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wreckofawriter · 4 years

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Heartbeat Part 2

(Final Part) <Part 1>

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3,580

Warnings: Angsty at the beginning, umm mentions of suicide and depression, swearing

Summary: An idea given to me by @mcluuvin666 Thank you so much! Reader moves on from Sirius and he realizes he made a mistake

A/n: This took me forever to write, I hope you guys like it!

You used to tell yourself you didn’t cry, that it was weak. But that was never true. The truth was you had cried far more in your life than you would ever admit. You had cried when your parents yelled at you or when your father hit you or your mother cursed you. You had cried when you fell from the tree in your backyard and when you slipped off your bike when you were nine. You had cried when you failed your first exam in the second year and recently you cried for no reason at all other than you simply needed to. You never let anyone see it but you cried a lot. But you had never cried like this before

You lay in that classroom for what could have been an hour or could have been a year. Loud sobs clawing from your throat like a feral beast that had finally been released. You felt your head pound as you pressed your forehead to the floor. After some amount of time had passed your throat no longer allowed any sound but whimpers from you. You could still feel tears slide down your face dripping off your nose and pooling on its curves. Your face felt hot, too hot like it was boiling, flesh burning.

Your mouth tasted bitter. You felt so frail. So incredibly weak. When you finally managed to get to your feet it was dark out, the moon nearly full, stars so bright they seemed only inches away.

You made it outside easily, no one was around to stop you if there was you doubt they would have succeeded. You stepped out onto the dewy grass where you once lay with Sirius. Where he had kissed you, where you had said you loved him and where he hadn't responded.

You should have felt stupid, so fucking stupid, but you didn’t. You didn't feel anything, anger, misery, hatred, despair and so many other bottles of feelings had been released. And now they were gone. And you felt numb. Your heart had slowed to its normal pace as you continued across the grass appearing silver in the moonlight.

You walked until your feet met with wood, you traveled out to the dock, the sound of crickets and small frogs filling you.

You stopped at the end of the dock. You contemplated taking another step, letting your body become a part of the darkness before you.

And then you did.

Your body hit the water and you were plunged into a cold you had never felt before. Your robes soaked instantly and you began to sink. You slowly parted your eyelids, you looked upwards at the celestial being above you quivering under the lense of wetness. You could see the moon, but your eyes didn't stay on the small planet for long. They traveled to the brightest star in the sky. Sirius. It blinked back at you slowly moving further and further away as your lungs began to burn. Your hair began to float in front of your face, your robes reaching towards the light as you were dragged backward by an unseeable force.

Then your eyes slipped shut and the fire inside you built, the burn strengthening. You could still see the bright star in your eyelids.

You felt the numbness suddenly disappear and for the first time in your entire life you were alone and you actually felt alive.

Your feet began to kick, black dress shoes moving in a flutter. You pushed yourself upwards, arms pumping as your eyes popped back open, your chest burnt, you would make it you knew you would, because you were still alive, and you would stay that way.

When you broke the surface of the water you immediately drew in a harsh breath forcing water further down your lungs as you began to cough. You managed to the shore collapsing in a heap of coughs. Until your lungs cleared and you were finally allowed to breathe normally again.

You're sitting staring out at the lake, ripples lingering from your plunge. The moon and stars reflected back at you making you feel as if you were trapped between two godly works of art and you could only stare, your heart thumped loudly you felt amazing, amused, and absolutely alive. Because you were alive. And you weren't about to let so asshole with mommy issues change that.

You felt a smile creep onto your lips as you stood. Your robes weighed what must have been thousands of pounds but you didn't care. You let out a light bubble of laughter chin tilting upwards as you breathed in deeply the scent of midnight dew and pond water filling you as your hair clung to your face. You extended your arms, spreading them like an eagle.

"I'm alive." You whispered up in the sky. And you were.

You awoke the next morning feeling as if you had dropped 50 pounds. Standing wasn't a struggle, your eyelids didn't drag downward, your heartbeat was lively and awake. You simply felt good.

When you arrived in the great hall for breakfast you were met with quite a few surprised faces. You could see Sirius staring at you from his corner of toxic masculinity. The surprise in his eyes made rage cycle through you. You were tempted to run and scream at him, but you didn’t. You took a deep breath reminding yourself that was exactly what he wanted and you refused to give in to his wants ever again. You ate breakfast while reading one of your favorite books you had dug out of your trunk that morning. Everything seemed so much easier after last night.

You surprised just about everyone in your herbology class by being quite kind to the Hufflepuff who sat next to you. You had even asked for some help baffling the light-haired girl. During Transfiguration, you had made a point to apologize to McGonagall for missing that morning’s detention. Her eyes had gone wide and she had looked a bit pale, asking if you were alright which you assured her you were.

On your way to lunch, you did something absolutely unliveable. A young Gryffindor had been cornered in a remote hallway you used as a shortcut. You had come across five second-year girls who were teasing the poor girl, snickers leaving their mouth. You had debated continuing walking but you let out a sharp sigh and took a few steps towards the girls grabbing the two who were currently taking charge by their hair.

They had shrieked as you yanked them backward. Once they had turned and met your face the color had drained from their own. A sweet smile graced your lips. You asked them if they knew who you were. Both nodded quickly.

“Good.” You continued to grin, “Then you should know I don’t bluff. Now I will ask you once. Leave this girl alone or next time I will rip the hair from your head.”

They had scattered after you released them, their friends already long gone. You walked towards the girl on the ground. She had on large horn-rimmed glasses which magnified her sky blue eyes. Her teeth held bright pink banded braces, her hair a dirty blonde.

“Let me guess, you’re a mud- muggleborn.” You said catching yourself quickly.

She nodded slowly, she looked terrified.

You laughed a bit and she jumped. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a changed woman, plus muggles write the best books.” You winked. “I’m y/n y/l/n.” You extended a hand.

“Rebecca Lastings.” She responded quietly, taking your offer as you helped pull her to her feet.

“Well, I’m starving. You wanna get lunch?” You asked as you helped gather her scattered books.

She smiled a bit, “Yeah sure.”

Lunch was... interesting. Turned out that Rebecca had an older sister named Laney Lastings - in your opinion a very catchy name - and when she saw her sister eating lunch with one of the most infamous Slytherins she was reasonably concerned.

When the Ravenclaw had marched up to you as you were shoveling chicken salad into your mouth you had once again done the shocking thing. You smiled and greeted the girl.

“What are you doing with my little sister.” She had hissed cutting you short.

You shrugged, “Eating.”

The blonde scoffed, “Becc lets go.” she snatched her sister’s arm but to her surprise Rebecca resisted.

“But she was just telling me about a book she read.” The younger girl spoke softly. By the look on the older’s face, you guessed she didn’t defy orders often. “It sounded very interesting.”

Laney looked up at you. You just shrugged. “What is going on?” she looked a bit shook up.

“Look I know what you think of me, hell what every single person in this room thinks of me but I’m a changed woman.” You explained, “I am honestly just talking to your sister, I have no intention of hurting her in any way shape or form.”

Laney’s eyes narrowed but Rebecca sat back down and took a bite of her peanut butter sandwich. “Come on y/l/n people don’t just change overnight.”

You shrugged again, “I did. Feel free to join us.” You motioned to the seat next to Laney’s sister and to your surprise she took it. And for the first time in your entire life, you had made actual friends.

You dreaded detention the next morning but to your surprise, it was rather pleasant. When you entered the large room it was already sanctioned into two groups. One contained three boys sitting in neighboring desks while the second held one dark-haired boy at the back of the room glaring at the former group.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion and sat a few desks away from both crowds. You then began to sort the paperwork you were told to, taking a walkman out and clipping in a favored artist.

About halfway through the hour, you were drawn from your work when a figure appeared before you. You looked up to see a pair of hazel eyes and curly hair hidden under a navy beanie. You removed your headphones letting them rest around your neck giving him a questioning look.

“Hey.” He managed, looking a bit unsure of himself.

“Hey?” You responded, glancing at the group he had left meeting to pair of eyes which quickly darted away.

“So umm, I know it's not really my place to say but I’m sorry,” Remus spoke, biting his lip.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, still visibly confused.

