there and nothing needs to be in slow motions and there doesn’t need to be any close ups or camera tricks because their chemistry is natural and all it needs is to just be presented:

And they look like they’re genuinely having a good time:

And it was the same thing with Bonkai:

And it’s the same thing with Stelena because Nina’s eyes shine, Paul sighs and when they stare at each other there’s that rapport, that energy

And Klaroline, Candice and Joseph, everything feels charged and intense and on a hundred every time they’re in a scene together because Candice and Joseph have a natural chemistry that allows for the scene to be that charged and Candice has this tendency with Joseph where it almost likes she always catches her breath or holds her breath when Klaus approaches Caroline and that’s not something you can fake, that’s just a natural dynamic that happens when two people are in a scene together and have that natural chemistry:

And professional chemistry:

is … OK. It’s fine. I just know that the scene calls for them to act this way and so they are, it’s clearly manufactured to me, which isn’t to say that people with professional chemistry can’t have great moments, they can, there are times when I will be like yeah, that’s a cute Bonenzo scene, yeah, that’s a cute Steroline scene but it won’t ever compare in my book to the natural chemistry of the other pairings.

And also I don’t restrict chemistry to romance, I also mean between actors in general, like Paul and Joseph have great chemistry, they play off of each other really well so do Nina and Kat.

I refuse to believe that Ian has thought about Mickey ‘a lot’. 

When Ian went to the army, we were clearly shown that Mickey missed him: he jerked off at his photo, asked around where the redheaded Gallager was, was telling he likes carrot tops when drunk. This leads the viewer to the thought that yes apparently he thinks about Ian and misses him. That is what I call good writing. 

Ian on the contrary remembered Mickey only when badmouthing him to his boyfriends. He once told Mandy that he missed Mickey but in the light of all the shit he said about him it’s highly unlikely. Can a person think about another person without talking about him or looking at his photo? Yes. Can a character? No, because he leaves in his screen time and if he does something beyond, something we know from his words only, he might as well be lying. If they wanted us to believe he did think about Mickey, they should have shown us. They didn’t. This is what I call bad writing. 

Ian doesn’t know what ‘health and sickness and all that shit’ means because he never supported Mickey in times of need. When Mickey got in trouble, when he got in prison, Ian turned away. Later he tells that it was hard to look at Mickey through that glass. Well, what an excuse. This is why I don’t accept the beautiful theory that Ian left Mickey for Mickey’s own good. He’s too selfish. In my eyes. 

When you get so emotionally attached to characters, it’s easy to lose the difference between what he actually does and what we think he would have done (especially when Cameron’s acting is so good). We may be right a thousand times. Or we may be not. Be it as it may, we don’t write this story. Ian could have been a good character but the writers fucked him up. They wrote a shitty canon, but it’s still a canon. That is why I detest him since long ago. That is why I’ll never accept any theory that justifies his behavior. There is no good canon Ian. Bye.

Have a Gallavich Christmas

Title: Merry Fucking Christmas To Me, Then
Rating: M
(there’s more fluff than sex though)
Genre: Domestic Fluffy Gallavich. Should I say more?
Set in: A generic date of Season 2 before Frank finds them. It’s in july, more or less. 
Warnings: No warnings come to mind. 
Summary: “Write about what would have happened if Ian walked in on Mickey as he played the guitar” - tried to follow this prompt. Ian doesn’t exactly walk in on Mickey, but there’s music involved. And more kinky stuff.  
Notes: It’s just a little something something to wish to all my Shameless followers a Merry Christmas! Couldn’t go to sleep until I finished it. Also, it’s a request I’ve received from an anon, and I hope the anon will appreciate. 
The song Mickey plays on the guitar is this one. Specifically this version. I find the difficulty level to be just the right level. 

