Kinktober
Day 14: Handcuffs
AO3 gallery: Happy Husbands: A Visual Guide 31 ways to please your man (and yourself!)
@gallavichthings | Full prompt list
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JBB: An Artblog!
cherry valley forever

blake kathryn
Not today Justin
trying on a metaphor
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
taylor price
wallacepolsom

ellievsbear
styofa doing anything
todays bird
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Stranger Things
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Game of Thrones Daily

Janaina Medeiros

JVL

oozey mess

shark vs the universe

seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
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seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from Brazil

seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from United States
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@sluttygallavich
Kinktober
Day 14: Handcuffs
AO3 gallery: Happy Husbands: A Visual Guide 31 ways to please your man (and yourself!)
@gallavichthings | Full prompt list
cw: manic symptoms; implied past dub-con
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Ian pumps furiously into his hand, Mickey's pliant body beneath him too worn out and sore to go another round. Even still, his husband grips lightly at his hips where they straddle his waist, fingers squeezing and releasing in a soothing rhythm that keeps Ian feeling tethered to the bed, to the earth, when he otherwise feels liable to float away.
His blood is thrumming beneath his too hot skin, every muscle in his body burning. His teeth are clenched tight to keep his brain from rattling around inside his skull. The new meds should start to take effect soon, but until then—
Ian's eyes trail over Mickey's pecks, his strong arms, the long column of his neck. It's all so familiar and safe, but still his racing mind wants to transport him back in time, play tricks on him. His stomach churns and the panic starts to creep in, even as he continues to thrust wildly, unable to stop or even slow down.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the thoughts away. Different arms, different hands, grabbing, pulling, pushing, groping—
"Baby, open your eyes. It's okay, babe, just open your eyes. Look at me."
Mickey's sure voice cuts through the panic like a knife, and Ian's eyes snap open. His stomach clenches as he takes in Mickey's soft gaze, the understanding etched into the features of his face. Ian's balls draw up tight. He's so close.
Mickey brings one hand up off Ian's hip to cup his jaw, running his thumb over the apple of his cheek.
"I got you, Ian. It's okay," he says, his voice rough but his tone gentle. "I'm here, and you're here, and I got you."
Ian releases the breath he's been holding with a sob and cums on Mickey's stomach and up his chest, green eyes locked on blue.
Mickey + Ian 4ever
morning
Ian spits on mickeys hole and they both enjoy it 🤝
The first time it happens, it’s out of pure necessity.
They’ve just chased each other across half of South Side and up six flights of crumbling stairs, blood pumping and hearts racing. By the time they get to the mattress they have set up behind a half-collapsed wall near Ian’s makeshift training course they’re both practically out of their minds and completely desperate for it.
“Get the shit, Gallagher.”
Mickey already has his jeans pulled down to his knees and is looking back over his shoulder at him expectantly when the crushing realization hits.
Shit.
Mickey’s eyebrows furrow at Ian’s stricken expression. “The fuck, Gallagher. You didn’t come prepared?”
And no, actually, he hadn’t come prepared for Mickey to materialize in the middle of a busy street and crash his…whatever with Ned, and he sure as fuck hadn’t been planning on letting things with Ned go any further than a couple of drinks and maybe a hurried hand job if the old guy was really insistent. So no, he is in no way prepared for the situation he finds himself in now—ass naked but for his socks and rock hard, with his sorta boyfr– with Mickey’s perfect pale cheeks just begging to be spread.
He huffs, cheeks pinkening under Mickey’s accusatory stare.
“Get on your back, I’ll blow you instead.” Ian tries not to let on how disappointed he is, even as he suggests it, but it doesn’t seem to matter because Mickey makes no move to roll over. Instead, he bites at his bottom lip, considering.
“You gonna keep sticking it in that geriatric pedo?” he asks finally, voice gruff but eyes darting around, betraying his nerves.
And Ian’s first instinct is to roll his eyes and protest at that, but, well… yeah, okay.
His second instinct is to turn the question around and ask if Mickey’s going to keep sticking it in Angie Zago or whatever other neighbourhood slut is willing, but, well…
This is Mickey sort of trying, isn’t it? This is missed ya under the bleachers, and this is helping Ian train for West Point nearly every day since he’s been back, and this is the mattress that “fell off the back of a truck” after Ian complained about the concrete floor fucking up his knees. This is following him today and beating the shit out of that geriatric pedo in the middle of the street because he was jealous but couldn’t just say it.
Come here
gift to my friend
Galladrabbles: dancing
Another excuse to write about them dry humping in public? Delicious. Thanks, @dreamjupiter and @galladrabbles!
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It’s dancing only by the loosest definition of the term.
Oliver’s been transfixed by the pair for an hour now. Tattooed fingers running through bright red hair, big hands gripping rolling hips, tongues that taste and tease, lips coming together again and again.
Matching wedding rings.
He’s considered approaching, dick twitching at the thought of having them both for the night, but truthfully he can’t imagine anything being allowed to come between them.
The club lights bleed over their skin until Oliver can’t tell where one man ends and the other begins.
A perfect fusion. Two bodies moving as one.
Does anyone else feel lowkey queerbaited by the way Shameless handled the Ian x Mickey relationship?
Yes, they're canonically gay, but like, when you get queerbaited you feel like the ship is always just out of your grasp. One more episode and you'll reach some emotional satisfaction. And you spend all this time and energy coming up with ways for the characters to get there. But it's always snatched away at the last minute/never shown on screen.
