#It's like. Kinda just brushed off in canon like yeah he took his meds he's fine now

[kakusu-shipping]

The year is 2022 and I am a little guy legally married to Makarov Dreyar of the Fairy Tail Guild, as 13 year old me would have wanted.

Self Insert and just straight up Making Things Up about Fairy Tail Lore beneath the cut

So, in the world of Fairy Tail I am a Vampire, pushing 600 years old. I’m lifting a lot of this from young mes original self insert which pushed the Immortal Loli/Shota trope, so I am Makarov’s 3′nothing size.

The rest of this is more origonal

In his 600 years, Emile became the (to his knowledge) last living pure blooded vampire, as much like Dragons, Vampires were eventually hunted to near extinction by humans after catting and feeding of them for so long.

Emile survived due to his small stature and young appearance, keeping humans from believing him to be the immortal creature of the night that had been feeding from their village for years.

Now alone, Emile travels the continent, avoiding staying in one place for too long, inventing Magic Items such as The Magicmobile to assist humans, and gather a growing wealth deposited in banks across the land.

To gain access to these springs of wealth, however, he has to be a legal citizen of the country he is currently staying it. As he can’t exactly claim to be the 100+ year old original opener of the account, he instead has to play the decedent. Starting first with forged documents, he puts himself in schools, moving every other grade to avoid suspicion as he doesn’t age or grow, and ending with a big of Marriage Fraud to solidify his residency, and gain access to his accounts.

This is how he ended up with Makarov Dreyar, after all the Fairy Tail guild seems to rack up a lot of repair bills, would be rather nice to have someone with plenty of spare wealth to pay it all off.

Emile, as an ancient being, has a lot of deeper understanding of magic than most in the guild. In his time he’s had the space and practice to master most types of magics, only Celestial Magic still eludes him.

He’s more than happy to spread this magic onto others, teaching Cana card magic, Erza her requip spells, helping Mira and Elfman perfect Take Overs, he even implanted the Lighting Dragon Lacrima in Laxus when he was a mere toddler.

Early in Emile’s life in the guild he saw no problem teaching such young children dangerous magics. So long as he’d lived, he knew of human’s short life spans. Keeping the Guild strong mattered more than keeping the kids safe. Sending them on jobs alone, charging them jewel for food or rent around the guild seemed fair. They’re old enough to be part of a guild they’re old enough to work and pay for their rights to stay.

Until Lisanna died.

He hadn’t really thought himself attached to this kids, Makarov’s kids, until he stood beside him at Lisanna’s funeral, staring at a tombstone with such a young age on it.

He did that.

He let a child go on an S class quest. He taught a child dangerous magics. He told Makarov they’d be fine on their own.

Rules changed soon after. Minors were no longer allowed on S Class Quests at all. Minors also were not allowed to take monster hunting jobs without an adult in the party. S Class Quests were moved upstairs and fewer of them were accepted.

Emile started making magic items for everyone in the guild on top of making Erza’s armor and weapons. Just something to help them on quests, a little something to lean on, to keep them safe, to hold on to.

He tries not to be too protective over the kids, he knows they’re goo wizards and can handle themselves. But they’re also just so squishy, humans with such short life spans always running head first into trouble.

He understands why Makarov went bald so quickly now.

[hazel-writes]

Summary: A nightmare, a new friend, and an old enemy — your first official day of work gets off to an interesting start.

Notes: This is a dialogue-heavy chapter, sorry!

Word Count: 2,200

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

For when your troubles start multiplyin',

And they just might,

It's easy to forget them without tryin'

With just a pocketful of starlight

• Catch a Falling Star - Perry Como •

Panic. Complete and utter panic. You are searching for something, but you can’t seem to find it. You need this thing to survive. Where the kriff is it?!!

A bang. Heavy footsteps. A scream; your scream. You are being dragged away, helpless, no one around to save you.

Eventually you feel your bare feet hit freezing cold ground, but it’s a sinister voice that sounds from above you that chills you to the bone.

You sit up with a start, panting heavily. You hadn’t had a dream like that in a while. This one was scary, but what really terrified you was how strangely familiar it felt. It’s probably just the stress, you thought.