He lowered his voice, “What Sirius did was really fucked up.” Suddenly the sanctions made sense, “And I just thought I would let you know that I’m sorry on his behalf.”

You let out a small laugh, “Please don’t Remus, you clean up enough of that boy's messes already, don’t put this on yourself. But thanks anyway.” You shrugged going to put back on your headphones.

“Laney told me about what you did for her little sister.” He spoke in a rush.

You stopped, “And?”

“She has been trying to get those girls to leave Becc alone for like three months, she started skipping classes and meals to avoid them, it was bad. But you stopped them with one conversation. That was really nice of you y/n.” Remus stated.

“It was whatever.” You answered with a shrug.

“It really wasn’t,” He protested, “But look we both wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to our study session tomorrow night. We get together three times a week, it’s me Laney and a few others, they’re all pretty chill and it would be great if you could come.”

A smile found your face, “Really?”

“Yeah, we meet in the library after dinner.” He was playing with his fingers now.

“Okay, sure. That sounds awesome.” You said.

“Great.” He grinned bouncing on the balls of his feet before turning and leaving.

“Hey, Remus.” You called just before he made it back to his seat. He whipped his head to look at you. “Thanks.”

In all honesty, being nice was completely exhausting, actually caring what others thought of you took its toll, especially after the well-crafted reputation you had built for yourself. You had also started paying attention in classes for the first time in a long time so you had mountains of homework and suddenly understood your peer’s desperation for good grades. You tried to convince yourself that a study group was a brilliant idea but your worries ate away at you.

What happened when most of the group hated you? Would they cuss you out? What if they refused you despite Remus’s invitation? There was so much room for failure. Godric making friends was difficult.

You busied yourself with the nightly homework in the common room, you had gotten used to the strange looks you received. A whistle drew yourself from your herbology sketch.

“Wow y/l/n, I did not expect you to turn into a loser when you found out.”

You rolled your eyes at the familiar voice, “Avery.” You drawled.

“What has gotten into you?” He asked, taking a seat next to you, “First you help out a mudblood, then you go and make friends with her filthy sister and now you're doing Herbology homework?”

You glared at the boy, “Don’t call them that.”

He only smirked back, “I must say you look much prettier without the bags beneath your eyes and a little effort put in.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spat resisting the urge to strangle him.

“There’s the y/n I know.” He smiled triumphantly, “But where has she been? People don’t change overnight.”

“Well, I did douchebag.” You hissed.

“No you didn't.” he sneered, “You're still the same stone-cold bitch, you’re just hiding it and let me tell you, I can’t wait for that mask to break.”

Your hand tightened around your quill, “Shut up.”

“I’ll be there to catch you when you fall y/l/n. I’m glad you’re wearing skirts again, you look hot.” He taunted his face so close to your own you could smell his cologne.

You were about to slap him but before you could a voice resonated through the air, “Avery back off her.”

You both looked up and you met the gaze of a Slytherin you swear you had never seen before. He had dark hair and darker eyes, his face was sharply cut, lips looking far too rounded on his visage.

“What do you have on it Dapperton?” Avery asked leaning away from you.

“Just back off.” His tone was harsh, a thick Scottish accent in his voice.

“Whatever.” Avery scoffed standing and shooting you one last glance before leaving the room.

“You okay?” The boy you now knew as Dapperton asked.

“Yeah, fine.” You managed.

“Cool, listen I was wondering if you could help me with my Arithmetic, I’ve heard you are pretty good at it.” He said.

“Sure. I’m y/-”

“I know who you are.’” He laughed, “I’m Lewis. Lewis Dapperton.”

“Okay, nice to meet you, Lewis.”

You had made three official friends.

You tried not to let Avery’s words bother you as the days passed. But it was hard. The study group had been a bit awkward but not all that bad, Lewis was actually a member much to your surprise. Nights became difficult again. The idea that maybe this was just a passing phase and that it was simply a few good days got to you. I mean people didn’t just change overnight.

But I did. You screamed at yourself. I swear I did.

It all came crashing into a dreadful climax two weeks after night it all started.

It had been two weeks of confusion that morphed to anger and soon into sadness and jealousy for Sirius Black. When he had seen you in the great hall the night after you had found out about the thirty points he had almost shit his pants. You were up? And you were smiling?! He was sure you were going to come over and rip his throat out at breakfast. But you didn’t You just sat at your isolated seat at the end of the Slytherin table and read, looking surprisingly relaxed.

You had left a bit early and Remus had dumped his pumpkin juice on him saying he was a complete objectifying asshole and part of the reason why women were not viewed equal to men. Leave it to the feminist to ruin a perfectly normal bet. He had made the mistake of saying that out loud and caused an uproar at the Gryffindor table.

He had seen you working in the few shared classes you had and had been quite surprised. How was it you were having a better day than him? He supposed karma bit harshly. When you saw you at lunch sitting with a young Gryffindor girl he had once again been completely boggled. And soon you were joined by a Ravenclaw as well. What universe was he in?

That night he had gotten into another heated argument with his best friends. One that ended in him sleeping in the common room, locked away from his bed.

He had dreamt of you. That night when you had stargazed. When you had kissed him. When you had told him you loved him. He dreamt of your lips on his, hands in his hair, the dew seeping through his robes and the chirp of crickets.

The next morning sucked. He sat alone during detention forced to watch as you happily hummed along to your music. Your hair was pulled back and it looked surprisingly nice. You were also wearing a skirt. When did you get so pretty? Remus talked to you and mentioned him. Sirius bit his tongue not wanting to cause a scene. Plus the glare James was giving him hurt on another level.

The week got worse and worse. Suddenly you had friends and had started hanging out with a far too handsome Slytherin. You also choose that week to look ridiculously gorgeous and suddenly his thoughts were full of you. He found himself missing your scent and the texture of your hair. The sound of your laughter was a drug he had been deprived of.

His dreams of you got worse. He dreamt that he had told you he loved you when you asked. He dreamed he hadn’t left you alone. He dreamed of laughing in detention with you, making out in broom closets, going to quidditch matches together, sleeping with you.

He woke each day more aggravated than the last. Why the fuck was he the one suffering? It wasn’t fair. Well, he supposed it was. Finally, he gathered his remailing pride and tossed it out a window before cornering you on the way back from herbology.

“Y/n please just give me a minute.” He begged as you began to walk away.

“Sirius I have wasted far too many of my minutes on you.” You spat glaring past the boy.

“Please.” He pleaded.

You sighed tapping your foot angrily, “You’ve got one minute.”

It was then Sirius realized he had absolutely no plan, “What’s up with you?”

“What?” You glowered refusing to meet his eye.

“I mean you’re all nice and shit and you’re actually hanging out with people. It’s weird.” He explained.

“So, me being nice is weird?” You clarified.

“Yeah! People don’t change overnight!” He rationalized.

“So I’ve been told.” You murmured, “Look if this is all just about me being nice then please save me time and leave me alone.”

Sirius groaned, “It’s not just that! How are you so, so I don’t know okay?”

You finally looked him in the eyes and he really wished you hadn’t. Your eyes were dark with anger, narrowed to slits, reminding him of a snake. “You wanna know why I’m so okay?” You asked and suddenly he didn’t. “Because I was really really not fucking okay.”

Sirius was visibly confused, “What?”

“I almost drowned myself that night Sirius.” You hissed.

His heart stopped. “What.”

“Yeah.” You snarled, “I walked straight off that dock, shoes and all, and I let myself sink halfway to the bottom before I decided I wanted to live.” You spoke gesturing towards the lake.

Sirius wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You wouldn’t have opposed.

“And when finally reached the shore I had an epiphany.” You spoke with false glamor. “I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to let cock suckers like you and my parents decided anything about me and the way I live my life.”

Sirius wanted to break into tears. He started at you. The face he had been dreaming of for weeks meer meters from him and suddenly realized how desperately in love with you he was.

“So guess what, I changed overnight because I would have died if I didn’t.” You spat before brushing past him without another word. Sirius grabbed your wrist as you passed.

You turned glaring at him.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He spoke his voice breaking halfway through the sentence.

“You know I can’t answer that.” You scoffed snatching your wrist from his hold and turning to leave.

Sirius watched as you left so full of regret he couldn’t think of anything but what-ifs. When you were out of sight he sat on the ground and began to cry.