And, the more I rewatch Shameless, the more Gallavich (especially in S1-5) feels that way to me. So much of the relationship is always just out of reach. Either because the progression of the relationship happens off screen (S1 going from booty call to Mickey being there for Ian when Monica returns; S9/pre-10 the "conversations" they have in prison). Or because every seemingly "happy" moment is undercut for us as the audience (5x01 when we see cute domestic Gallavich, but are immediately shown that Ian is manic and hypersexual/cheating).
Then... they get married! Yay?
To me it's like someone came in, stole my shit. Then returned a few years later and gave me back something, but it's not my original stuff and now it's sticky-sweet and covered in glitter.
Like okay? But where's the emotional catharsis I was craving from S1-5 Ian and Mickey? Like, I'm glad they're in a good place emotionally and with their relationship... BUT (at best) the catharsis happened off screen in those "conversations", and I still don't get to experience it along with the characters. So what's the point?
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I originally put this in the tags, but I decided it needed to be in the post:
In my mind they're this amazing ship - and i love them both individually and together - but it's like the writers never truly gave us the ship. Instead they're dangling the POSSIBILITIES and POTENTIAL of them as a couple over our heads for 5 seasons. Then Mickey goes to jail, ok bye.
Fully believe this is more than half the reason this fandom has such phenomenal fanfic btw.
What is your opinion on using ChatGPT to help you write? I myself use it for moral boosters and when I'm doubting myself and ask it if something makes sense, nothing more as I'd never want a word of my novel to not be my own. But I've seen some hate online recently from writers saying that anyone who uses it at all isn't a writer? Which does make me awfully sad
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It's not hate – we're scared and frustrated. Not just for ourselves, because AI is a genuine threat to our livelihoods, but also for the next generation of writers, like you. It's going to be a lot harder to get discovered or published with AI-generated content flooding the Internet and the book market.
Earlier this year, it was revealed that Meta trained Llama 3 on a massive body of pirated work. You can read more about it here. Meta employees knew this was morally wrong, but they did it anyway, because (1) they didn't want to pay anyone for the use of copyrighted work, and (2) they knew they could get away with it, and they have. They took our stories, born of real human experiences, and used them to feed something that's designed to be able to replace us. There are other reasons writers may be anti-AI, like the impact on the environment, but hopefully that gives you some context for why writers, specifically, are reacting to this so strongly.
You've said you wouldn't use ChatGPT to write your novel, which is great to hear. If you did, I would tell you that you weren't, in my opinion, a writer – just as I would never claim to be an artist if I used ChatGPT to create images, or a musician if I used it to generate a song. But I would also gently question why you feel like you need it to give you morale boosters or tell you if something makes sense. ChatGPT is not a human reader; unless you specifically instruct it not to flatter you, it will say what you want to hear. It isn't reacting to you, or to your story, with a human gut or a human heart. To me, any praise or encouragement it offers is empty. There's nobody and nothing behind it.
As for asking it to help you work out if something makes sense: I really do understand the temptation. I'm chronically ill, so I write at a slower pace than a lot of my colleagues, and it might help me churn out books faster if I asked ChatGPT to help me unpick a knot in the narrative, or fix a plot hole. But I don't want to surrender the ability to think and problem-solve for myself, and I would caution you against doing that – not just for the sake of your writing, but for everyday life. In this era of disinformation and propaganda, our ability to think, interrogate and analyse the world around us is more important than ever.
I can't stop you from using AI. But ask yourself: what would you have done before ChatGPT? Could you have figured out for yourself if something about your story makes sense? I think you definitely could have. It might have taken a bit longer, but you would have worked it out. I would encourage you to hold on to that ability. Cherish and nurture it. Rather than relying on artificial intelligence, trust your own.
guy who just wants to drink his coffee in peace
Turns out after discovering fanfiction I still must participate in society. Devastating news.
i'll defend fanfic for my whole life. like the joy it brings is genuinely transformative and indulgent in a way unique to the genre. it isn't meant for a market, it isn't meant to be sold or marketed. it is born out of such care and passion for a media that one must write and must share it, so other folks can enjoy it to. for no other reason than love and joy. do you know how special that is? especially in our current social and political climate.
❤️🔥 Theme 47: Tattoos ❤️🔥
For @gallacrafts and @crossmydna
“Figured you’d catch on fast, Army.”
“Wish they had a mirror in here.”
Mickey bites his lip. Shifts his gaze to the side for a beat. Flicks back to Ian. “You got your phone?”
In the short time it takes the words to register in Ian’s mind, his heart rate skyrockets. “Yeah, why?”
“Can take a pic, if you want.”
“Wh– really?”
“Just don’t be postin’ my mug to Instabook.”
In progress pics behind the cut
Galladrabbles: dancing
Another excuse to write about them dry humping in public? Delicious. Thanks, @dreamjupiter and @galladrabbles!
_________________________
It’s dancing only by the loosest definition of the term.
Oliver’s been transfixed by the pair for an hour now. Tattooed fingers running through bright red hair, big hands gripping rolling hips, tongues that taste and tease, lips coming together again and again.
Matching wedding rings.
He’s considered approaching, dick twitching at the thought of having them both for the night, but truthfully he can’t imagine anything being allowed to come between them.
The club lights bleed over their skin until Oliver can’t tell where one man ends and the other begins.
A perfect fusion. Two bodies moving as one.