You looked at the clock across the room: 5:13. You were too anxious to go back to sleep and you had to get up in an hour anyways, so you decided to get ready for the day.

You showered, brushed your teeth, and inspected your closet for something to wear. You chose a dark grey tunic with a matching grey skirt that went just below your knees. In typical First Order fashion, you pulled your hair into a tight bun. Looking in the mirror, you barely recognized yourself.

No, this wouldn’t do.

Still feeling a bit rebellious from yesterday's encounter with the injured stormtrooper and General Hux, you decided to leave your hair down like you did on Lothal, two loose braids winding around the sides of your head, the rest of it gently cascading over your shoulders.

Better.

Content with your appearance, you headed straight for the cafeteria. You didn’t recognize most of the food — It all looked like gray mush compared to the vibrant, fresh foods your parents cooked back home.

Lothal was known for its large farm-based economy and culture, something you took immense pride in. Lothalians had fought hard to preserve their land, as it was often victim to exploitation by those with galactic authority. Many times the planet was under imperialist occupation, namely the former Galactic Empire. During those times, the planet was essentially destroyed, its sacred habitats burnt to a crisp. Natural resources were depleted, pollution enveloped the air, and Lothalians were either forced into a life of servitude or were killed. A small group of rebels, called the Spectres, led a resistance effort against the Imperial occupiers, eventually succeeding in driving them out. Since then, relations between Lothal and the First Order were tense, which explained some of General Hux’s disdain towards you. Lothal, however, managed to restore its previous prosperity and you had been lucky enough to grow up in relative peace.

Right now, all you longed for was your favorite fruit, jogan, but it didn’t look like you were going to find it here anytime soon. With a sigh, you settled for the indistinct mush and sat down at a table in the corner.

Since you woke up so early, you were the only one in the cafeteria, but you didn’t mind. You were actually thankful — this meant no more run-ins with stormtroopers, generals, or ridiculously tall men in capes.

After forcing down the last of the mush, you strolled the hallways, attempting to somewhat gain your bearings before your first official day of work. You pulled out the map you had been provided and followed its twists and turns to the yellow dot labeled: Office of Imperial Promotion, Galactic Truth, and Fact Correction.

As you rounded the last corner, you saw a door a dozen feet away which appeared to be guarded by a stormtrooper. This must be it, you thought.

You apprehensively approached the door, willing your feet to move forward with more confidence than they were. As you reached for the handle, you did your best to avoid the trooper’s gaze. Suddenly, he reached his arm out towards you.

Terrified, you stumbled backwards, hitting your head on the wall behind you. The trooper advanced, both arms now outstretched.

You protectively put up your arms as well, attempting to shield your head from any incoming injury — but it never came.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” You heard the trooper say, his hands now raised in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s me!”

Your hands were shaking as you lowered your arms slightly. You tried to think of any stormtroopers you knew. Not any on the Finalizer, you thought.

“I- I’m sorry. Who are you?” You stuttered.

“Oh, right!” He gestured lazily to his mask. “This ol’ thing.” He sighed and shook his head.

He spoke unlike you’d ever heard a trooper speak before. He sounded kind, normal even! Normal… Something clicked and you started to put the pieces together.

“You - you were the one I found in the hallway!”

You were shocked; you thought for sure you had left him to die. A stab of guilt pierced your heart.

“Yeah, that’s me, good ol' Mr. Concussion!”

“I thought you were... Well, I thought you were going to be-” you started.

“Trust me, I’ve been through much worse.” He shrugged nonchalantly. You paused, looking him over in astonishment and thoughts running wild. What piece of space junk sent him back to work the day after receiving a head injury?

“You should be lying down, or resting, or getting treatment in the med bay, or-”

“Wow," he said. "You sure worry a lot about other people for someone who doesn’t worry enough about themselves.”

“Why do you say that?” you questioned sceptically.

“Well, going through with that stunt yesterday, you not only risked your career for me, a stranger, but you risked your life as well.”

When you didn’t respond, he paused for a second, reaching behind him to reveal the large First Order coat you had used to stop his bleeding the day before. Hux’s coat.

“I take it this isn’t yours?” He asked, knowingly. You imagined a small smirk forming under his helmet.

