#galladrables

[lanabrazilian]

My contribution to this @galladrabbles week's. Thank you @rayrayor for the word, pumpkin spices 🧡🖤

×××

Mickey didn't want to be there.

But it was that bullshit of learning to cook or play the piano. Neither extracurricular classes interested him, but learning to cook could be useful in the future.

What the hell would he do if he learned the piano?

"Today we're going to work in pairs. Remember, since it's Halloween, today's recipe must contain pumpkin," the short teacher instructed.

Mickey swallowed, unsure where to begin, until he heard the noise behind him. He turned around.

Redhead. Tall. Freckles.

Fuck, it looked the boy had gotten pumpkin spice all over his face. The redhead smiled.

"I think I'll be your partner."

[lanabrazilian]

One more for the @galladrabbles Cake of the week because I was excited about that word. Thanks, Sis @deathclassic.

-

It was supposed to be a cake. In some distant reality where Mickey didn’t get distracted arguing with his oldest son, Charlie.

"I told you we should set an alarm."

"I don’t need the fuckin' alarm."

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Me and the burnt cake disagree."

"Shut up, kid."

"What the hell happened here...?"

Ian’s voice cut through the argument. Mickey and Charlie lifted the tray with the burnt batter.

"Surprise!" they shouted, ignoring the smoke and the burnt smell filling the kitchen.

-

Mickey is a bad cook and I'm going to die on this hill, because I love imagining him leaving the kitchen at home a disaster.

[lanabrazilian]

My first time participating in @galladrabbles. I couldn't resist, I love cake! Dedicated to whoever nominated Cake as word of the week @deathclassic. Happy life, Sis 🖤

-

Mickey stared at the chocolate cake in front of him, trying to decipher the feeling stirring in his chest.

He remembered the first time he had ever wished for a birthday cake. He was six years old, and his mother had left a few months earlier, but before that she had spent the whole beginning of the year promising him a chocolate birthday cake.

Mickey remembered waiting for that cake. In vain.

And now here he was, looking at a cake exactly like the one he had told his husband he wanted when he was a child.

He smiled softly.

Ian would always be the one to make his wishes come true.

-

I thought about this today. It's bittersweet, I know, but my baby Mickey deserved a birthday cake.

[blue-disco-lights]

Galladrabbles: ✨ Crystalline ✨

Thank you @crossmydna for such a gorgeous and glittery @galladrabbles prompt this week!

==== 💎==== 💎====

It was Carl’s bright idea to hit the science museum’s new Precious Gems Exhibit. 

He heard from “reliable” sources that whoever got to the collection first would score a million-dollar haul.

Midnight. Carl greased a secure guard buddy, who let them in through the employee entrance.

Ski masks on, they snuck their way into the exhibit hall, case-cracking tools at the ready.

Scanning their fortune, one rock in particular caught Ian’s eye. 

Translucent, crystalline blue.

Someone moved into his periphery. He looked up and met eyes that matched the precious gem.

“The fuck you doin’ on my diamond heist, Gallagher?”

[pookiebearmick]

galladrabbles - poem by trista mateer

In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch.

thank you @ardent-fox for this week's @galladrabbles prompt! this poem is so lovely <3

Mickey didn’t realize the joy he would feel when he and Ian moved into their own space.

A space that was built for just him and Ian - nobody else.

They put up silly posters and Mickey made some drawings that Ian promptly framed to hang on the wall. They were building a home together in their small (but cozy) apartment on the West Side.

Here, he was safe. He was with Ian, who loved him for all that he is - the good, the bad, the really bad, and Ian’s favorite; the soft, sweet loverboy that he’s always been deep down.

[pookiebearmick]

galladrabbles - thank you

@twinklyylights has the cutest prompt for @galladrabbles this week and it's got me feeling inspired! a little shout out to @whatthebodygraspsnot also for writing a cute little ficlet about mickey going to the gym so he can lift ian - i got some inspiration from this, as well! this is my first time doing a drabble, and i'm definitely not a writer, BUT i do love fluff and cuddly husbands, and i'd like to share some cute shit with y'all. anyways, please be kind <3

“Uh-uh, too tired to move to the bed, Mickey,” Ian complained, eyes closed and voice full of sleep.

“Neck’s gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning, man,” Mickey said, trying to convince Ian to get up. “Come on.”

Ian seemed to only settle into the couch more as Mickey was grumbling at him. Mickey looked down at his sleepy husband, who looked perfectly content to sleep with his neck all crooked.

He got up and wiggled his arms under his giant husband, scooping him up and walking him to the bedroom.

Ian smiled sweetly against his neck. “Thanks, Mick.”

[shinygalaxyperson]

Hello @galladrabbles friends! For this week @look-i-love-u gave us a beautiful picture prompt!! inspire me for a second part of my Magical Ian.

Ian doesn’t see the boy for a few days.

One day he is here, 

He has a black eye and a man is yelling at him. Ian hides and wants to cry because the man is pure evil, and the boy is terrified.

Finally, the man left.

The boy tries to hide his tears  and finally sees him.

He’s afraid but doesn’t move.

Something happens, a tiny spark of hope, tiny, but it's here.

The boy gives him a shy smile, and Ian can read his true aura now.

Deep blue, yellow and orange like a sunset.

It’s so beautiful!

[shinygalaxyperson]

Hey 😎 for this week the @galladrabbles prompt is rock band 🎸🎸🎸 thanks @themilkoviches

Ian never realized what a beautiful voice Mickey has when he sings.

Ever since their marriage, a happy, relaxed Mickey whistles and sings in the shower, rock bands that Ian has never heard, or his favorite Bon Jovi's

Ian often sneaks up behind the door and listens, smiling, so proud of him.

Ian likes to see his man like that, enjoying his life, fear and trauma pushed very far away.

Now when Ian feels a little low, tired and grumpy he doesn’t hide anymore.

He cuddles with him on the couch, and very softly asks, "Would you sing for me?"