“The garnishes—uhm, they’re still uncovered. That was already noted last time.”
“And I told last time I’d take care of it,” Rozanov shot.
“And when exactly are you planning to do that, Mr. Rozanov?” Shane fired back, glancing up at him over the rim of his glasses.
Their eyes locked.
When it came to things like this, Shane could be stubborn. Painfully precise.
Sometimes, it really was like splitting hairs.
The man raised an eyebrow, reached into one of the lower drawers, and pulled out something that looked like a large mixing bowl. Then he flipped it over the cutting board and the garnishes.
“There. I took care.”
Shane let out a quiet scoff and looked at him skeptically.
“That’s not a permanent solution.”
Or:
Shane came to Montreal with his skates packed away forever but a life carefully mapped out. Five years in, he realized that the things he had imagined hadn't worked out at all.
Cover made by @geonbaeeeesblog
Thank you so much my love! It is beautiful as always 😍
Shane backs Ilya up into that glass wall. Ilya is so beside himself, he doesn’t even know what to do with his hands, which usually grab Shane’s face to initiate a kiss. Instead they just float around Shane’s orbit, unable to choose where to land.
Can we get a sneak peek of “The Coffee Was Bitter, But the Past Was Worse”, please :)
Sure. This story is about Mickey explaining his childhood to his daughter Lily.
Lily lay curled up beside Mickey on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like his cologne and marshmallows they had shared earlier in s’mores.
She was quiet for a long time.
Then, softly: “Do you think Grandma Laura would’ve liked me?”
Mickey didn’t answer right away.
He looked out at the lake, at the moonlight dancing on the water, it was a peaceful place.
“She would’ve adored you,” he said finally. “Like, obnoxiously. Like, ‘buy you a pony just because you pouted adored.”
Lily giggled. “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” Mickey said. “She’d have been the kind of grandma who showed up to school plays and asked about boys .She woulda been on your side probably even against me and daddy.”
Lily smiled.
“She’d teach you how to dance in the kitchen,” Mickey continued. “Not real dancing. Laura dancing. Wild, barefoot spinning with a wooden spoon microphone.”
“What would she call me?” Lily asked.
Mickey thought for a moment. “Probably something ridiculous, like ‘Queen of Sass.’ She had a nickname for everyone. Mine was ‘Trouble with a capital T.’”
Lily punched his arm and stole more of the blanket. “That fits.”
“She’d spoil you rotten,” Mickey said. “But she’d also tell you the truth. She didn’t sugarcoat shit.She’d sit you down and say, ‘Listen, Lily, life is hard but don’t let it make you that way.”
He paused and chewed on his bottom lip, ran his hand through his hair. “ she would tell me that everytime Terry was a prick which was almost everyday. “ He hugged Lily tightly. “ Fuck , I forgot about that . Can still hear her , saying that while patching me up.”
Lily’s eyes were wet with tears.
“She’d cry at your cheer,” Mickey said. “She’d cry at your birthday cards. She’d cry just watching you sleep because she’d be so overwhelmed that someone like you existed.”
Lily leaned her head on Mickey’s shoulder. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
Mickey wrapped his arm around her. “You did. In a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s in you,” Mickey said. “In your laugh. In your freaking Mandy like stubbornness. In the way you love people so hard it scares them. You’re Laura’s legacy. Her second chance.”
Ian licking Mickey’s bare chest because HE DID IT IN SEASON FIVE AND HE DOES IT ALL THE TIME EVEN IF WE NEVER SAW IT, GODAMNIT.
Mickey was sprawled out on the bed next to Ian, one hand in Ian’s hair, the other behind his own head. Ian had his arm draped loosely around Mickey’s shoulders, his free hand on Mickey’s hip. The sweat on their skin was cooling beneath the open window, hot from the Chicago summer air and the rounds of fucking fantastic sex they’d just had. Now they lay, half awake, sated and enjoying each other’s company, too hot to spoon but still longing for each other. Ian turned and kissed Mickey on the cheek. Mickey smiled at it and nuzzled his cheek against Ian’s nose.
“Fuckin love you, man,” Mickey murmured absently, running his fingers through Ian’s hair. Ian smiled and kissed his shoulder.
“I love you too.”