You responded with a breathy laugh. “No, it most definitely is not. That used to belong to General Hux, but now it’s yours, I suppose.”

His eyes widened in a mix of shock, fear, and a hint of admiration.

“Son of a blaster, how’d you manage that?” He replied.

“Well, I uhh- I just kinda took it from him?”

“You just kinda took it from him?” he repeated, stunned.

“Without his permission…” you continued, quieter this time.

The trooper just stared at you in shock, and you started to feel uncomfortable. Maybe he thought you were crazy. Maybe he would turn you in. Maybe he would bring you to Kylo R-

A laugh bellowed from behind his mask, slightly distorted.

“You!” A laugh. “And Hux, how-” More laughter. “Without his permission-” He could barely get his words out between laughs.

This was the first time you’d heard laughter since arriving on the Finalizer, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. As his laughter mellowed, he sighed and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

“I’m FN-2187.”

FN-2187, you thought. “That’s hardly a name…”

He shrugged. “It’s the one I was given.”

You thought for a second. “Mind if I give you a new one, to be used privately of course,” you clarified.

He looked taken aback, even through the helmet. “Yeah, that would be… okay.”

You paused, thinking. “How about I call you Finn?”

“Finn… Yeah, I like that,” he said. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. My friends back home call me Wren, but it’s probably better you call me by my real name here,” you said, referencing the Finalizer.

He nods, and after telling him your name, you drop his hand. He looks around the hallway before moving a step closer to you.

“In all seriousness, thank you. No one has ever asked for more than my trooper code, and no one ever stops when… you know...,” He trailed off, lowering his gaze, that sadness you sensed from him yesterday having returned.

“Hey,” you reached out and placed a gentle hand on his armored shoulder. “We got each other’s backs now, right? We’ll make it outta here in one piece. Maybe we can steal Hux’s toupee next time.” You winked at him, making him chuckle.

“Ha, yeah, that’d be great,” he replied.

At that moment, the Ginger General himself rounded the corner of the hallway, followed by two obedient stormtroopers.

You started to feel the panic building again. Had he heard what I said? Is he coming to fulfil his promise of my death by trash compactor?

“It’s alright,” Finn reassured. “Follow my lead.”

Kicking Hux’s bloodied jacket behind the door, Finn moved to stand in front of you a few feet. You started to follow him, but he held his arm back, keeping you in place. Finn stood at attention as Hux neared, and you attempted to make yourself as small as possible. You noticed that his coat seemed a few sizes too big, and you chuckled internally, knowing that you were the reason for that.

“Ah, I see you have yet again managed to involve yourself in the business of pathetic stormtroopers,” he spat.

You glanced down to Finn’s fists, which were clenched in anger.

“No, General. I was just asking for directions” you replied.

Hux’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, like a predator stalking his prey. Finn subtly shifted his balance back and forth, continuing to clench and unclench his fists. The General’s eyes came to land on your hair, which he scowled at disapprovingly. He began to approach you, and as he did, you noticed Finn start to move towards you. You made a small gesture with your hand, pleading with him to stay back. He listened, reluctantly.

Hux grabbed a chunk of your hair. “This is not within protocol,” he seethed.

“Neither is that coat, General,” you replied, gesturing to his oversized garb.

You had no idea where the sudden burst of confidence had come from, but you immediately regretted your comment as Hux pulled harder, causing you to wince in pain. He pulled his face to your ear.

“Strike two,” he whispered threateningly, before shoving you back into the wall and turning around, almost knocking into Finn.

Expecting Finn to move out of the way, Hux waited, but neither of them stirred. The two were locked in a stalemate for what seemed like eons. Finn eventually sidestepped, letting him pass, and with a final glare, Hux and the troopers continued walking down the hallway.

You leaned against the wall, rubbing your now-sore head. As soon as Hux and the troopers were out of sight, Finn rushed over to you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, concerned. His armored hand helped you smooth down your disheveled hair.

“Yeah,” you replied shakily.

“I could’ve helped,” he stated dejectedly, a hint of frustration laced in his tone.

“I know… I just didn’t want to see you get hurt — again,” you responded stubbornly, giving him a small tap on the side of his helmet.

“Hey, this whole saving each other’s lives thing only works if it goes both ways,” he argued.