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httplovecraft1890 · 5 years

Photo

A commissioned preview image for an ongoing Yan Sim fic project of mine, All Things Truly Wicked. Also included: a prequel to everything.

“Long ago, there dwelt a spirit. He was old; not as old as the vast ocean, but he could recall when the Three Holy Mountains were sculpted and when it filled with the vast greenery that he called his home, for he was a yosei, a child of the forest. He did not have a name for a long time. None of his brothers or sisters did but they could communicate without issue among themselves. It was not until he traveled north, where the winters were long and biting, that the people who had made it their home, almost as old himself, had piqued his interest in humans with their strange rituals. As he’d hid watching the humans perform their dances and chants he had done so hidden underneath the brush - or so he thought. But he had not been as careful as he would’ve liked and had been spotted by children. On that day, the yosei was given a name. Nikurukur. He Who Hides Behind Trees. He had adored it and from that moment onward he played with them, doing small magic tricks like turning into a bird, and playing games with them for what seemed to be endless afternoons. It was there that Nikurukur, once free from all responsibility, learned of something terrible: time. What felt like mere days for him were years for his friends; rowdy boys became strapping men and bright-eyed girls became shapely women. They told him with sad eyes that even though they couldn’t come to him and play, they would tell their own children about him, so that he would never truly be alone. But he had cried that it wasn’t the same, that it wasn’t fair. So Nikurukur stole away in the night from the northern island south taking nothing with him but his name. He wandered all along the islands again with the new knowledge that everything around him was not permanent and could never stay the same. Every detail that had once been so comforting was now dark and dreary. The world ceased to be filled with wonder for Nikurukur and even though his siblings begged him to come out from his home, he couldn’t. Seasons passed, the earth spun, but nothing helped Nikurukur leave the beautiful sakura tree that he had nested himself in. But one day, Nikurukur found once again that life could surprise him. It had started at dusk, when he had awoken from a long nap to the sound of a human woman weeping just outside. It was strange; in all the time he’d spent by himself he had forgotten how someone else’s sorrow sounded. As he laid eyes on her, he was immediately entranced. He had never felt what he did in that moment for another being before, yet he knew what the warm feeling that flooded him was: love. It had never been explained to him but its truth had found its way inside of him, mending the strands of his broken heart back into place. The woman who sat by the little shrine that had been built in the time he had not ventured into the outside world was a sight to behold. Her frame was slender, eyes round and wide, her painted skin pale as the moon that was soon to be high above them both, and she was bedecked in the finest threads of gold and scarlet he had ever seen, but most of all Nikurukur understood the language she spoke. Her breath was short and haggard as she wept, tears streaming down her face and onto the cloth of her kimono. Her wailing hurt, as if each cry could somehow shatter him into a hundred pieces. Slowly and cautiously Nikurukur slid down the branches of the tree to her side and spoke gently. “It is not an unwelcome surprise that I find you here, madam, but night will fall soon and I would be remiss not to tell you it would be unwise to stay. What brings you here?” “O spirit!” the woman sobbed, her mournful display stopping for a moment as shock registered on her delicate features. “Be that as it may, I would face all the yokai who would do me harm if only the gods would listen!” Something in him stirred and he looked away, his very being whispered he was unworthy to gaze upon her dark hair and round face. “The gods are not deaf...?” “Minoru.“ “They are not deaf, nor dumb, Minoru. But sometimes they are indeed hard of hearing.” “You do not understand. I have prayed for many days and many more nights besides, but they will not-” Her voice seemed to pause, and Nikurukur could taste the sour lump of her depression far in the back of her throat. “-they will not speak with me.” “Why would you think they would miss an opportunity to speak with someone of your stature?” The blush inadvertently found its way onto his skeletal thin features, pink illuminating the unearthly shade of white that were his cheeks. It was then he noticed the bundle near her prostrated knees in front of her, wrapped in what appeared to be an assortment of fabrics. “I was with child when my husband left to go to war. Now he is to return home soon and I will have nothing to show him. He wanted a son, but I could only offer him a daughter…” Short as Nikurukur was, they were almost of equal height with her crouching alongside him, and the gaze she met him with never wavered. “…He is a man I would rather not disappoint twice.” A shiver was all he received in response to the question that never passed from Nikurukur’s lips as to what it is that he was capable of. “So I have prayed to the gods for mercy, to return her to a life that was cut far too short. But they do not care for my misery. What have I ever done to betray their trust?” Nikurukur looked down at what he understood then to be an outfit fit for cremation. His mind drifted back ages to his old playmates in the forest, of the laughs they shared, and all the memories that had been made. The babe would never make them with anyone and in that moment the noblewoman’s agony was crystalline. “Perhaps… perhaps it was something from a past life that caught up with you?” “Then I should have been punished, not her!” The fury in her voice was cold like the surface of the knives that Nikurukur could remember that the hunters of the tribe had used around the campfire and involuntarily he flinched. “All she had done was come into the world. What time was there to bring misery into it to warrant this kind of suffering?” He had no good answer for her questions. They sat in silence for some time, Nikurukur feeling her sorrow just as deeply as he’d experienced his own before he spoke again. “Perhaps it is not so hopeless after all. Surely, if the gods oversee all, and I know they do, then our meeting was ordained.” Her frown had been evident as the words left his lips. “What ever do you mean?” “There is something I can do that I have never tried. But…” Nikurukur’s voice stopped, its normally gentle tone beset by worry. “…I do not know if I should.” Excitedly, the woman leaned forward, her lips finally going from the frown he had become familiar with since the start of their meeting to a smile so radiant it seemed as if there were two suns present. “Go on…” “I am a spirit of the forest; I know what must be done to maintain life here,” Nikurukur said, spreading his spindly arms wide. “When the gods made me, they gave me a spark. For a time it was all I was and I know how to cultivate it. If her soul cannot return… perhaps I can do as best a facsimile as I am able.” His companion was quiet for a moment, face fallen and as still as the small stone shrine that sat near the base of the tree. He could tell it weighed on her heavily. She had already been marked to experience this tragedy and who was he to undo such a lesson? But he could not stand to see the hurt he had in her features again. “I would not miss anything, would I?” her voice was soft, like a gently moving stream. “Perhaps… not. I cannot say for certain, but she was so young that it might be negligible.” “You would not get into trouble because of it?” “No. Why else would this power be mine?”

Nikurukur didn’t know, but something in the back of his mind told him it was a false promise. “If… if you would, I would be eternally in your debt, spirit.” “Nikurukur,” he informed her. “Nikurukur, give my baby back to me.” Nikurukur did - and Kimiko Aishi lived.”

#yandere simulator #yan sim #fan fic #ot3 #ayano aishi #taro yamada #oka ruto #yandere chan #senpai #it's going to get so much worse #just you wait

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shiftyskip · 6 years

Text

Donald “Don” George Malarkey

(This is a really long post about Malarkey. Feel free to skim it or read it all.)

The real Donald Malarkey:

Donald George Malarkey was born on July 31, 1921 in Astoria, Oregon. His mother, Helen, and father, Leo, had four children: Leo who was called John (his middle name), Don, Bob, and Marilyn (who Don called Molly). Leo was about two years older than Don. Bob was about five years younger. Molly was fifteen years younger.

While growing up, Leo never stayed with his children much. He was gone most of the time for work, leaving Don, his siblings, and his mom alone in their cabin. His father was drunk and Malarkey was a high school senior working in a grill. Malarkey recalls his father had looked at him and had yelled, in front of God and everyone, “There’s my no-good son.” Malarkey’s mother was loving on the other hand. She took them to church every Sunday, where Malarkey would become an alter boy (much like Skip Muck, his later best friend). She would take her children berry-picking. He describes these times as the happiest memories he had.

Malarkey learned how to trap and hunt with a bow and arrow from his half-Indian friend Louie Jacobson. Malarkey said that the outside was the place he felt closet to God and not in church. The boys spent most of their time in the woods. Malarkey loved nature, it seemed it loved him back because he got in trouble with a nun for carrying a chipmunk around in his shirt pocket when he was 12.