He ran his hand over the tattoo of his name on Mickey’s chest, sweat sliding onto his finger. Mickey was beautiful, eyes deep blue and dreamy and half closed, right now, but they’d be so full of love when he looked at Ian, hair messed and sticky with sweat and jet black against pale skin, dark, rough tattoos popping out, each one a reminder of who his husband really was, toned in his arms and chest, droplets of sweat gathering there. Ian leaned down further and licked the sweat off his chest, salty on his tongue. Mickey chuckled.
Shane felt the urge to defend himself, maybe even invent an excuse or whatever, but he realized a lie wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You came. You will come again.”
The way he said it should have irritated Shane. It was arrogant somehow, almost like this man was far too sure of himself. But the truth was that Shane felt a strange flutter low in his stomach, something he had never experienced before.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Credits to @geonbaeeeesblog for the beautiful, beautiful art! Thank you so much 🧡🧡
hi! Can I ask about 'adrenaline' for the WIP ask game?
This was planned for SBB in the first place but the tags I'd have to add had stopped me to write bc I did not know if I had found an artist for this 👀
Maybe I will continue some day and post this 🫣
Mickey is a serial killer in this, so be warned 😇 tw blood
A red stain was forming, where the blade had pushed through the thin fabric of the ugly checkered flannel shirt. One that smeared across his hands after only a few seconds. His knife had slipped easily between the ribs, and it smelled like copper. And fried potatoes from the stove.
Jeffrey Simmons was already pale and coughing blood but fought back anyway - of course this job wasn’t going to be easy for once in his fucked up lifetime. He flailed his arms, but he couldn’t break free from the death grip. The fat man tried to scream between the coughing, too, but he pressed a hand over his mouth and nose, swallowing every whining sound he made.
Mickey really needed to hurry the hell up, or the fried potatoes in the pan would turn black and the kitchen could be on fire before Simmons was even dead. And then he’d have to play goddamn firefighter and put out the flames. Just what he needed.
The blood was warm as it ran through his fingers and soaked into the fabric of his own sleeve while he waited for blood loss or oxygen deprivation to finally set in, so that Simmons would pass the fuck out and he could turn off the damn stove.
—
“Have you cleaned the restrooms in the special exhibition wing yet?”
Charlie glanced over his shoulder at him, his short blond curls bouncing as he rinsed the mop in the bucket and spun it so it wouldn’t drip too much on the floor.
He was an annoying kid who only did this damn job to keep himself afloat in college. But he loved acting like he was the boss because unlike Ian, he wasn’t a high-school dropout from the South Side. He was from the upper middle class and obviously studying something. So he felt like he was something better and didn't miss a chance to let everybody know.
“No,” Ian sighed. “I always do those last.”
As if he hadn’t already told Charlie that a few weeks ago when he first started here. Ian was the one in the janitorial crew who had drawn the shortest stick and was allowed to train him. What a lucky guy Ian was.
“Isn’t that kinda stupid?” Charlie turned fully toward him now, leaning on the mop. God, how Ian wished for a tiny nudge from karma so the mop would slip, and the kid would fall pimple-face-first into the bucket of dirty water. That would be extremely satisfying. But the universe, as usual, let him down.
“Why do you think it’s stupid?” Ian didn’t bother to hide the irritation in his voice as he placed his own mop into the bucket.
Charlie shrugged, as if he hadn’t already prepared his next sentence. “Well, our cleaning carts are stored in the maintenance room right next to those bathrooms.” He began, and Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes. “It’d just be logical to clean them first.”
Exactly why I save them for last, idiot. Because they’re the worst bathrooms in the entire museum, and afterward you need to scrub down the whole cart.
Ian swallowed the answer and kept it to himself. All he wanted was to work in peace.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said instead, mostly to avoid the argument. “I should probably go clean them now.”
He was already turning toward his cart when Charlie let out a dramatic huff. “I’m still in training, you know. You can’t leave me alone as long as I don’t have my own keycard.”
Ian felt bile rising. “Then why did you bring it up in the first place? What exactly do you think I’m supposed to do now?”
Charlie shrugged again. “Maybe it’d be smart to break routine? Change our route a bit?”
What was wrong with this kid? It was like he constantly wanted to challenge Ian, test his boundaries, see how far he could push him. Like last week, when he wanted to show Ian how to mop the floor properly. As if Ian hadn't been doing that every day for two damn years.