“Save your saving for another time. I’m sure I’ll need it soon enough.”

He sighed. “I really hope that isn’t true.”

Silence filled the hallway before you had a sudden realization.

“Hey, how did you know who I was when I first walked up? You were unconscious when I found you yesterday…,” you asked, perplexed.

“When I woke up in the med bay, I asked the nurses how I got there. They told me I arrived with the help of a girl from this sector of the ship. So I came here and waited. I don’t know how, but I just knew when I saw you — you were the one who had saved me.”

“Oh,” you replied, still puzzled.

“Yeah, pretty weird, huh?” He paused. “Anyways, I should let you get to work — wouldn’t want you to be late.”

“Right,” you replied. “I guess I’ll see you around then Finn.”

“I hope so, coat thief,” he said with a smirk, placing a large hand on your shoulder. “Stay safe out there.”

“I’ll try my best, Mr. Concussion,” you replied, making your way to the door of your new workplace before directing a final wave back at Finn. You watched as he walked down the hallway, stopping at the very end to turn and salute you. You chuckled. At least I made one friend today, you thought.

You pondered over your father’s words of wisdom: nothing bad can ever come from helping those in need. So yeah, maybe that wasn’t completely true. But you could amend the advice a bit, taking today’s events into account: something good will always come from helping those in need. So far, despite everything you had gone through, that seemed to remain true.

With a new spring in your step, you smoothed your uniform, fixed your hair, and held your head high as you walked into your first official workspace, feeling prepared for whatever else you would have to face throughout the day.

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Previous || Masterlist || Next

[getinthefuckingcar]

I Fucking Hate You

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or any canon story lines used in this fanfic.

I'm sorry if they're OOC, I'm working on making sure they're accurate. Also let're pretend Carl is home for some reason and all the Gallaghers are there rn.

I feel like I use too many commas when I write and most of my sentences are run-ons. Let me know if you agree.

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Mikhailo Milkovich was found dead five miles from the border between Mexico and the United States.

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Ian doesn't realize at first, why everyone freezes.  He's staring at the TV, at the picture of him. The picture of Mickey. He still doesn't realize when Carl runs up the stairs and the door slams, when he hears a choked sob come from Debbie, when Fiona lets out a muttered, oh shit, or when Lip stops talking.

He doesn't realize until Liam reacts.

"Mickey Mouse?" He asks, turning to Ian. He sounds sad. How does he understand before Ian does?

Mikhailo Milkovich was found dead five miles from the border between Mexico and the United States.

Suddenly there's bile rising up his throat and he's throwing up all over the wooden flooring in the living room.

It's only been a few months.

It's all his fault.

The minute he stops, he's shaking. He can't stand up, but Fiona is next to him, and he doesn't realize he's crying until the pads of her thumbs are swiping under his eyes, but doing nothing, because the tears won't fucking stop.

She's guiding him up the stairs, into his bedroom and pushing him down until he's on the bed. She's talking, but he can't understand what she's saying because Mickey's dead. Mickey's dead and it's all his fault, and he should have gone with him. He should have been there because then he wouldn't have been wherever he was when he died, he would have been with Ian.

Ian doesn't leave his bed for two weeks. His pills are working. Debbie brings him his meds and some toast every morning and night, and he doesn't know how he has the strength to take them and eat the fucking toast, but Mickey had always wanted him to be okay, and Ian thinks that even if he's never really okay again, that this fucking disease won't be the reason why. There's always water next to his bed, whenever he drinks it someone comes in and fills it up. He doesn't shower, Fiona called into work for him, explained what happened. Sue doesn't really know the full story, doesn't really understand who Mickey is, or why Ian cares so much, but she lets him take as much time as he needs. He only gets up to piss, because fuck that, he isn't pissing in his fucking bed.

Everyone tries to talk to him, Lip comes upstairs first, a few hours after Fiona brought him up, telling him that he gets it, that it felt like this when Karen got hit by the fucking car and Ian screams at him. Tells him he  doesn't understand because this is his fault, and Karen didn't fucking die, and she remembered who he was, and he could still go and find her if he really wanted to see her. Lip doesn't say anything else, but when he leaves, Ian curls further into himself.

