Gallavich discover farmers markets when they move to the Westside.
Ian has been trying to make sure they're eating healthy, and how can it get healthier than fresh fruits and veg? So when he sees a few stands teeming with produce and people, he drags Mickey with him.
The first time, they only purchase fruits and vegetables and bypass most of the other stands. They go back the next week. And then they go back again.
By the fourth time, they have added fresh local flowers to their weekly purchases. Mickey refuses to admit he likes having them on their dinner table, but eventually he's the one picking out the bouquet.
On their sixth trip, Ian gets distracted by a local soap maker. He spends nearly 20 minutes picking out a scent that he likes. Or rather, that he thinks he'll like on Mickey. When he finds Mickey again, his husband is munching on a bag of homemade jerky.
Ian loses count after that.
They try honeycomb for the first time and buy honey from the local beekeeper. They sample artisan cheese and jams and jellies, and they listen politely to a candle maker as she excitedly explains her process for the fourth week in a row. Ian aquires a taste for tea thanks to the blends made by a middle-aged man who pays far too much attention to his daily horoscopes. They make sure to stop by a bakery stand every time to buy fresh pastries and bread.
Mickey often lingers at a stall run by a man who does leather and woodwork, and Ian places a special order with him for Mickey's birthday; a matching belt and wallet.
By far, their favorite vendors are an old woman and her grandson who sell beanies, scarves, and the like. The old woman is nice enough, if a little forgetful, but it's the grandson, who is their age, that they become friends with. He did time for armed robbery and learned to knit while he was locked up. "I did it 'cause I remembered Nan doing it when I was a kid." Now, it's his business. And his grandma enjoys the excuse to spend time with her grandson.
By the time winter comes around, they've each got a matching hat, scarf, and glove set, there are four varieties of tea besides Mickey's favorite coffee, and they've even purchased a couple candles.
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Freaky (Bodyswapped!Mickey Altieri)
Word count: 1k
After trying (and failing) to kill you with a mysterious knife he bought off a stranger, Mickey wakes up and discovers that he’s somehow ended up in your body
So I just finished watching Freaky after it was so kindly recommended for me and I loved the concept so much. So fucking cool. So I wrote a quick tiny little thing with Mickey as Ghostface stabbing the reader and his body swapping with hers. It’s a really small little thing that just sprang to mind but I feel like I could write a whole ass series on something like this.
Warning/s: body swap, language, attempted murder, injury, blood, Mickey’s a lil sadistic, he looks and touches your breasts, etc
Enjoy!
“It’s like you fucking want to die.” Ghostface laughed as you stumbled and fell to the ground, a gasp escaping you as you scraped your hands on the hard concrete below. You felt his gloved hand grab your upper arm and throw you onto your back, smiling as he moved over you, pressing his knee to your stomach forcefully and knocking the air out of your lungs, one hand gripping your throat and squeezing tight. The glint of the strange looking blade gleamed in the street lights as he raised it, his other hand sliding from your throat to press harshly on your chest, pinning you there.
“No, don't, please don’t!” You screamed as the blade began to come down toward your chest. You instinctively jerked your knee into his stomach, causing him to let out a grunt and fall a little, the blade piercing into the flesh of your left shoulder.
“Agh! What the fuck?” He jolted sharply away from you, falling back as his hand clutched at his own left shoulder, pulling it back and looking in shock at his gloved hand covered in blood.
As soon as he was off of you you grasped your own shoulder, noticing the blood pooling out of yours too.
The masked man tilted his head at you a little in evident confusion before slowly getting to his feet and pointing the blade at you.
“I’ll be back for you, bitch.” He muttered before spinning on his heel and running into the darkness.
You limped through the door of your dorm room when the hospital and police finally let you go home, the bottle of painkillers clutched between your fingers. You didn’t tell them what really happened, how could they believe you? That when Ghostface stabbed you it somehow injured him too? They’d think you were insane.
Maybe you were. Maybe the adrenaline had made you crazy, made you see things that didn’t really happen.
Dropping your keys in the small glass bowl by the door you decided to take a quick shower and wash the blood and dirt out of your hair. You were exhausted, in a lot of pain and felt like you really had gone fucking insane.
Mickey woke up the next morning to the sound of his phone buzzing loudly next to him. Did he change his ring tone or something? Weird.
Letting out a small groan he opened his eyes. He decided to let the phone ring out, lifting his hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He suddenly paused, blinking a couple of times till his vision stopped blurring before staring at his hand in confusion, not seeing his own large calloused ones but ones that were rather petite and dainty, with large gashes cut into the palms.
“Huh?” He muttered, jumping at the sound of his voice. Well, not his voice.
“What the fuck?” He said loudly, jumping at the pitch and tone of his- that sound coming out of him.
Raising his hand again, he touched his face and felt features that definitely didn’t belong to him. He looked down at his body, seeing the soft curves and breasts of what very evidently was not his own long, toned physique. He glanced around him, seeing a mirror on the bedside table and snatching it into his hands, shakily lifting it so he could stare into it.
“What the fuck?!” He shouted louder as he saw your horrified reflection staring back at him. He jumped out of the bed, dropping the mirror to the ground so it smashed loudly onto the hardwood floor, staring around the room, completely bewildered. This wasn’t his dorm, he wasn’t himself and he was freaking the fuck out. He was you, the girl he tried to kill last night.
His- your eyes caught the floor length mirror in the corner of the room and he walked over slowly, eyeing up the reflection peering curiously back at him. He lifted his hand to touch the soft hair, pulling a strand to his face to sniff it tentatively.
Huh. He thought to himself, dropping the strand back into place. His eyes roamed your body, tilting his head a little. Wow, he never really noticed before what with him trying to kill you but you were hot. He lifted his hands to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and let out a small laugh.
“Ha, nice.” He chuckled as he looked at your breasts curiously and palmed one with his hand, smiling as he felt the satisfying soft flesh and still flinching a little when he heard your voice.
“Never should’ve bought a weird ass knife off of someone on the Internet.” He mumbled, dropping the shirt again and turning around.
What did this mean? If he was you… did that mean you were him? He felt your body stiffen with realisation of what this meant. If you were in his body it wouldn’t take you long to figure out that he was Ghostface. But did you even know who he was? He’d been watching you for days, tracking you and stalking you to learn your routine to make killing you a little more fun for him. But you ran in completely different circles, who knows if you’d ever even noticed him?
“Fucking shit!” He shouted angrily and he grabbed the phone off of your bedside table, flipping it open as his eyes scanned through your contacts trying to look for a familiar name of someone you could both have in common.
Nothing.
He relaxed just a little, dropping the phone on the bed and sitting down, running his hand over your face. How was any of this even possible? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Even though it didn’t seem like you had any friends in common, his dorm was full of pictures, videos and that goddamn fucking Ghostface costume, as well as the knife he’d bought only the other day specially to kill you.
He racked his brain for a couple of seconds, thinking. And then it struck him. Nobody would ever suspect you. You were a sweet little thing, incapable of doing what he did to CiCi Cooper a few nights ago. You were kind, popular and sociable. The perfect disguise. In that moment, making your lips turn up into a depraved smile he knew what he had to do.
He had to kill you, then he had to become you.
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