After that his father sent him to work at a dairy farm. A forest fire sadly raged against him and took that barn. He worked against it till 10:00 PM, trying to put it out until he was taken home. He went to bed, only for an hour again to be awoken again. The fire had shifted and was headed towards their house. His family found themselves in the middle of a raging forest fire. They grabbed the things they wanted the most into their car and a little trailer and drove off to a nearby field that was safe from the fire. In the morning, his house was gone.

The Great Depression hit around when Malarkey was 8. He started working when money started getting short when he was 15. His father’s insurance business went bankrupt in 1938. Malarkey claimed it was because he trusted people too much. He didn’t want to go after money that was owed him and Malarkey admired him for that.

A month later they lost the house. His brother John moved out to California with relatives. The younger siblings, Molly and Bob, were to move to a replacement cabin with his mother and father while Malarkey was to go live with his grandmother. Malarkey was deeply upset at his loss. He lost the dream of playing Catholic All-State Basketball for Astoria High, he had transferred into Astoria High for his final year of high school. He couldn’t get rides home if he attended the games so he gave up. He was injured and also had to give up football.

His father gave up on a deeper level. He retreated further and further after the bankruptcy. He wanted nothing to do with his family, especially his children. He drank more and more. Helen would stay in the cabin and his father would go out every night. No one knew where he went. Malarkey became the sole aid for his family. He vowed he would never do what his father did; he would never quit.

After his family separated, music became a “serious addiction”. He used to sing for his mother and would go out with his buddies on Sunday campfire nights. Malarkey says that music was a salvation. It made him forget everything else.

Malarkey graduated in 1939 and got a job to afford his dream college, the University of Oregon. He worked at the Pillsbury Flour Mill.. He eventually made enough money to get through college and bought a ‘36 Chevrolet. He bought his own apartment Bernice, his girlfriend, and her father owned the apartment that he bought.

Malarkey enrolled in college in 1941, after eventually selling his car to afford it. He joined the fraternity Sigma Nu and the members eventually persuaded him to break up with Bernice because she wasn’t a part of a sorority. Malarkey sang in their choir while also pursuing a business administration degree. He was required to take the ROTC class. After being sick and missing a test, his instructor flunked him. Malarkey handed his uniform back. He went home and worked as a machinist.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Malarkey had first attempted to enlist in the Marines but was denied. When he was 21, Malarkey was drafted. On September 12, 1942, Malarkey arrived at Fort Lewis and volunteered to be in the Paratroopers. He headed to St. Louis (near the author’s house actually) where he met Robert Rader, Don Hoobler, and William Howell before they were shipped to Toccoa.

Malarkey was under the command of Sobel during his training. There he met Skip Muck. They bonded over their mutual hate of Sobel, who Muck described as “the devil in jump boots”. They became a team and belonged to the same mortar squad. They ran Currahee side by side and would often get in trouble with Sobel for talking while doing so. They both were adventurous, happy-go-lucky, witty, and loved a good laugh. Their real bond was in the same music: Glenn Miller, Mills Brothers, Harry James, and others. They loved Frank Sinatra’s Moonlight Serenade. They’d go out to the PX and listen to the jukebox there daily. Malarkey was corresponding with Bernice again and Muck had Faye Tanner, both of their girls back home. They would talk about the girls often and would read their letters on a daily. Malarkey says that Muck replaced his family and friends back home as the person he was closest to. They would talk about they’d visit each other after the war and go fishing.

In the 118 mile march in late November, Muck stayed near Malarkey. When Malarkey was so sore he couldn’t walk, Muck grabbed them both food and sat next to Malarkey. He told Malarkey, “No friend of mine crawls anywhere” when Malarkey had attempted to crawl to Mess. When Malarkey told him he didn’t think he could make it, Muck told him “I’ll get you to Atlanta if I have to drag you.” When they crossed into Atlanta, Skip was right there with Malarkey, yelling he’s make it if he had to carry him. Sadly this dynamic duo would not be together long. Skip and Malarkey crossed over to England, only to find out they were being so staged. Winters said the reason he split them up was because they were practically brothers. If Muck went down, either killed our wounded, the other will be of no use and vice versa.

In April in England, Malarkey got a head cold. It got so bad that he had to go to the hospital in London. When he arrived, he had a 105 fever and was given a ton of medicine. He woke up bleeding from his ears and nose. Later he was told that if he hadn’t arrived at that time, the infection would’ve spread to his brain. He was transferred to St. Albans. He was there for two weeks. When the Doctor threatened that Malarkey should not jump out of an airplane and should be removed from the paratroopers, Malarkey told him he’d risk permanent damage to his ears and was discharged back to Easy.

Malarkey jumped on D-Day into Normandy. He connected with Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye near Ste. Mère-Énglise. When they reached the rest of their batallion, Malarkey ran into the German prisoners. One of men asked if the POWS were from Brooklyn, one responded that he was from Portland, Oregon. Malarkey hung back to talk to him. Malarkey and this POW had worked right across the street from each other. He fought with Winters and his small group of men to secure ground against the Germans. Throughout the whole day, Malarkey carried a picture of Bernice in his helmet.

In Carentan, Malarkey witnessed Father John Maloney walking down the middle of the road, holding a cross, and adminstrating last rites for the dying men. Malarkey was wounded in his right hand by shrapnel. He ran to Doc Roe, who without looking informed him it was a Purple Heart wound. He refused it, saying it was not bad enough. After the battle, Winters asked Malarkey to put a wounded German out of his misery, and Malarkey did.

Malarkey went back to Aldbourne, England with Alton More for a short three day break. Easy had jumped with 139 men, it now had 74. In the end, they were joined by the rest of Easy. The men were struggling with physical and mental wounds.Malarkey saved Joe Toye from jumping off a roof by convincing him to come back down.

September 17, 1944 Malarkey jumped easily into Holland. They were treated with open arms by the Dutch. When they reached fighting, Malarkey, Heffron, Guarnere, and Toye stumbled upon Compton. Compton was getting shot in the ass a lot and begged them to leave him and run. They ripped the door off a farm and dragged him with them until they reached a tank to put him on.

When they left for France, the Dutch cheered for them again. They chanted “September 17!” Which was the day Easy has helped liberate them.When they arrived in France, they stayed in Camp Mourmelon. Compton found him and thanked him for the “barn-door ride”. Malarkey convinced Skip to let him gamble for him and earned several times more than what he had been given.

On December 16, Malarkey learned Easy was being sent to Belgium. Muck passed him in another truck and the boys smiled at each other. They reached Foy around December 19 and were orders to stay in the wooded area near Foy. They dug fox holes in the cold, wet ground and slid in. They tried to expand their foxholes but the temperature was dropping too fast.

Father Maloney had a service with the Catholic members of Easy. It was Skip’s idea to help with the spiritual encouragement. Muck, Penkala, Malarkey, and a few others gathered together. Skip and Malarkey had not gotten to see each other since Mourmelon and when the group parted, Malarkey saw the rosary Skip had carried everywhere and told him to stay safe. Skip told him he’d see him again, they shook hands, and separated.

Malarkey became a unit sergeant and started watching out for any of the men that might need a break. After witnessing a man lose both of his feet, Malark began to wear burlap bags around his feet. He didn’t care much for his pride and let the Easy men poke fun at him.

In early January, JoeToye lost his leg after the Germans rattled the forest with heavy artillery fire. Guarnere raced to help his struggling friend and ended up losing his leg as well. Malarkey ran to Joe Toye’s side. Malarkey tried to convince his friend that everything would be okay, his mind playing back to that night he found him up on the roof. Toye simply asked him for a cigarette. Malarkey gave it to him. Joe asked him, “What’s a guy gotta go do to die, Malark?”. Malarkey didn’t have an answer.

After witnessing most of his friends be horribly injured or killed, Buck Compton was sent back to Paris and he said his sad goodbyes to Malarkey. Before he left, he asked Malarkey what the other man thought of him. Malarkey replied, “They think you’re a hell of an officer, Buck.”

On January 10, Skip Muck, Mallark’s best friend, died. A direct hit on his and Penkala’s foxhole killed them instantly. Malarkey lost the man who was a brother to him, but he couldn’t cry, he had to keep strong. Roe broke the news to Malarkey and gave him Muck’s rosary. Winters tried to send him back to recover but Malarkey refused and instead stayed with the men.