Fiona tries to talk to him next, come into his room a few days later, saying that she gets it too, that when she though Jimmy was dead, it was horrible. Ian doesn't believe her because he knows she never really thought Jimmy was dead, just that he left. He doesn't scream at her, but when she tries to brush the hair out of his face, or tempt him into taking a shower, he shoves her away. She leaves too.

Carl and Debbie talk to him, halfway through the second week. They tell him they don't understand how he feels, that maybe they've seen people in love, maybe they have been themselves, they don't really know, but they've never seen anyone love like him and Mickey. That, yeah, they both fucked up a lot, but that time between his first depressive episode and his next manic one, those months, were the happiest they've ever seen Ian. They say that Mickey would want him to be okay. When they leave, Ian showers, but goes back to bed again.

The last day he spends in bed, Liam stumbles into his room. He climbs into the bed with Ian, little hands resting on his cheeks.

"I miss Mouse, too." Ian cries again. Liam's short fingers wiping away tears, and he stays with Ian until the morning.

Ian gets up, he showers, he wakes Liam up and makes him some breakfast. He calls Sue, tells her he'll be back tomorrow. She says she was worried about him, asks if he's okay, he says he's not, but he's as okay as he'll ever be.

Fiona and Lip try not to make a big deal of him being up, but they hand him a plate piled with food, and even though he isn't hungry, he eats all of it.

Ian checks him phone, sees messages from Mandy and Iggy, even Svetlana called a few times.  He texts Mandy, asks if she's okay. He doesn't answer when she asks how he's doing. Iggy  actually seems upset when he answers the phone, and Ian remembers that Mickey had told him Iggy had always been the one trying to keep the beatings from Mickey, just like Mickey had tried to keep them from Mandy.

He calls Svetlana and asks if she could bring Yevgeny over. He says he's sorry for acting like he didn't give a shit, about her, or the baby, or Mickey. She tells him that she knew he gave a shit, knew he had fucked up, but that it was okay. She brings Yevgeny over for dinner.

When she walks through the door, she hands the three year old to Ian and the toddler smiles bright, his blue eyes shining, just like Mickey's did. Ian wants to cry again.

"He misses father," She stated.

"I do too."

"Other father, one who's here now."

Ian smiles for the first time in weeks, and presses his nose to the back of Yevgeny's head.

There's a knock on the door, and Debbie goes to answer it, Liam trailing behind her.

"Mouse!" Ian freezes, placing Yev down on the couch. He turns around.

Mickey is there. His hair is blonde, peeking out of the hoodie he's wearing, but he's there, and his knuckles still hold promises of pain, and his eyes are still just as bright, and he's picking Liam up and hugging him.

"What the fuck?" he hears someone ask, Fiona, probably, but Mickey is hugging Debbie and Carl now and Ian tries to remember if he took his meds at breakfast. He did.

Mickey is looking at Ian now, and suddenly Ian is there. His arms are tight around Mickey, one pulling the hood off his head, and slipping his hand into his hair, the other around his back, hand gripping tight to the fabric he finds there. He breathes in deep, finally taking in that scent he loved, the scent he missed so fucking much. Mickey's arms are around him too, one hand running up and down his back and the other holding around his waist.

"You complete fucking asshole!" He chokes out. He realizes he's breaking down and he doesn't really care, because Mickey isn't fucking dead. "I fucking hate you." He says, but he's wetting Mickey's sweater with tears, and he's never fucking letting go.

"I love you too." Ian's smiling, pulling back enough to kiss him, there's tongue, and the tears still falling from Ian's eyes are making it kinda wet, but neither of them care. When they pull away Ian immediately clings to his side and doesn't let go when he picks up Yev, and hugs the little boy, or when Fiona hugs him, or when Svetlana does, even when Lip gives him a one armed hug, Ian is still wrapped up in one arm, both of his around Mickey's torso.

"I love you, shit, so fucking much, I should have gone with you. I'm sorry. So fucking sorry, Mick." Ian looks down at him, green eyes shining, and, shit, how does he have any tears left?

"Hey, it's okay. Yeah, you really fucking hurt me, a few times actually, but it's not like I never hurt you." He kisses the top of his head, "Gonna let me go now, dumbass?"

"No." He buries his face in his shoulder, and Mickey laughs.