Ian hated that constant struggle. He was the type who either flight or pretended dead in these situations than fight. Sure, he would have fought back then. He knew these battles for dominance from his siblings. But since his... uhm… since he started feeling kind of numb, he no longer had the strength to fight. So it was mostly flight.
“I’ll be in the special exhibition wing if you need me.”
“Hey, wait, what about my keycard?”
Ian snorted. “You seem way smarter than me, kid. You’ll figure it out.” he turned around then and pushed his cleaning cart toward the elevator.
Ah!! One of the few that I might actually finish one day! :'D
It's an AU where Mickey drunkenly confessed his undying love feelings to his roommate Ian, but Ian didn't quite reciprocate.
In reality, Ian was as smitten with Mickey as Mickey was with him, but he was juggling work and EMT classes and did not want to be distracted, so he didn't say anything back to Mickey.
They pretended it never happened and got on just fine afterwards, that is, until Ian had a depressive episode and missed both work and classes for two days straight.
It's the first time he learned of Ian's bipolar.
He made some spaghetti for Ian and they talked about it a little.
---
Large, tired eyes peer at him in the dark. Gallagher’s hair is a mess, and he looks sickly, but Mickey can’t quite put a finger on why. He just looks super dead and exhausted.
“...This is embarrassing," Gallagher mumbles.
“Not as embarrassing as me drunkenly admittin’ you have a great ass, I don’t think.”
It earns him a small smile, and holy fucking shit, is it worth it.
“Think you can manage a few bites?” Mickey asks just to change the topic, but his voice comes out so gentle — he honest to god didn’t know he’s even capable of such gentleness before.
If Mandy were here, he’d never hear the end of it.
But she’s not, so it’s whatever.
Gallagher shifts in bed just then, slowly heaving himself up into a sitting position. He takes a few moments just to lean against the headboard and breathe, and Mickey, having grabbed a nearby chair and sitting down, breathes with him. Gallagher presently glances at the dish Mickey’s made, and then at Mickey himself.
“Thank you, Mickey,” Ian says earnestly. His eyes, although tired, are clear, and so are his words. It feels so stupidly intimate, it makes Mickey uncomfortable.
The use of his first instead of last name doesn’t escape Mickey’s notice, either.
Time to change the topic again, then.
“Think you might be thankin’ me a little prematurely, Red, cause you ain’t even tasted this yet,” Mickey says, switching the bedside lamp on before picking up the plate and poking at the spaghetti with the fork. “Might taste like dogshit for all I know.”
It doesn’t. Mickey’s made sure to season the sauce carefully. He’s even taste-tested it before plating the whole thing up.
But it gets Gallagher to smile again. Mickey counts that as a win.
Those big hands make a waving motion, so Mickey hands the plate and the fork over.
Watches with anticipation as Gallagher takes a bite.
Allows himself to smile goofily back at the other man when he hums approvingly as he chews his food.
“Yeah?” Mickey asks, feeling insanely proud of himself.
Gallagher lets out another pleased hum as he chases after a drop of bolognese sauce on his upper lip. “Yep – oh yeah,” he says around a mouthful, “s’good. Fuck. Didn' t notice I was this hungry.”
Well, hearing that is just an ego boost, really.
Mickey just sits there for a couple of minutes and watches as Gallagher eats. He has questions about the whole bipolar thing, but he thinks he’ll wait until Gallagher is better to ask them. It’s obviously not something Gallagher’s planned to ever share with Mickey before, but now that they’re in this situation…
Gallagher is halfway through his spaghetti when he comically pauses and shoots Mickey a confused look.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” he asks.
“Huh? Oh. I took the day off.”
Gallagher blinks.
Mickey feels himself blushing.
Gallagher’s shoulders drop when realisation dawns on him. “You really didn’t have to, I would’ve been—”
“No, but I wanted to make sure you were gonna be alright,” Mickey quickly says, avoiding those eyes. “I really thought you were dying, you know.”
He hears a soft huff coming from Gallagher, but he still doesn’t wanna meet those eyes. What would his roommate see? A pathetic guy, crushing on him and taking the day off just to play house?
It’s a little too much for Mickey to process right now, so he stays silent.