Malarkey fought survived the Battle of Foy. He was enraged at the death of another commander and shot a German. He learned the boy was 16. Malarkey kept his records and recalled his face for the rest of his life. Malarkey considers the war had officially ended for him is Bastogne, although it was far from over.

In Haguenau, about 160 miles from Bastogne, Easy received replacements. They regained Webster, who had been out since Holland or Normandy. Webster didn’t notice Malarkey didn’t want to talk much about the men they lost and kept asking him where the others were. Malarkey responded patiently but not happily. He received letters from Toye on how him and Guarnere were recovering but not Bernice, who hadn’t been writing him lately.

In February of 1945, a patrol was sent out across the Moder River and capture Germans. Malarkey was originally supposed to go but he was replaced by another. This was the final patrol of Easy. After three weeks in Haguenau, they returned to Mourmelon, where he wrote to Faye Tanner. They continued to write to each other for a while.

Malark came down with some form of Rhine River Malaria and was sent to an army hospital on Belgium. He stayed there with people who were faking to be sick to stay out of fighting. It made him furious that the men were such cowards. He demanded to return to his unit for days on end until eventually he was discharged.

When the war with Germany ended, Malarkey was by himself in a pub in Belgium. He believed it was just to be him that day when he ran into Frank Perconte. Frank was on his way back to Easy from England and the two men were joined by Burr Smith, also returning back to Easy. These men spent the victory day with each other, leaving Malarkey feeling a bit better.

In Mid-May the three returned to Easy. They had missed the capture of Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest, but still got a few things. They all believed they were to be sent home but the war had not ended in Japan. It was believed that 101st Airborne would be sent to the Pacific theater. If they were to be shipped to the Pacific, they would all get 21 days in the states. They moved to Austria where they swam, boated, and enjoyed the warm weather. At this point, Malarkey had seen 177 days of war.

At Kaprun, Winters offered Malarkey a position as a technical adivsor in Paris. Malarkey took it eagerly and Winters offered to drive him to the airport. They had stopped once before the airport, where they met Sobel. He commented that Malarkey had obviously been doing things. Malarkey writes about the famous “we salute the rank, not the man” incident and says that by the end of the war he had an odd respect for the man.

Malarkey was discharged on November 25, 1945. He spent three days after discharging with Bernice, who had come to see him. He did not go meet Faye Tanner, out of fear he might disrespect Skip by falling in love with her. He got a salute from the premier tenor of the New York Metropolitan Opera, Lauritz Melchoir, which made him feel extremely proud of himself. He returned home in time for Christmas.

Malarkey at the age 24 started college at the University of Oregon again. Although he tried his best to make his life the same again, Malarkey suffered from after affects from the war everywhere he went. A car backfiring sent him ducking for cover, saw Toye and Guarnere wounded again, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, or imagined a German bayoneting him. He didn’t tell anyone about his struggles. He took a photo he had of Easy and marked every man that had died or been severly wounded. There were 34 KIA and 61 wounded. Every time he looked at that photo, he suffered from survivor's guilt.

In March he broke up with Bernice. Later he met a girl named Irene Moor. They fell in love. Malarkey proposed to her around Easter by planting a ring in an Easter egg in her basket. They married and had one son and three daughters. His father would die in 1955 and his mother in 1965. Bernice went on to be a famous singer.

Malarkey never returned to normal. He hated the winter and tried to drink the months away. He became closer with Joe Toye over drunk phone calls. While living in Portland, at age 60, he drove home during a snow storm. He was depressed and had been out drinking and was driving toward Mount Hood, where there was a thousand foot canyon he planned to drive off of. He wanted to be buried in the snow, “like Skip had been buried in that snowy foxhole”. He talked himself out of it and told himself he’d never quit.

In 1980, Malarkey started attending the reunions and learned he actually had a fear of heights. Malarkey met Faye Tanner at an Easy Company reunion in the 90s, where they both broke down and cried. She’d saved his jump wings and other items.

The series Band of Brothers led Malarkey becoming close with Richard Speight Jr., who played Skip. When Richard had first called to ask questions about Skip, Malarkey hung up on him because he couldn’t take the pain. In 1991, Malarkey visited Skip’s grave for the first time. He did not cry. He returned in 2004 and visited once more. He stopped and pictured Skip and all their moments together. He cried what he called ‘sixty years’ worth of tears’.

Irene died in 2006. Malarkey would go on to public speaking until his death on September 30, 2017.

#profiles #donald malarkey #real band of brothers #band of brothers

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bcntnotbrokcn · 6 years

Text

THREAD 1

Estimated ages: Mickey, 22. Ian, 20. Brief synopsis: Ian has issues dealing with Monica’s death. Even though he hasn’t spoken to Mickey in nearly two years -- he’s still at the top of his emergency contact list. Mickey wastes no time in running to Ian’s aide. Triggers: Suicidal thoughts, depression, guns.

IAN GALLAGHER

Truth be told, his heart hurt. He felt like it was being shattered into a million different pieces and he couldn’t seem to put it back together again. His lungs were unable to grasp for the air they so desperately needed, his head unable to silence itself as he sat there, a gun in his hand and horrid thoughts going through his head of what to do with his weapon of choice. Tears stung his eyes before they flowed down his cheeks, his face red and blotchy from crying. His shoulders shook with silent sobs of angst and misery, unable to calm himself down. Or, rather, pick himself up from his low low.

Ian Gallagher had lows in the past. Heck, he had spent days upon days in bed, refusing to get up and refusing to care for himself as the chemicals in his brain refused to work right. Even after he was stabilized on his medication, things still had a way of getting to him sometimes, and he still got depressed and manic. He couldn’t help it, it’s just the way things were. It’s just how his life was. Fucked up. No good.

Monica’s death hadn’t really affected the other Gallagher children like it did him. But Ian? For some reason, he had started to become close to her. She was never there growing up, never around when any of the kids needed her. She came in and out like a hurricane, leaving only pure destruction and heartache in her path. But since his diagnosis, Ian had felt a special bond towards his mother. Maybe she didn’t want to be on medication -- and for that, he understood, because sometimes it caused him to lose who he was, too -- but she was the only one who understood him. The only one who knew what he was going through. And not having her there anymore -- it left a hole in his heart that he was finding impossible to fill again.

Ian stared down at his phone, gripping it tightly as his other hand gripped the gun like it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. Like if he set it down, it would vanish, and he would lose the only source of faux comfort that he could find in his time of need. He wanted to use it so badly, to just end the pain that his heart, body, mind, and his soul were in. Monica’s death had triggered an episode, and he couldn’t seem to find the light in the darkness that was currently enveloping him.

But Fiona, Lip... Debbie and Carl and Liam... even Frank, maybe... how would they all react if Ian took the step he most certainly wanted to take? How would it all affect them? How could he do that to his family? But they just didn’t understand. No one understood, not now that Monica was gone. No one knew what was going on in his head. No one could fix him.

But maybe... Maybe there was someone who could maybe bring a little light. Sure, it was a selfish move. An asshole move. Ian had treated him like trash, had broken his heart and caused him so much pain and stress over the years. He didn’t owe Ian anything. But maybe, just maybe, he could be the one thing that made it all hurt a little less.

Ian stared at his emergency list, the list of people he should contact if he ever felt too low. It hadn’t been really updated in years, never needing to be changed -- so when he initially opened the file on his phone, and Mickey was the first name on that list -- it broke Ian even more. Mickey deserved better than him. But what other time could Ian be selfish and call his ex, if not now? When he was on the brink of ending his own life?

Finally, Ian found Mickey’s contact, quickly pushing the button to text him. He wanted to call, but he had an inkling that Mickey wouldn’t answer. Not after how Ian treated him. And honestly, Ian wouldn’t have blamed him. So he quickly wrote out a text, his phone shaking as he let out another sob.

i kno you dont owe me shit but ur the first name on my emergency list & i fukn need u Mick

plz. im under the train tracks near my house & i fukn need u

Before he could change his mind, Ian quickly pressed ‘send,’ before setting his phone down next to him. He gripped the gun tighter, holding it close to his chest as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to envelope his whole being.

