jrooc

[jrooc]

The Menagerie was featured on a podcast!!! 😍

Starts at about 8:30, but also watch the rest of the episode for another great rec!!

Read The Menagerie now!

[jrooc]

Mickey’s Fucked-Up-Kinda- Romantic-Sex-Bucket-List

Riding Edition

1. Plane fuck. Reverse.

2. Wheelchair but you're not dying. Maybe we "borrow" one from the ER?

3. Whirlpool + Gaga. Check the Northside neighborhood for a good one

4. Steamroom. Audience optional. That bathhouse where we were looking for friends?

5. Viking cosplay. Call me Ivar. Don’t fucking laugh!

6. Kitchen table. You. Naked. Feeding me oranges. Do NOT peel them first but tear them apart with your bare hands. Don't ask why.

7. In a fresh laundry pile. Bonus if it's warm.

8. Lip’s garage. Oil, tools, you under me. Your hands better be filthy.

9. You readin' some stupid book. Something with sex. Does gay 50 Shades exist??

10. Funeral. Real churchy. Find an obituary

We’re doing all of these. Don't be a coward, Firecrotch.

(PS: I already bought oranges)

It's Gallavich Week already! Thank you to @gallavichthings for hosting this great event ❤️

My first take on the prompts, but not my last 😇

[jrooc]

This one is dedicated to @jrooc because of a tag that made me smile. I took it as a challenge.

(content note: depression, and the lies depression tells you)

Gallavich Week Day Four: Pain

Defeat

There's a paper bag on the dresser. 

Ian doesn't know when it appeared. Sometime between when Mickey left that morning and when Ian next opened his eyes. 

There are flowers, too. A week old. Drooping wearily in too little water. The water is turning brown and when Ian inhales he catches just the tiniest hint of floral decay in the air. 

It sickens him, a swirl of nausea that sits heavy in his guts. But he's too tired to move, too tired even to be sick. Everything is too heavy. Every movement hurts. The pain isn't really physical but it might as well be. 

And then there's the paper bag. White. Top folded down in a crisp line. A few wrinkles where someone had held it. As they picked it up and carried it home and put it down on that dresser. 

If he turned it around he would see the label holding down the fold. His name and address. If he held it up to the light he'd catch the dark outline of the bottles inside. 

His phone is in reach, if he could reach out one arm. Find out the time. He doesn't want to. So he stares blankly at the accusing paper bag. 

It sits there and tells him he wants this. He doesn't really want to get better, or he'd get up and open the bag. It tells him he's worthless because he can't even do this one positive thing. This one thing that he knows will help. Even through the side-effects and the adjustment periods, he knows it will eventually get better. If he wanted it to. If he could just get up.

Except that he doesn't get up. Can't do it right now. Right now there's just a paper bag on the dresser and a boy alone in the bed and the six feet in between might as well be the Grand Canyon.

But then there's a rattle and a click. Noises too loud in the dark. Footsteps so familiar they're like his own heartbeat. 

He closes his eyes, but still hears Mickey enter the room. 

"Hey. You drunk anything today? I got you a sandwich, you can eat it whenever..."

There's bustling noises. Ian retreats. Doesn't want to acknowledge it. The kindness or the gentle insistence on that bare minimum of self care. Care he doesn't deserve. 

A weight sits at the edge of the bed. A hand runs over his shoulder. Even through the blanket it feels hot and stings like a burn all down his arm. 

When he doesn't respond, the weight lifts and then there's another rustling. Tearing of paper. Rattling of pills. 

"C'mon Ian, at least take your meds."

The weight is back. Ian fights the lead weights his eyelids have become, to look. The paper bag sits askew, open. Eviscerated and defeated by the man who now sits back beside Ian and gently helps him upright. Hands him his pills and his water. 

"There ya go," Mickey says. There's a faint smile in his voice as Ian struggles to swallow the pills with a mouthful of water.