It’s all on Gallagher now.
The ball’s in his court.
“M’sorry,” Gallagher says after a while. “My bipolar isn’t something I’m proud of. It’s not something I was planning on lettin’ you know…”
RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it. (for art, too!)
I was tagged by @rayrayor @pillowbee and @oathkeptroxas 🧡
I have so many "Untitled Documents" in my Google Docs that I can practically never find my stuff! But a few of them do have working titles.
RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it. (for art, too!)
I was tagged by @avalonia320 @mickeyismyian @pillowbee @katicusdramaticus
I literally never title my WIPs. My docs are just "untitled document" x infinity. Can't ever find shit.
So! This ask game actually prompted me to do some organising. Things have (working) titles now. All but one are gallavich
☀️ imagine 3
☀️ gwjv 15
☀️ tell me where it hurts
☀️ from devastation
☀️ gallavich SC6
I don't know who has or hasn't been tagged at this point. @thisaintmacys @gallavich-annise @blue-disco-lights @thepiefromwork @jessij1997
Not to toot my own horn, but for the last masquerade I wrote a fic called Seven Gallavich Sins that consisted of seven ficlets, each inspired but a different deadly sin, and it got me thinking: there are seven deadly sins, there are seven days in a week... See where I'm going with this? The theme (or themes) for this year's Gallavich Week is Seven Deadly Sins! The fanworks can be as literal or loosely based on the themes as you want. Also, I'll give y'all an extra day to catch up if needed. 😉
GW will run from June 21 to June 28 and the themes for each day are as follows:
21 - Greed
22 - Sloth
23 - Pride
24 - Lust
25 - Wrath
26 - Gluttony
27 - Envy
28 - Catch-up/free space (to post late fanworks for other days or works that don't fit into any day)
As always, all kinds of fanworks are accepted, as long as they are original (obviously, this doesn't apply to things as podfics or stuff based on other fanworks — in this case, as long as the creator of the original fanwork allows it, it's fine). And of course, no AI!
CREATING AND POSTING GUIDELINES (After the break)
How do I participate?
You don’t have to subscribe to anything or announce what you’re doing, you just have to post your work on the appropriate day and tag me on the body of the post using @gallavichthings. It’s important that you tag me properly so that I can be sure to see your post and reblog it.
What types of works are accepted?
Any kind of original fan work is accepted, including but not limited to: fanart, fanfiction (no minimum words required), graphics, gifs and gifsets, videos, and fanmixes. Yes, meta and polls are also accepted (though I do request that you either try to keep them within the theme for each day or post them on the Free Day). You can also remix someone else's work, as long as you have their permission. The use of AI is forbidden.
When can I start posting?
As long as it's already (or still) the correct day for you, post away! Who cares about timezones?
Can I still participate even if I don’t have a Tumblr account?
Absolutely! Just submit something here (http://gallavichthings.tumblr.com/submit).
Can I post on other social media platforms?
You sure can, but I only have Twitter, which I don’t check that often anymore, so I do encourage you to post here as well, so it can be seen by more people.
Is there an AO3 Collection?
Yes, right here. Participation is not mandatory though, and you can rest assured this Collection will not be deleted.
Can I post something that I’ve already posted before?
No, sorry. The works should have been created specifically for GW. You can, however, create a sequel or a different version of a previous work.
Can I post something that is not in English?
Of course. Just make sure that it is original, or that you have the original author’s permission (and, in that case, link to the original too).
Can I make R-rated works?
Yes, just please give any necessary warnings and tell us the rating at the very beginning of the post. If the post is visual (like a fanart or a gifset), it would be nice for you to also tag it accordingly - Tumblr now allowes you to select if a post is deemed for mature audiences or not. It’s not mandatory, but if possible put it under a Read More here on Tumblr and under a spoilers mark (so it’s not instantly visible) on Twitter.
Can I post something that’s AU?
Sure thing! Tag it accordingly though, both for those who want to avoid it and for those who’d like to find it.
Can I post supernatural works, mpreg, genderbends or other more 'niche' content?
Yes! But if it’s a fic, please include it in the warnings.
Can I post more than one work?
Definitely! The more, the merrier. You can post as many works as you want, on as many days as you want, be it one post per day or ten on the same day. Anything goes!