MICKEY MILKOVICH

I FUCKING NEED YOU, MICK. re - reads to be sure it’s from ian , heart picking up it’s pace despite best judgement , while the tv continues blabbering to the walls , long forgotten . the word ‘ emergency ’ sticks , and mickey doesn’t even consider pretending to not have seen it , body responding to the text before brain can catch up , pulling on battered sneakers . it’s been forever since they've last spoken , though the memory of it still stings . wonders if it will ever stop hurting , if he’ll be able to leave the past in the past at some point . ( he won’t . ) has long given up understanding why ian affects him so deeply , why his stupid heart can’t just let it go . maybe having ian’s name etched in dark ink onto alabaster skin doesn’t help but certain decisions you can only regret .

half - way out of the door into the cold weather , shrugging on a jacket that’s too big to be his ( probably colin’s ) , thinks that he shouldn’t go running , not after everything . one text , he should be better than that , humiliate himself less ; but can’t help it , not when worry fills his head and puts a weight in his stomach that can’t just shake off . this is important , he knows it is , or ian wouldn’t have texted , not like that . I FUCKING NEED YOU . words are carved in mind’s eye though phone is safely tucked in jeans’ pocket . remembers when ian knocked on his door , distraught and desperate , I NEEDED TO SEE YOU , and how his stomach twisted and fell , and immediately found himself making up some bullshit excuse to terry just to meet the freckled idiot at the kash & grab . remembers the way his heart stopped when they were caught , the sharp pain of being shot in the leg , and that he’d do it all over again . so , he runs .

knows the way by heart, chilly air burning blackened lungs , but only stops at the spot of orange in his line of sight , still far away enough to turn around and leave , unnoticed . mickey feels like a fucking idiot . he shouldn’t even have ian’s phone number still saved on old cellphone , let alone drop everything at the blink of an eye just because , suddenly , ian needs him . where was he when mickey needed him ? the two times in his life that mickey could have used some support , ian hadn’t been there . yet , here he is , aching to close that distance , and set things right .

only notices that his feet are inching towards the boy when eyes can make sense of what he’s holding . once again , any doubt if he should have come or not is pushed to the background , and speed picks up again . heart slams on his throat when he finally speaks . ❛ hey , ❜ it’s meant to be louder , clearer , but chokes at the last second , at last coming to a definite stop , much closer to the screeching train roaring above them . waits for it to go away before trying again . ❛ got your message , ❜ no shit , sherlock , ❛ —— what’s wrong ? ❜

IAN GALLAGHER

He’s not coming. He’s not fucking coming and there’s no one else on my list I want to talk to about this. He’s not coming. He’s not fucking coming. The words were replaying in Ian’s mind, his heart hammering in his chest as he choked out another sob. He didn’t blame Mickey, not one bit. Ian had treated him like garbage over the years, had abandoned him more times than Ian cared to admit. Why would he care about what happened to him, anyway? He shouldn’t. Ian wasn’t anything special.

But Ian would be damned if there wasn’t a day that went by that Mickey didn’t cross his mind. He felt terrible for not replying to that one text long ago, or never visiting him in jail. That he just cut Mickey out of his life. But once he was stabilized on his meds, he couldn’t ignore the obvious: he was toxic for Mickey. In the same way that Monica was always toxic for Frank. Once he had discovered that realization, he knew Mickey was too good for him, and that he loved him too much to continue hurting him. Like Monica hurt Frank all the fucking time. Mickey just deserved so much more.

Ian clutched the handle of the gun impossibly tighter, his mind made up. He was about to inch it up higher, when he suddenly heard a voice, footsteps approaching. Ian peeled his eyes open, landing on the sight of his ex. Got your message. What’s wrong? He came. He actually fucking came.

And that thought just caused Ian to start crying even harder. Mickey came for him. This was a perfect example of just why Mickey was too good for Ian. All the shit Ian had put him through, and Mickey had actually came for him.

“Sh-She’s dead,” he finally managed to choke out. “And now I have -- no one, Mick. She was the only one who understood me and now she’s fucking gone. And I can’t -- I can’t fucking think anymore. It all --” He shut his eyes tightly again, holding the gun in one hand as he brought up both to rest against his head. “I don’t -- I can’t -- I don’t want to be here anymore. It all hurts.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

the lead up is not the best, eyeing the gun with wariness . it takes him a moment to follow ; as the speech continues , however , he understands . in frequent visits to neighborhood’s bars , he hears things , though the name gallagher on someone else’s tongue seems to stick out more than random gossip . the memory is fuzzy , with too much alcohol tainting blood when somebody mentions monica gallagher being back . it fits , remembers ian saying that he had been with his mother right before outright denying to accept his meds , right before mickey was arrested .

in a weird way, she was the support mickey couldn’t be when ian had needed it most . he thinks that she understands because she has the same diagnosis , and no one can argue with that because no one else understands . wishes that he could , if only to ease ian’s pain , make him see monica is not worth the hurt and misery left behind , that monica brought him nothing but a shadow to hide under . can’t say it , though , but thinks .

❛ you—— you mean monica, right? ❜ asks , unsure what else he can say . what a shitty emergency contact he is . ❛ you don’t need her , ian . you just—– just fuckin’ don’t . your family is tryin’ to understand , right ? they wanna help you , they’re here for you . ❜ i’m here for you . sniffs , earnest blues that had been focusing on a spot on the redhead’s shoulder courageously moving to meet greens . hesitation brims from each word , unspoken fear creeping up his spine despite attempting to hide it . ❛ it’s not like you don’t have anybody . ‘course it’s not the same or anythin’ , but we’re tryin’ . they’re tryin’ . not like your mom was doin’ fuck all to really help you anyway . ❜ takes a step closer , trying to gulp around the knot in his throat.

wants nothing more than to reach out. and wipe his tears , hold him until that stupid idea is out of his mind , until the pain becomes more bearable . but can’t move , frozen in place , never in his life so aware of a gun and how close to someone’s head it rests . doesn’t want to startle ian , or say the wrong thing . it kills him to see the shell of the boy he loves breaking , thinks he can feel ian’s hurt as his own . wants to comfort , to make it better , but where to start ? mickey isn’t good at that , own chest heavy with settling panic . ❛ c’mon , man , be careful with that . you don’t need the fuckin’ gun , ❜ he’s never been scared of guns , or of seeing people die . growing up around both , knew how to shoot before he even knew how to tie his own shoes . but now it terrifies him , doesn’t know what he’d do if ian decided to use it ; the mere thought has bitter bile rising .

IAN GALLAGHER

Of course his family was trying to understand, trying to help him. But saying that Monica didn’t... Ian didn’t accept that. Monica helped him more than anyone else had, he was sure of it. Maybe she didn’t think he needed his meds, maybe she thought he was perfectly okay just the way he was. And yes, he disagreed with that. It took a while, and lots of talks with his family members -- but he finally understood that what Monica had been originally saying was false. He wasn’t better off without his medication. Not by a long shot.

But that didn’t erase the fact that whenever he was feeling low, or having a rough go of it, she was just a phone call away. She listened to his fears, helped him calm down when it seemed that no one else could. Because no one else understood like she did. No one else knew what he was really going through. So no, Monica wasn’t always helpful. But she knew what it was like. She was living with it, too.

Ian looked away from Mickey after those words about his mother, what Mickey thought of her sending a sting through Ian’s heart. She was dead, didn’t she deserve more respect than that? Fiona didn’t think so, he was pretty sure no one else did, either. But Ian -- he loved his mother. More than she deserved, but he did.

When Mickey mentioned the gun, Ian furrowed his brow in slight confusion, before finally bringing his hand in front of him, staring at the weapon. He had forgotten that he was holding that, honestly. And now that he remembered -- he didn’t want it. He wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t want to deal with the pain he was in, but he couldn’t be selfish like that -- he had already been selfish far too much in his life.

But if I give it up, the threat is gone. He’ll leave. I can’t - I can’t be alone. Ian closed his eyes tightly, his heart squeezing in his chest. “I’m on my meds, Mick. I swear I’m on my meds. So I don’t -- I don’t know why my head is this way. Why -- why everything just seems so fucking hopeless.” He continued to stare down at the gun, before finally taking a careful, hesitant step forward. His knees felt like they were going to give out from under him, like he was just going to fall to the ground and never, ever be able to figure out how to get himself back up.