"As much as I hate to break up this reunion, how the fuck did you fake your fucking death?" Fiona asks, even if she sounds kind of mad, she has a smile on her face.

"Met up with Damon, he was my cellmate, motherfucker has a big fucking heart aparently, helped me do this shit even after I left him when we switched cars." Mickey looks away from Ian, up at the rest of the Gallaghers. "He has some fucking connections, I guess. He did most of the work. I payed him, but all I really had to do was stand there and look pretty until the cops declared that shit."

"So you're stayin' here?" Lip asks, trying to hide his smile. It would be nice to have the old Ian back.

"Yeah," he looks back at Ian's smiling face. "Yeah, I'm stayin' here. I don't know where exactly I'm stayin', but I'll figure that out."

"Stay here. Or we can find somewhere else to live, or we can move back into your old house, but together. Yeah?"

Mickey nods, answering with a quiet, yeah, and Ian lets him answer some more questions from his family. He plays with Mickey's hand, stares at the tattoos he's misses so much. They promised pain, but they touched Ian so softly.  

Eventually his family files into the kitchen, and then out the backdoor. Ian pulls Mickey down to the couch, and suddenly he has a lap full of Milkovich.

Then he's angry.

"What the fuck, Mick? You couldn't have warned me?"

"Oh, yeah sure, let me just call you and get fucking caught, while I'm trying to get back to your sorry ass!" Mickey looks angry too, but Ian thinks he's hurt.

"You shouldn't have left!" Ian shouts back.

"You left me!" Mickey's voice cracks on the last word and Ian's heart shatters again. He tries to climb off Ian's lap, but Ian can see the tears shining in the older boy's eyes, so he wraps his arms around his waist and holds him there.

"You left me," he repeats,  "I did everything I could to stay with you, to make sure you were okay, and you broke up with me, let me get arrested, you never fucking visited me, and I broke out so I could fucking see you! Then you left again! And I know I've done my fair share of shit, but fuck, Ian, I tried." His voice gets quieter the longer he talks, and he's crying by the end, hands angrily trying to wipe the tears.

Ian knows how much he fucked up, he knows all the shit he did. The cheating, stealing his fucking kid, how he acted while adjusting to the meds, fucking hitting him. Leaving with Monica, breaking up with him. He let him go to jail, and even when he was stable again, didn't visit, and talked shit about him. He knows he can blame most of it on his fucking disease - disorder, Mickey always corrected him - but not all of it. He should have been there, tried to get him out, visited. He should have chased after them when Sammi pointed a gun at Mickey and he ran. But he didn't and he can't change that, but maybe he can fix it, because this was actually something broken. And it was Ian's fault.

"Fuck, Mickey, I know. I fucking know, okay? I fucked up so bad, and I get it if you can't forgive me, but I'm gonna make it up to you. I'm gonna do everything I can to stay with you, no matter what. I'm gonna fix this, fix us. I love you, and I need to clean my fucking mess, but we're here now, we're together, and as long as you lay low, we'll be fine. You go by a new name, cover your tattoos when we go out, you could probably even get a job. I'll start saving again, we can get an apartment or something, help Svet with the kid. Whatever you want, okay?"

Mickey nods against Ian's collarbone, presses a kiss to the top of his chest. Ian turns and presses one on the top of Mickey's head.

"You dyed your hair." Ian says, smiling a little, and Mickey's laugh is pressed into his shoulder, muffled a little, but it's still the best thing in the world to Ian.

"Yeah, I did. Kinda sexy?"

Ian laughs, thinking about that cheesy Hawaiian print shirt he'd asked the same thing about.

"How about you go by Gallagher. Michael, or something. But Gallagher."

"You proposing to me or some shit, now?"

"Yeah."

Mickey's breath hitches as he pulls away from Ian's chest, looks into his eyes.

"Ian, we can't get fucking married, not really, I'm a fucking fugitive."

"So? We get rings, we move in together, you go by my last fucking name. Close enough isn't it?"

"Sure, Gallagher. Tell your family there's another one of you." Ian smiles bright, and so does Mickey.

After they tell his family, Ian kicks them out again, tells them not to come home for a few hours.

They didn't leave his room until morning.