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anonymous asked:

Do you remember a few seasons ago when Ian said that he liked how Mickey smells? I was rewatching the scene when they were sleeping in the van, and it looked like, when Ian woke up, he leaned in to smell him for a moment before getting up :D

Yeah, it was noticed. Some people even made gifsets out of it. I’d love to know if it was improvised or if it was actually in the script.

iloveyouolllie  asked:

hey :)

@iloveyouolllie omg I was going to do this last night but then I fell asleep…

1. First impression: I don’t even remember??? I remember it was when your url was itsafuckingpieceofpaper (or something close to that????) and I followed you b/c of it and all the Ian/Mickey stuff, so probably something along the lines of omg this blog is so good.
2. Truth is: You are so good and kind and pure and such a great person and I’m so happy that I know you <3 <3 <3
3. How old do you look: Like 27
4. Have you ever made me laugh: A bunch of times, omg
5. Have you ever made me mad: I don’t think so… No. Firm no.
6. Best feature: Like literally all of you. You’re so pretty. If I have to choose… I love your smile! And you’re cuteness! And how great you are to talk to!
7. Have I ever had a crush on you: uhh… yes… like massively… like to the point where when you followed me back I literally had a heart attack and texted like three of my friends about it… but that was like years ago so you’re in the clear now haha
8. You’re my: Best online friend ever, no joke.
9. Name in my phone: Jam (on snapchat)
10. Should you post this too?: You already did haha

anonymous asked:

I was wondering if you could help me out with the style of steven universe, I keep trying to make gemsonas but I feel like they aren't close enough to the style of it or that they look too similar to other gemsonas :(

I’ve had similar difficulties anon! What you need to keep in mind is how lines and shapes are used in Steven Universe.

Simplistic shapes and line shape / size are the most important things to consider when trying to emulate the Steven Universe style. (I remember Ian JQ did a mini tutorial on how the crew used lines as emphasis but I’m afraid I can’t find it right now).

What I’ve found most helpful is studying the SU Distance Models. Try sticking to only 3-4 colors and break your gemsona down into shapes! See what you can exaggerate, what details are most important, and emphasize those. 

What it really boils down to after that is practice! Keep drawing anon. 

AN: So I’m exhausted and was supposed to be asleep like two hours ago but I couldn’t stand not getting this out as soon as possible so here.

It’s probably filled with errors. Bear with me.
And I got the request a while ago so it’s techniquely set after 5x04, I think.

And yeah, it’s freaking long. Be excited about that.

Prompt: Alison makes Spencer jealous in regards to Toby. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my story.

Spencer’s entire life seemed to be a series of very delicate life lessons sometimes. From her mom, she’d learned to never show weakness, that it was never alright to cower in the face of a struggle, no matter how large or much she wanted to and to never expect to be coddled. Her father had taught her, through example, that appearance is always first priority, what others think of you matters more than what you think of yourself and pretty lies are always better than ugly truths. From her sister, she learned that winning means more than loving and happiness is how many awards you’ve received, how many plaques have your name on them and who is bragged about at the club.

She had learned a long time ago that she would never be the Golden Child. She’d never measure up, no matter how many pills she popped, no matter how many extra hours she worked, no matter what smile she plastered onto her blemish-less complexion, no matter how much she wanted and dreamed and craved to be perfect, she’d learned that it wasn’t her and it would be never be her.

Alison had taught Spencer a long time ago that she’d always be in someone’s shadow. She would never be anyone’s number one.

Except Toby’s. Always would she be his first priority, his love, his life, his family. He was the silver lining, the one decent thing in a black cloud of a life, the only treasure she’d ever captured, the only good thing in her world.

But Spencer had learned a long time ago, that the good in life will never last.

Whatever you choose to lean on will fall under your weight.

This concept was never as crystal clear as it was inside The Hastings’ Lake-house one night with the girls. It was stormy, it was cold and it was scary. Earlier that day the girls had decided to take a break from chasing -A for five minutes to come out here, to the Hastings’ private residence, to relax and remember why exactly they’d all become friends in the first place. As the day wore on, the storm began to hit, slowly at first then all at once and not one of the girls wanted to rough a drive back to Rosewood or risk one of their loved ones driving on the slippery pavements to get them.

So the five girls continued their bonding inside the lake-house.

“You go next, Aria,” Emily urged, as the girls hit their third round in the game of Truth. Truth, an ironic game for these girls to be playing, was alternate version of a Truth or Dare, without the latter. The girls hadn’t played it since before Ali went missing, when it became crystal clear what truth she had not been telling.

The game, though seemingly harmless, did have some hurtful qualities.

“Alright, Spence,” Aria directed, apparently already given her question some thought beforehand. “Who is one person who you wished you could have met?”