Can I post on more than one day? Do I have to make something for each day?
Again, the more, the merrier! You can post on only one or all days if you wish!
Can I make one work that fits two or more themes?
Sure thing. I only ask that you post it on the day of the last theme included. For example, if you are posting a work that includes the theme from Day 1 and the theme from Day 4, post it on day 4 (just make sure to tell me that it includes both).
Can I write a multi-chaptered fanfiction?
Yes, and you don’t have to post everything either. When you do, just be sure to include either a masterpost, or the links to the previous chapters in the beginning.
Can I include other characters/pairings in my work?
Yes, as long as Gallavich is still the focus.
What if I can’t finish on time?
The Gallavich fandom is ALWAYS happy to see new fan material, so just post it when you’re done and tag me, ok? The same goes for people who can’t finish a work on the assigned theme day; you can still post it on a different day during GW, just make it clear which day it was made for.
Light splayed carelessly across the muscled planes of Mickey's back as he stepped out of the treeline and stripped out of his shirt, leaving it behind for Ian to collect. By the time he reached the edge of the river, he was completely bare, his feet submerged in the water as he looked back at Ian expectantly. There was a faint wind blowing down the valley of the trees, knocking his dark hair loose from where he'd been pushing it back and out of his face all day. His pale figure looked small against the vastness of the river, the mountains beyond, and the open sky above, yet wholly harmonious in the order of his surroundings.
This was put together in about six minutes, and is the closest I'm probably going to every get to doing a time lapse.
I start with a photograph. I change the settings to soften the edges. I use line isolation tools to detect the edges to get the overlines. I isolate blocks of colour and use watercolour textures and overlays. I pull the original image back out and vectorise it at a brighter colour.
And then I start to assemble all the pieces on top of each other all over again.
Seriously. Google "How to cartoonise my photograph" and follow the instructions from the 2014/16 model. It can be done in inkscape, adobe illustrator, adobe photoshop (which is really good if you want to colourise black and white images, add clothing, cut and paste faces on reference bodies, etc), flexisign, easysign, and a myriad of other design softwares.
The more layers something has, the more complicated it is. Colour isolation also allows me to flatten and brighten colours, and make them look more artistic.
When I get really serious about it, I will go in and trace the outline with a drawing pad or sometimes even my mouse (or laptop mousepad).
I bump the lines into where I want them, or distort it slightly.
And that gives me something like this.
I really didn't have time to spend on putting together something intricate today, I'm in the middle of trying to buy a business, work my current job and second job, run a laser cutter and a workshop, and deal with an ex implying things about me and our relationship that I didn't want made public so our mutual friends didn't feel like they had to take sides.
Jill: Once again, sorry that you feel that you have to do this to stop the witch hunt. All those people suck balls. As much as I have enjoyed learning about your process I whole heartedly wish it wasn’t like this.
To all the haters: do you see what you’ve done? Do you understand? You shouldn’t need to see this to believe someone? Do you realise by feeding Jill’s art into an AI detector you’ve made it easier for AI to replicate it? - you gave it more fodder. And the excuse of “well I couldn’t be sure” or “I didn’t know”- Jill has explained her process before (without images) and you could just look it up.
Thank you, my friend. You’ve had my back from day one. This is why I’m taking a break. It’s too much for me right now. This is meant to be my happy place, not somewhere else I have to defend myself against baseless accusations.
Do you realize what you’re actually doing here? Artists feel the urge—the pressure—to defend and explain themselves! This doesn’t just happen with artists, but also with writers and anyone working in any other technical medium of expression! This simply cannot be damn true! Fuck AI!
I don't know how I never heard this song before, but it was good! Thank you to @jessij1997 for the prompt and @galladrabbles as always. 💜
It felt like a while since I put them in space. Like, at least a couple of weeks, right?!
---
Why Ian notices that particular cryo tube, he couldn't say. But one night as he walks his endless rounds through a thousand passengers, he finds a man he's never met but desperately wants to.
Through frost-rimmed glass he sees black hair, a beautiful face. Ian presses his hand to the front panel, wondering what he's like.
They're crossing stars. The journey might as well take forever. Ian will be going into cryo-stasis soon, too. He might never see this guy again.
Still he hopes. Memorises the details on the side of the pod.