A few more hesitant, slow steps. His movements took the better part of a couple minutes. Part of him wanted to run, get away, deal with his pain himself. But another part of him -- a stronger part, maybe -- wanted to feel whole again. And really, he couldn’t feel whole if he wasn’t there to feel it.

Finally, Ian stood in front of Mickey, inches away from him. His eyes never left the gun during his trek, and he slowly held it out, surrendering the weapon to his ex-boyfriend. “Please -- please don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice cracking, his emotions s l o w l y breaking him one piece at a time. His eyes finally looked away from the object, and at Mickey once again. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

this, for a long time, had been mickey’s worse nightmare . when ian first started showing signs of the disease’s low lows , and all that mental health talk , that he never had to pay attention to before ian , started , no matter who was talking about it , suicide’s imminent threat always found it’s way into the speech . when the woman at the clinic told ian about having a suicide list , mickey’s stomach fell and he feared the day ian might need it . and now , even after he falsely convinced himself that ian is past and nothing else , that day has come and it still fucking hurts , way more than he could ever have imagined .

❛ hey, it’s okay, ❜ rushes to say , head spinning with the speed of his heart . sounds too much like the worried boyfriend he once was , and that didn’t turn out very well in the end , hardly thinks it would help now . teeth sink onto bottom lip , licking the sting away as he carefully watches ian move . ❛ it’s okay to feel hopeless sometimes , ❜ it’s less patronizing this time , and it feels better to say it . ❛ everybody does . you lost someone you care about , ian , you’re allowed to feel fuckin’ sad . just don’t want you t’ do anything stupid . ❜ though he can’t relate ( when his own mother died , nobody really saw it coming but nobody was surprised either , life went on like nothing happened and nobody shed a tear, ) , knows that grief affects even the strongest of men , not even psych meds can fight it off .

though ian doesn’t look away from the gun, mickey’s eyes are glued to the redhead , fear and anticipation making fingertips turn cold . only realizes that he’s been holding his breath when they’re inches apart , and the gun is safely in his hands . glares at it , relief washing over his body in a wave so powerful that he almost sways , gripping metal with unnecessary strength while checking the safety , before tucking it in the back of his jeans .

looks up, however, at ian’s broken whisper. and can’t help it , not without the threat of the gun between them , cups his face with ‘ fuck ’ adorned hand , wiping some of the moisture away with his thumb . it becomes too intimate too fast , and he feels a little like a twelve year old girl , with his heart pounding , and how he himself feels like crying now , so it falls from where it rests on pale skin to a clothed shoulder . not fully breaking contact for purely selfish reasons , like he needs to make sure ian is still there .

❛ i’m not goin’ anywhere, ❜ promises , no hesitation in his stance . can’t even recall the last thing ian asked of him that he didn’t promptly deliver . and it’s not something that he is proud of , mind you . when he’s alone and the memories start their haunting , he hates that ian brings that trait off him , hates that ian could ask him the stars that he’d find a way to reach them . it’s stupid , childish even , but it doesn’t even cross his mind right then . it’s easy to forget these silly things amidst crisis , or at an unlikely reunion . ❛ ‘m not leavin’ , i’m here . okay ? don’t worry , i’m not leavin’ you alone like this . c’mon . ❜

IAN GALLAGHER

Ian’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when Mickey put his hand on his face, running his thumb across his freckled skin. After two years, he still couldn’t make his heart forget the love that he felt for the older male. It had always been Mickey, honestly. Back in high school, and more recently. Whenever Ian tried to have a relationship with other guys in the past two years, it never worked out. Simply because they just weren’t Mickey.

When Mickey said that he wasn’t leaving, Ian felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was sure that once the threat was gone, once Mickey had the gun in hand, that he would leave. He’d feel like Ian’s life was no longer in danger and would take that to mean his duty was over. But he was staying.

“Thank you,” Ian said softly, and attempted to manage a smile, but it fell flat. His heart still hurt, his head still unable to process anything. He couldn’t find the joy in his soul to be able to be really happy. Even though, somewhere deep inside, he was. He was happy that Mickey was staying. That he was there. That he had come at Ian’s text. Because that meant, even though Ian had been a major ass towards Mickey in the past, Mickey still cared.

“No one’s home,” Ian said, his voice still soft. He ran a hand through his short hair, before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t --” He couldn’t think. His mind was a fog that was refusing to clear so he could make sense of what was currently going on with him. “I need --” When he was feeling manic, or depressed, he was supposed to sleep it off. He was able to extract that much from his mind. “Downers. Sedatives. Uh --” He rubbed a hand roughly across his face. “Appointment. For -- to readjust meds. Gotta call --”

He suddenly felt so exhausted, the only thing he wanted to do was lay down and just stare at the ceiling. He didn’t want to sleep -- even though he knew he needed to. He just didn’t have the energy to do anything. Ian leaned down, wrapping his arms around Mickey and resting his forehead on the shorter male’s shoulder. “Maybe Lip can call. I don’t -- I can’t --” More tears welled up in his eyes; he felt like a burden -- so helpless, so dependent. “I can’t think, Mickey. It’s all -- it’s like a fog in my brain. Everything feels like jelly. I just -- I want to lay down.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

bites his tongue before saying something that would sound uncharacteristically polite on his tongue , you don’t have to thank me , though it’s true . ian has a list of ex - boyfriends to pick from , he has fiona , and lip , and debbie , and so many more people that would rush to his side had he asked for their help . yet , he texted mickey . even after so long , it’s mickey that he called , that he needed . and it’s incredibly reckless to go down that road , he knows , but heart proves time and time again that it’s not the smartest . he should be angry that ian kept him in his emergency list , annoyed at least . but he isn’t . half wishes that he were .

listens carefully to splatter of words, making sense of them not much of a challenge . what catches him by surprise is when slender arms wrap around him as if they belong there , freckled face warm against his shoulder , even through jacket’s fabric . it’s hard to breathe for a second or two , with too much going on in his head . ❛ i —— uh , okay . ❜ the arm that resists the shock moves of it’s own accord , wrapping around him for support .

it’s hard to focus when brain keeps supplying both hopeful , and terrifying scenarios of how this will end . and mickey doesn’t want to think about that ; not now , not ever . just wants to make sure ian is okay , nothing else . hand reassuringly rubs up and down ian’s back , though he’s not sure which of the two of them he is reassuring . ❛ alright , let’s get you home first , then . we’ll get you all of that an’ i’ll figure out the rest as we go . no need t’ give yourself a headache , ‘kay ? ❜ sighs , and hopes it’s subtle enough that he nearly nuzzles ian’s hair when blue eyes dare slip shut for a moment .

all but shakes himself off it, taking a deep breath when glancing at the gray sight that surrounds them everywhere . get your shit together , milkovich . ❛ am i gonna have to carry you ? c’mon , gallagher , ❜ half pokes , half means it . it wouldn’t be the first time , and they are close enough to the house . pushes him a little , hoping for a glance of his face , needing some distance , any distance between them so he can think . it’s hard , a knot on his throat that he just can’t swallow , the whole ordeal still too familiar .

IAN GALLAGHER

When Mickey mentioned carrying him, Ian shook his head gently against the older male’s shoulder. It took him a moment, but he finally pulled his head up, standing up straight and pulling one of his arms back, but still using the other to use Mickey for support. Ian didn’t feel that, at the current moment, he could fully support his own weight on his own. And, as they started walking to the Gallagher abode, Ian was happy that Mickey was there to lean on -- it kept him walking, kept him moving, kept him from completely giving up.

They finally made it inside the house, and Ian looked at the stairs with defeat, his shoulders sagging slightly. He didn’t think he could make it up those unless he wanted to crawl the whole way. Instead, he let go of Mickey, walking the few steps to the couch and practically collapsing on top of the cushions. He curled up into himself almost immediately, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Ian was happy that no one else was home -- that meant they weren’t seeing him in his current state. That meant that they didn’t start falling all over themselves with worry, making sure that their brother was okay. And it also meant that Ian didn’t have to deal with the onslaught of questions of why Mickey was there.

Ian closed his eyes, speaking as he wrapped his arms around himself. “My -- my downers are upstairs. Bedside table. Just need to sleep it off, Mick.”