The question, though simple enough, brought out an answer none of the girls expected. They all thought she’d say something like Cleopatra, George Washington, Mary, Queen of Scotts, or someone else that you’d probably only hear about in a history class. The answer none anticipated was, “Toby’s mom, Marion Cavanaugh.”

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The 6x01 Gallavich prison scene and why it wasn’t the end

So, I was answering a post regarding Mickey realizing that Ian wasn’t gonna wait for him and that being terrible and all, but of course I started writing too much and got emotional and decided I’d do a stand alone post for it. 

I’ll say right away that if someone has problems with my opinions, they are kindly requested to deal with their anger issues first, and then, if necessary, talk to me politely and in a mature fashion. Thank you <3

1) First of all, addressing the Svetlana-had-to-pay-Ian thing.
It’s a recurring theme, in Season 6, Ian not talking about Mickey, or Ian talking superficially about his relationship with Mickey, changing his memories of the relationship, and so on (him being a little shit). Thanks to his meeting with Mandy in 6x09, though, we know that he actually misses Mickey (surprise??), and very normally so, since they were kind of crazy in love for five years (Cameron’s words, not mine heh), and Caleb is visibly not a love interest as intense as Mickey was for Ian.
So it’s not like Ian magically stopped loving Mickey, obviously, cause that doesn’t happen. Their relationship has always been non-verbal, so it shouldn’t be a shock that Ian’s not verbal to anyone about it (MUCH LESS HIS CURRENT BOYFRIEND), and if he is, he says bullshit (Mickey did the same thing, pretending not to care, for three whole seasons. That’s just how they roll, people!!! They deny!!! Deny!!! DENY EVERYTHING!!!). But since the whole reason for the break up was that Ian wanted to be indipendent and didn’t want to need Mickey’s care, it seems obvious to me that he’s trying really hard not to need Mickey, and that’s why he doesn’t wanna see him. Because if he sees him, he’ll miss him, and he’s going to be in prison for ten years anyways, so it’s not like they’d have a chance to be together again, so why bother?
Additional observation: Ian says something really tricky: he says “I don’t want that part of my life”. As much as our first reaction is: what the fuck, Ian? I’ve thought about it and realized that Ian currently regards Mickey as a trigger for his bipolar disorder, because he’s profoundly emotionally engaged with him. When he says ‘that part of my life’, I think that he’s really saying: “I don’t want to think about that time when I was batshit crazy.”
Final judgement: asshole? yes. New? Not really, they’ve both been doing it since Season 1. Understandable? Yes. 

2) Initial eye contact avoidance
Little observation. As soon as Ian sits in front of Mickey, he can’t quite look Mickey in the eyes. 
Body language 101, avoiding eye contact means that you have something to hide. These are the things that came to mind:

- Guilt because he behaved like a little shit and he knows it
- Emotional engagement because duh, Gallavich way 101
- Avoiding pain and ooh god why did things have to go this way
- Pride; doesn’t want Mickey to see that although he dumped him, he kinda woulda changed his mind after a couple of days but then Mickey went to fucking jail???

(Firm believer that if Mickey hadn’t gone to jail, they would have gotten back together in a matter of weeks)

Remember: if he didn’t care about Mickey at all and didn’t feel for him, he wouldn’t have had any problems to look at him straight in the eyes to tell him Svetlana had to pay for him to come. 

3) The tattoo.
It may seem like a desperate action from Mickey’s part, but it could also simply be him aknowledging the importance of Ian in his life. Although I think he kinda regretted it when he found out how much trouble that would create for him in prison. Probably did it while drunk, that would explain the misspelling, which would be pretty ooc in any other case.
He probably did it to remember to himself of why he’s in prison. Maybe he’s proud? Maybe he needs a reason to survive to all those years in jail? He knows ten years is a long time. He knows he’ll risk losing his mind entirely. The tattoo is probably his way of keeping himself tied to the world out there, tied to reality.
In any case, Ian doesn’t react badly. He laughs, but it’s not a you’re fucking ridiculous, and I pity you laugh, it’s a you’re a fucking dork laugh. In fact, Mickey laughs at himself as well. Of course, Ian suppresses his laugh very quickly, the asshole, for the same reasons I listed above, but he can’t fool me. He can’t fool us. That was a spontaneous laugh, you fucker. And I’m 100% sure that this was Cameron’s acting choice: to show that Ian is trying really hard to pretend not to care, but sometimes he slips. (He even smiles when they talk about Sammi, and then the bell rings, dammit).

