[ audio ] cw: a bit gore, a bit sexual vulgarity

[gentrify]

[ It's only a voice that erupts over the network - clearly male, and deeply accented in what most could probably tell is Chicagoan, and if not, at least Northern and urban. That, and not terribly impressed with the state of things. ]

Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to use your limited amount of magic teleporting knick-knacks to link up to three bumfuck goddamn nowhere towns in Shitsville, Fuckyou Falls, and De Bullshit, USA? [ He only remembered the 'Falls' and the 'De' part, okay, he's improvising. You know what he means. ] I never even heard of these backwater trash dumps. They're probably run by hillbilly cannibals, and you know anything that ends is 'Falls' is gonna be a place where you lure dipshit teenagers to get the fuck murdered outta them, then probably stitched into a nasty skin sweater for ol' Billy Bob Psycho to wear to the family reunion, like that's gotta be horror movie law by now, anyone feel me on that?

[ Like 'Silent Hill', anything that sounds like it would make a nice landscape portrait is probably, most definitely, trying to kill you. That's what pop culture has taught Mickey, and he's sticking to his ghetto, thank you very much. At least no one there is a cannibal. Well, outwardly. ]

No one thought of, I dunno, New York? LA? Chicago? [ emphasis there, because that's the one he's really missing. ] Any of those places people actually give at least two almost-flaming fucks about? I dunno, maybe four, maybe some of you assholes have an excess of fucks to spread around, good for you, 'cause I'm all outta them at this point.

[ You can hear a snort, and it's easy to imagine Mickey shaking his head on the other end of the line. A brief pause, a reprieve from Mickey's stream of profane consciousness, and the last bit comes more sobered, almost bored. ]

That said, who do you gotta blow around here to get a lift to Chicago? I know a hot, ginger twink lookin' to arrange some travel plans.

Also got like a suitcase full'a knives up for trade. Hit me up.

Comments

[gentrify]

[ from the stories he'd heard about ian's mom, even before the two knew each other, just living in the same neighborhood, monica is not a thing you want to be. least of all when you're one of the children she put through hell. mickey's own dad was definitely an asshole, but he'd at least been there most of the time. and his crazy shit was relatively predictable. a frown pulls at his lips, mickey feeling at once immensely protective of this boy he knows can more than protect himself. ]

You're nothing like Monica.

[ mickey says it quietly, tugging ian's head against his shoulder, another kiss to his forehead. he's still baffled on what this is and what it means, how much of what made monica monica is now in ian, and how he'll help ian handle that. at least they can still joke about it, things always easier with them when they can be careless fucks. ]

Yeah, where's the fuckin' lie, though? [ mickey chuckles against his hair. ] I'll stock up the Midol next time I'm by CVS.

[ which is a joke, he doesn't think it'll do anything for ian's particular issue. hell, he's not sure what would. which is maybe part of why he doesn't stop carding fingers through his hair, now tugging a blanket off the back of the couch to drape over his boyfriend. let ian pass out a while so mickey can do some research. ] Been a long day. No one's gonna bust your balls for a nap.

cw; suicide

[wetblankets]

[Ian shifts, resting his head against Mickey's shoulder, sliding down on the couch so he has the room to splay out over him and then tuck his arms over Mickey's sides. His lip trembles, but he doesn't let Mickey see it. Ian can think back to all the things Monica's done and compare them to his own. He remembers the way it'd felt when Monica had gotten low, slit her wrists at Thanksgiving. How much it had hurt that she'd rather be dead than stay with them, but she'd always picked other things over her kids. Didn't make it any easier to swallow. She'd hurt people, like he had, and he'd never had the chance to ask her if she realized she was doing it or not. He never knew until it was over.

He breathes in, exhales slowly. He'd thought she'd be the only one who could understand him because she'd gone through it but he knows now that isn't true. Ian didn't want to be like Monica. Or Frank.]

Something something, a joke about you and my balls.

[He says it tiredly, mumbles against Mickey's throat. Mickey's touch is hypnotic, eyes drifting closed as he's covered over, warm and allowing himself to be vulnerable.]

[gentrify]

[ debbie will tell mickey, about nine or so months from now, that he's acting like frank when ian starts losing it. trying to drink him away. he still doesn't understand enough about what this is that ian inherited from monica, or how much of a problem it will be to help him through it, but if faced with the option of treat ian like frank has treated his kids all their lives, or do literally anything else, no matter how painful, he'd be on board with whatever was needed.

will be, too. when that day comes, and he's standing in his room, bare assed and drunk, while ian's kid sister tells him 'you can't drink him away'. right now, he doesn't have the value of that experience to tell him anything, but what he knows is that this boy curled up against his chest, gradually drifting off, lips brushing against his neck, is everything he wants out of life. ]

Something something, laughing and probably punching you.

[ mickey murmurs, arms wrapping him up a little closer, wiggling just enough to make everything comfortable and settled in, hopefully in a manner than none of his limbs will fall asleep under ian. his phone is in the back pocket he can still get to if he reaches, so he'll wait until ian's snoring to go digging for it, and start trying to google this shit. for now, he's just enjoying the warmth of him. ]

I'll be here when you wake up, if you figure that joke out in your dreams.

[wetblankets]

[He wouldn't. The joke would be forgotten and anything remotely funny he wouldn't even think of until days from now, that's how it always went with those things.]

Wake me up if you need to.

[Ian could sleep like the dead, if given half the chance, and they were crammed together on a couch.]