MICKEY MILKOVICH

doesn’t speak on their walk towards the house, arm firm around ian , supporting what of his weight that his legs couldn’t . face feels warm and blames it on the effort though it’s minimal , short build far stronger than it looks . eyes remain focused on the way ahead , displaying unwavering patience despite obvious preference for the fast - paced ; things only go slow in his hectic life when there’s something wrong , and he hates it . if it were someone else in his arm , it might have been different . he might have rushed , or left . but not ian .

once inside, he waits. glances up at the redhead’s profile as he glares at the stairs . knows what he will pick before he does , and finds no surprise in watching ian drop onto the couch , in the living room that looks almost the same as he remembers . ❛ yeah , okay , ❜ nods , a beat before he’s moving again , taking the steps two at a time . almost expects to bump into one of the gallaghers though he knows better , bursting into ian’s empty room like no time has passed at all .

finds the pill bottles, without thinking much grabs a pillow , and down he goes again , stopping by the kitchen . there , sniffs a seemingly clean mug on the counter , and it doesn’t smell like anything so he fills it with water . that’s good enough . unsurprisingly , ian still is on the couch , not an inch different than when mickey left . fuck . places the mug and the pillow on the coffee table .

❛ here , ❜ shakes the bottle , pills rattling against plastic and warning their presence . opens the cap , pops two on the center his palm , then exchanges drugs for ceramic . hesitates , teeth catching bottom lip when holding out one hand with the pills for ian to grab , while the other waits to pass him the mug . ❛ sit up a little to take ‘em , man . ❜

IAN GALLAGHER

When Mickey came back downstairs with the medication, Ian let out a small groan, nodding. He’d choke if he tried to take the pills while laying down, but he just really didn’t have the energy to do much. Ian slowly pushed himself up from the couch, taking the pills and the cup from Mickey. He eyed the pillow for a moment, before looking at Mickey with raised eyebrows, a smile threatening the corners of his lips. “You brought me a pillow?”

Shaking his head slightly in disbelief and possibly amusement, Ian threw back the pills, sipping on the water before setting it down on the coffee table. He reached over, grabbing the pillow and throwing it down on the couch. “Thanks,” he said softly, looking at Mickey. He didn’t mean just for the pillow. He meant for coming when Ian texted him, for being there, for not leaving -- for being Mickey.

Ian laid back down on the couch, curling around the pillow. His eyes were soft, even though haunted as well, as he looked at Mickey through half-lids. “I love you,” he spoke softly. He knew he shouldn’t say it. Didn’t have the right. But he couldn’t help himself. In that moment, Mickey was the only thing keeping him afloat.

It didn’t typically take long for his downers to kick in, which was a good thing for Ian -- he usually needed them as soon as possible whenever he was taking them. Unfortunately, they weren’t working fast enough that day to kick in before one of his siblings returned home. Ian didn’t even bother to look up to see who it was -- he knew their voice would give them away soon enough.

“The fuck is Mickey doin' here? You guys back together or somethin'?” Lip. Of course it had to be Lip. Debbie or Carl, they’d drop it quick enough -- but Lip and Fiona were ever the big siblings. Lip’s voice seemed to soften the next moment as he spoke, presumably having seen the state his brother was in. “Hey, man, you okay?” He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “That why Mickey’s here? Ian, what happened?”

Ian closed his eyes tightly, curling into himself even further. He buried his face into the pillow, shaking his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it. “Need you to call for an appointment,” came his muffled reply. His brother’s overly concerned voice reached his ears. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sure, bud. I’ll call. Just get some sleep, alright?” With his face buried, Ian missed the confused and worried look Lip shot Mickey, before glancing at his broken brother once more and walking off to make the call.

MICKEY MILKOVICH

he didn’t really think through before picking a pillow from ian’s bed , it just —— happened . being put under the spotlight for it , mickey looks away , embarrassment in the way he shrugs it off . ❛ your couch is fuckin’ shit , ❜ defends himself , as if that’s all the explanation needed . and it is . the gesture speaks for itself . watches in silence as ian takes his pills , heart feeling small . he’s safe now , that’s all that matters . so what if he doesn’t need mickey anymore ?

❛ yeah , whatever , ❜ dismisses the gratitude in the redhead’s voice , staring at his own shoes . he doesn’t have to be thanked , mickey hasn’t done anything that anyone else in his place wouldn’t have . with a sigh , lowers himself onto the armchair , sitting at the very edge .

they share a look once he’s laying down again , blue eyes lingering on green as if he’s never seen them before . then , the words that ian cruelly whispers rip through his chest , and the reply gets stuck on tight throat . I LOVE YOU . heart misses a beat , gaze falling and focusing on an inanimate object instead for what feels like the hundredth time in the last five minutes . he can’t say it back , though feels it as strongly as he did all that time ago . this is wrong . this whole ordeal is wrong , the mixed feelings it brings to surface are too much for a man who’s denied having them for almost seventeen years . remembers of a time that he wouldn’t have felt too bad for bolting . misses that .

fingers are rubbing eyes into their sockets as if they’re about to fall off when the door opens , and he’ll deny any moisture left on fingertips . glances at lip , shoulders tense , and his question is to be expected , of course . it’s been years since mickey last set foot in the gallagher house . ❛ not together , i’m just helpin’ out , ❜ answers , though the question isn’t directed at him . wonders if now that lip is here he is allowed to go home , but reminds himself that he promised ian that he’d stay , so decides to wait until he’s asleep . no matter how awkward this gets .

pretends not to hear their conversation by looking the other way , thinks it’s the polite thing to do , though they aren’t saying anything that he doesn’t already know . maybe he’s just hoping to avoid lip’s further questioning by pretending that he has no idea of the gravity of this . he doesn’t want to tell lip that ian texted him and he came running , doesn’t want to tell him that his little brother had been thinking about suicide . but he has to , doesn’t he ? eventually , he will have to .

at the look thrown his way, he holds for a second , gesturing with his hand for lip to drop it for now . they can talk later , once ian is blissfully asleep and unaware of their deep - set worry . just because he’s aware that he won’t be able to avoid this conversation forever , it doesn’t mean that he can’t hinder it for as long as it’s possible .

IAN GALLAGHER

The next few days were a blur for Ian. He remembered falling asleep on the couch, listening to the sound of Lip on the phone, making an appointment for him. And then the next thing he knew, it was the following day and Lip was trying to get him out of bed for said appointment. He wasn’t sure how he had even gotten in bed. Everything was a haze, Ian didn’t remember much from it all. It was like the world was turning in slow motion, and gravity had increased. Everything around him seemed to move at half speed, including himself, and each step forward took a great amount of energy.

After that, everything just seemed to kind of blur together. He knew he got an increase in his dosage, to help him get through his grief -- the increase wouldn’t last forever, the doctor had said, and that they’d revisit it in six weeks to see how he was doing. She warned that he’d sleep a lot -- which wasn’t news to anyone, honestly -- but it wouldn’t be as bad as when he first started taking his medication.

Ian had been sleeping off and on, more on than anything. He remembered people trying to bring him food, Fiona trying to be encouraging, Debbie sitting with him at one point, he even remembered Mickey’s face a couple times. Besides that, it was dream land, taking pills, and then dream land again.

Ian blinked his eyes open, letting out a yawn. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, before glancing at the clock -- it was about half past noon. Slowly sitting up in bed, he ran a hand through his hair. His mind felt groggy, but more lucid than it had before. A quick glance at his phone told him it had been a few days since he had called Mickey, since he had his emotional breakdown. His limbs felt weak, and his body was protesting moving -- but his mind wanted to surge through the fog, his heart feeling lighter than it had previously.

Slowly standing up, Ian walked to the door, making sure to take his time and not rush himself -- his limbs would probably give out if he tried to move too fast. The stairs were an obstacle that he didn’t know how he managed. He took it one step at a time, holding onto the railing for support. Finally, he made it into the kitchen, closing his eyes and letting out another yawn. “I feel like I just woke from the dead,” he quipped easily, walking over to the counter and grabbing a mug, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Mmm, caffeine, my sweet, dear friend.”

#mkvch #{ xx v; it's always been you }#{ xx v; it's always been you | 01 }#i hate formatting #suicidal thoughts tw #depression tw #guns tw

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