4) Specifics of eye contact dynamics, to understand when Ian is being a sneaky little bastard  and the one time he’s not.
So, as we said, Ian initially looks at the table. Then Mickey tells him of the tattoo. Ian looks. Sees the tattoo. Laughs, stops his laughing as his eyes go back to the table. Mickey smiles, Ian keeps looking at the table. Mickey says “I’m thinking about you”, Ian looks. “You ever think of me?”, he looks up, away.
I think you got the message. While Mickey is basically always looking because he’s reaching out and trying to establish their bond, Ian is closed up.
But guess what?
When he says “Yeah Mick, I’ll wait”… drumroll… he’s looking at Mickey.
Of course, it’s not a “I’ll wait and put a chastity belt on for ten years”, but it’s not a complete lie either. It’s simple behavior observation and body language, here.
So this brings us to the last and most important point.

5) “Will you wait for me?”
I think they both realize that neither of them are going to wait for so many years without fucking anyone else/trying to start a relationship with someone else. They’re grown up now, so they are mature enough to understand that. Their idea of fidelity is diferent. See the deleted scene from Season 6. If Mickey meant ‘waiting for him’ that way, I don’t think he would have fucked someone else on the same day. But you see, the meaning of it is something else, and it’s as serious as it gets.

They’ve “cheated” one another with sex many times. They’ve been on and off the relationship many times. They’ve never waited one another by not having sex with other people, but in a certain way, they’ve always waited for the other one to come back. And this is because despite all of their other affairs, they’ve always loved eachother and only eachother.

So when Mickey is asking Ian “Will you wait?”, he’s not really asking that. He is asking:
“Will you still love me, after all that time?”

And although Ian is resisting, and although he might not completely believe himself yet, and although eight years is a long time, and although they both might fall in love with someone else, and change, as people, Ian still looks up at Mickey, keeps looking at him after, and answers:


The end of Gallavich?

I don’t think so. 


Ian’s POV
  I knew. No one else knew that I did, but I knew. Fucking cheesy as it sounds, I felt it. I knew Mickey was out in my blood, even as I had slept next to Caleb amongst the tossed sheets just a couple days ago. Did this count as cheating? This mental and physical longing for someone else? Hell if I knew. Either way, it wasn’t a conscious decision. Nothing with Mickey had ever been. I hadn’t chosen to be so attracted to him, I hadn’t chosen to fall in love with him. Mickey was definitely not the best, or easiest person to love. I had waited before I could even hold his hand in public. It had been worth the wait, but I would be lying if I said it hadn’t driven me crazy at the time. Mickey was mine, and I wanted the world to know. But he had eventually found himself, and the strength to be himself.
   Then I was diagnosed and suddenly, I lost control and unleashed all my rage and frustration on him. I pushed him away, practically refused to wait for him and hooked up with a different guy. Caleb was great… but he wasn’t Mickey. He never would be. No one could, ever. That was probably a good thing, though not for me. The world couldn’t handle another him. Me? I couldn’t live without him. In the beginning, I would wake up peacefully, picturing my arm around him (I always thought it was funny he was the little spoon, considering his reputation as a badass). Then I would realise I was alone. Later, after Caleb, I would wake up with someone. But as the little spoon, and with someone else, it was never the same. Caleb would never understand what that one baseball field meant to me. He would never understand why my eyes teared up when I heard the words, “Love is a battlefield.” He would never know why the word ‘rape’ was a trigger word for me and he would never know how it feels to be free to be with the one you love after hiding for so long.
   I loved Mickey. Enough that I decided to let him go so I didn’t pull him down with me. That day in the prison, I had to use every ounce of my willpower to not tell him I still wanted him as he showed me the tattoo he had done himself. The tattoo was so much like our relationship. Messy and unpracticed, but worth so much more than it looked like it did. Mickey was undoubtedly the one who had the hardest time calling our relationship what it really was; love. Now, I was the one shrinking away from the truth.
   The morning Mickey was released, Caleb wasn’t with me. I was glad for it. I had enough to worry about without feeling guilty about my wandering mind. I had a feeling, just a feeling. Then I rubbed my hand across my face and reached out to check my phone as I did everyday. He’s out, rainbow boy. The text from Svetlana read. There was a message from Caleb too, but I didn’t even read it. It seemed irrelevant in the moment, like a candle’s light fading away as the sun shone down on it. My breath caught and I needed to see him, though I knew I had to resist. Against my better judgement, I threw on my trusty plaid and jeans and rushed down the stairs. “Fiona, I’m going out!” I called, leaving before she could respond. Mickey’s place was not far from mine, and I knew the way with my eyes closed. It had equalled home in my eyes for long. I briefly recalled me a couple years ago, running to mickey’s place because I had nowhere else to go. I was young then, I had no idea the places our relationship would go.
   I reached soon and knocked on the door sharply. Once, then again when no one responded. Like all those years ago, Mickey opened it. For a few moments, we stood in stunned silence. Just seeing him after so long, after unconsciously longing for him for so long… it took my breath away. “Mickey…” I breathed shakily. Silence overcame us again. He looked at me, his face kind of awestruck. “What are you doing here, Gallagher?” Gallagher. No Ian. No Firecrotch. Gallagher. I had broken his heart, what had I expected? His walls were up. “Svetlana texted me.” I said simply. He looked at me with tired sadness. “You said it, Gallagher, remember?” He practically whispered, his voice so familiar and broken that tears filled my eyes. “You don’t owe me anything.” I did remember. When I was breaking up with him, I had said the same. I was trying to release him. Now that I was where he once was, I realised that I didn’t want to be free. I remembered what he had once said to me, right before he came out for me. “Ian, what you and I have makes me free.” Now, after we were broken and torn apart, I finally understood what he had meant.

Mickey’s POV
Fucking Gallagher. He came to the prison once, only once, and only to break my heart. And now here he was. My mind whirled in circles as it tried to figure out why. Svetlana had told me she had heard there was a new guy in his life. That was the most horrible thing to talk to him about, so naturally I went right for it. “So who’s this guy I hear about, Gallagher?” I say, while he’s still reeling from the announcement that he’s free of me. He blinks at me, surprised at the subject change. “Who?” He asks, before blanching as he realises how heartless he sounds. Briefly, I flinch away from the thought of him forgetting me the same way. But if that was the case, why was he here? Hope rose in me, dangerous and reckless. “Oh. Caleb,” he said, giving a name to the dick who had taken him from me. “He’s great. He’s a firefighter.” I couldn’t help the cruel smirk that came onto my face, trying to hide how he was putting my heart through the wringer with his words. “You always go for the safe ones when it’s not me, Gallagher.” My mind through up the memory of the ‘geriatric viagroid’ he had once been with before I had laid claim on him. Tendrils of jealousy wrapped around my words, making them cold and cruel. He flinched. “He is a little easier to be with, Mickey. For one, he wasn’t rotting in jail till yesterday.” “Don’t give me that bullshit.” I retorted. “You tried to kill my half sister!” “Because she hurt you.” Silence hung between us, till he turned to the wall beside him and punched the wall. “Jesus, Mickey!” He yelled, “Why can’t you just make this easier for the both of us!” He wiped rebellious tears that escaped his eyes, making me soften my voice when I said, “Nothing between us was ever easy, Gallagher. That’s not a bad thing. It means what we have…” I trailed off, realising he was no longer mine, “had was worth fighting for.” Now my eyes were being assholes too and I had to blink to clear them as I looked at the ginger boy who was the only one I had ever loved. He bit his lip, once, and I knew that I was going to lose my mind without him. I watched him watch me, watched as he made a decision. I held my breath, waiting to see what that decision would be. And then his lips were on mine, so familiar, where I belonged, and I realised there would be no one else for me. What was this kiss? Was this him taking me back? Or was this one guilty pleasure before he fell back into the fireman’s arms? I didn’t know. I didn’t care, as I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. He pushed me against the wall and his hands roamed on my chest. Even if this was just a guilty pleasure, I would give myself to him. I would cross all my limits for him. I always had. When he wanted kisses, I kissed him. When he wanted freedom, I came out. When he wanted support, I had tried so hard. So if today all he wanted was a no-strings-attached kiss, I would give it to him. My lips lowered to his neck and he gasped, pulling back. I looked at his flush face, scared of his words. I wanted to be ignorant, to live with the fantasy that he would be mine. “Ian.” I begged without the words. “I love you,” he breathed, “I don’t think I’ve told you that.” My heart stopped beating as I said, “You did. You said every time you touched me. Words are over rated.” He smiled a little, before it collapsed. “I love you, but I’m not sure. I messed up bad Mickey, after I… lost it. I cheated on you with random guys, hated it when you cared for me. I didn’t want you to waste your life with damaged goods.” His words tore through me, especially the first part. “No more excuses Ian. You know I love you. You can have this if you want it. But otherwise, don’t give me false hope. He nodded, eyes shining. “I’m sorry.” He said simply as he walked out my door, breaking me down again.
   It was three (alcohol filled) days later that his urgent knocking filled the walls of the house again. I opened it. “Ian-” I started, but he held up a hand. “I broke up with Caleb. I love you. I want this. I never stopped.” I smiled my best love-of-my-life-wants-this-again smile and pressed my lips against his.

Anonymous asked you: i feel like ian would own a three wolf moon t shirt 100% unironically


charcoalfeathers asked you:What did Ian and Donovan look like when they were kids?

Anonymous asked you: what would ian do if a store opened up nearby that sold cigarettes & alchohol & knives, all in one place?

i think there are already stores like that?? and ian has survived so far so i have faith in him

Anonymous asked you: what ever happened to rich shaved head girl? (sorry I forgot her name.)

she’s still here!! (it’s ok i’m just impressed you remember her)

katieugh asked you: what would Donovan do/play in the burlesque band? I’d guess vocals…?

Anonymous asked you: Donovan can play trumpet


Anonymous asked you: headcannon sometimes ian will completely space during a conversation and sort of just zone out, jules is the only one that runs with it and shares the silence

Anonymous asked you: ian is one of those guys who would go outside in -20 degree weather in shorts and a t-shirt and stand in an alcove outside a liquor store just so he could smoke. he couldnt find his jacket and didn’t care enough to look. he needed his smoke. eheh
Fic-a-Day in May - Day 6

Based on a prompt: Ian and Mickey cuddling, being all cute and just revealing secrets about themselves (first crushes, when they fell for one another, how worried Ian was when Mickey got sent to juvie the first time, how worried Mickey was when Ian left, etc.) just cutesy stuff please?

It was a cold night in Chicago, all the windows in the Milkovich house were firmly shut and Ian and Mickey lay together between the warm sheets in a post-sex haze, just enjoying the quiet while it lasted.

“Windows are frostin’ up,” Mickey mumbled, his cheek resting comfortably on Ian’s shoulder, arm draped lazily over his chest.

“Probably start snowing by the end of the week,” Ian said in a croaky voice.

He had one arm around Mickey, fingers gently caressing the small of his back as his other hand toiled with his fingers, weaving slowly in and out just to be touching one another.

“Think we could get away with staying here the rest of the winter?” Mickey asked and Ian hummed a little with his eyes closed.

“We’d probably starve first,” he said. “But at least we’d stay warm.”

“I don’t mean… never mind,” Mickey mumbled and Ian turned his head to look at him, lips pressed lightly against his hairline.

“I know,” he whispered. “I missed this when I was in the army.”

“What, you didn’t shack up with any soldiers?” Mickey said and Ian smiled.

“You know the army, don’t ask, don’t tell,” he said. “Besides, I was too busy trying to forget about all that stuff to ‘shack up’ with anyone.”

Mickey kept his eyes on the point where their fingers met and stayed quiet. He nuzzled into Ian’s shoulder a little and sighed.

“Worried ‘bout you,” he mumbled.

“I did okay,” Ian said. “Even after I left the army I did okay, I mean, not great but I got by.”

“You could have been dead for all I fuckin’ knew,” he said. “Never really thought you’d leave in the first place.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I did either,” Ian said. “Once I got on the bus I just couldn’t get off.”

“Better not pull any shit like that again,” he said and Ian chuckled as he planted a kiss to his forehead.

“Oh yeah well what about you, in and out of juvie… you know how worried I was after you got shot and the cops carted you off?”

“Was just a leg shot,” he shrugged. “Hurt, but I survived didn’t I?”

“Yeah and I was naïve enough to worry about you in there,” Ian said, poking him in the side. “Must have slipped my mind that it wasn’t your first time.”

“Yeah, yeah, juvie whore, I get it,” he said. “We Milkovich’s start buildin’ our records early.”

“So, was it when you were in there the first time or the second time when you realised you couldn’t live without me?” Ian asked with a smug grin and Mickey laughed.

“Oh that how it’s gonna be is it?” he said, propping himself up and flicking the look off Ian’s face. “You think you’re such a catch huh?”

Ian tried to push his hand away, swatting at it and scrunching up his eyes with a laugh.

“Alright, okay!” he said. “Not denying it though are you?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes with a smile. “Smart-ass.”

“Really though, when was it?” he asked, lying back down and wrapping his arm around Mickey’s waist.

Mickey got the idea, rolling onto his side so Ian could curl up behind him and paste their bodies together.

“When was what?”

“When you knew… you know,” he said softly, nose nuzzling against Mickey’s ear.

“Come on, I’ve told you before, don’t make me say it…” he said.

“You have not told me,” he said. “You just change the subject.”

He nipped at the skin on Mickey’s shoulder with his teeth and Mickey tried to wriggle out of his grip but Ian wasn’t letting him get away with it so easily.

“Just like that,” he said and Mickey puffed loudly.

“I don’t know, what makes you think I know that?” he said, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.

“Because I know you do.”

“Now you’re just being cocky ― ouch! Did you just pinch me?”

“Answer me,” Ian said, burying his face even further into Mickey’s neck and peppering kisses over his skin.

“I don’t know, probably wasn’t until you left,” he said and Ian seemed to squeeze him tighter. “Fucking sucked, you know that right?”

“Hey, I was there at your wedding, okay?” Ian said. “Don’t even start.”

“What a shit-show that was,” he said.

“New topic, who was your first crush?” Ian hummed, getting dopey in his tired state.

“Oh shut up,” Mickey chuckled pushing himself back into Ian.

“Come on, just lie and be adorable and say it was me back when we played little league,” he said.

“I remember you back then,” Mickey said. “You were kind of hideous.”

“I’ll pinch you again… don’t make me do it,” he said, poking him in the stomach.

“Seriously though, I do remember you,” he said. “Hard to forget your fucking hair.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I remember you being good at batting, and kinda fast, and really angry,” Ian said. “Though that part hasn’t changed, you’re just taller, but not by a lot.”

“You know what, I meant it, you were hideous,” Mickey said, sighing a little. “In a good kind of way.”

“You’re just saying that,” he said. “Come on, you had to have had a crush on like a singer, or an actor, anyone.”

“Probably but I can’t remember that shit,” Mickey said. “Too busy trying not to.”

“True,” Ian said with a yawn. “Though I always thought Billie-Joe Armstrong was pretty good looking.”

“That your way of asking me to start wearing eyeliner?”

“No, but you’d probably look hot,” he grinned. “Come on, I know you have one.”

Mickey sighed. “Okay but will you promise to shut up and sleep after?”

“I’ll try.”

“Jesus… You hear much of Eve 6?”

“Rings a bell,” Ian said, yawning again.

“Lead singer wasn’t half bad, when he was younger anyway.”

“See I knew you had one.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Come here.”

“You got me pinned to your stomach where the fuck else you want me to go?” he grumbled.

“Roll over you grump,” he said, scooting back to let Mickey roll over to face him.

He brushed his cheek with his hand before leaning in to kiss him. His mouth was soft and warm and even with just the slightest of touches Mickey felt like this was the place he was made for. Ian made him feel whole, like anything he had been missing in the past didn’t matter.

He loved him, and even if they didn’t say it often enough, they didn’t have to.

He closed his eyes and wriggled down so that his head was resting on Ian’s chest, the gentle thud of his heartbeat like a lullaby.

“Better not think about leaving again,” he mumbled and Ian’s fingers were in his hair, stroking soothingly.

“If I do I’ll get you to come with me,” he murmured.

“I could get into that,” he said, slowly drifting to sleep in the place that he never wanted to leave.