He presses a kiss to Ian's temple as Ian sinks back into the bed. It feels like comfort and agony all in one. But he's defeated the paper bag. Taken a tiny step. It's nothing. It's everything. 

And when Mickey sits against the headboard next to him, just being there, being close... That's everything too.

-----

@gallavichthings

[jrooc]

Did I somehow manifest that the Leafs would be playing the Panthers in the playoffs? Maybe 😆 But if you want to read a hockey au that's fast, fun, smutty and full of romantic idiots?

Check out Last Cigarette 🏒🥅⛸️

Rated E

Words: 27,770

Summary: Mickey and Ian play for rival hockey teams in the NHL

[jrooc]

Thank you @wasmickeyadopted for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt, sharing clothes!

Ian was exhausted from a long weekend chaperoning Liam's class trip to DC. He was glad they could do things like this for Liam - they all wanted better for him than how they'd grown up - but all he wanted now was to crash on his own couch with his husband.

He entered their apartment and found Mickey napping on said couch, snuggled under a blanket. Ian lifted the blanket enough to get himself underneath as well, but he blinked in surprise and then warmth upon finding Mickey snuggled up in one of Ian's hoodies.

Looks like someone missed him, too.

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🚨n e w .:. c h a p t e r🚨 in this smoking chaos

Read chapter 14 now: send us a blindfold

Summary: Mickey Milkovich has been conscripted. He joins the recruits at Crake War Camp to be trained as a super solider for a government he doesn't believe in.

Ian Gallagher is the best soldier in his age group at his war camp. He's going to make the elites one day. Until a man with black hair and knuckle tattoos joins his cohort and ruins everything.

Rated: E for smut

Tags: AU: Military, dystopian, angst with a happy ending, a sprinkle of humour, meet-ugly, forbidden romance, homophobia

Chapters are short but frequent. Read from the beginning!

[jrooc]

Here's another little short for Gallavich Week! It didn't exist yesterday. I hope you like it. 💜

Gallavich Week Day Two: Lights

Like Home

They've lived here over a month and it's starting to come together. To feel like home. A place they've made just for them.

But Mickey's still unhappy about one thing. The living room lights are too bright. He hates it. Harsh daylight bulbs in the ceiling making him feel like he's under searchlights. 

He won't admit he misses the Gallagher house, but he definitely misses the warm yellow lighting. This place feels too much like an office building.

He can't just change them out because they're embedded into the ceiling; he looked it up and it'd cost too much to replace them all at once.

But his home shouldn't remind him of fucking weed grow lights. So he makes a plan.

They're better off now than they've ever been, but spending on non-essentials doesn't come naturally. And he'd just steal what he wants, but it's quite hard to shoplift stand lamps. 

So he does buy them. Borrows the ambulance and Debbie helps him carry four of them out from the shop. Just second-hand IKEA stands, heavy bases and wobbly tops. Some yellow bulbs from the hardware store (he doesn't spend hours researching how to figure out the colour profile to make sure he gets the right ones, fuck you very much). Nothing special, but hopefully enough to be an improvement.

He sets them up around the living room while Ian's out. Spends longer than he will ever admit adjusting the position to make sure the room feels light when they're all on, but not too bright. 

Finally he settles on the couch to watch TV, just the four lamps on and the main lights off. It already feels better. Comfortable. A gentle evening glow. Warm. 

Ian gets home late; he's been babysitting Fred while Lip and Tami went to some Tamietti family dinner. He drops his keys on the table in the hall and comes in. Mickey looks round when he hears him. 

"Hey," he says, smiling and standing up to round the couch and give his husband a kiss. Fuck you, it's only been six hours, he still missed him, okay? Ian kisses back, gentle and warm. Like the new lights.

"You get these?" Ian asks, pointing at the lamps when they separate.

"Yeah... Just from the goodwill or whatever. They okay?"

Ian looks at them, then cocks his head on one side to look at Mickey. 

"Yeah. You look good in this light."

"Yeah?"

They move close again, Ian's hands sitting on Mickey's hips.

"Yeah. I like it."

And Mickey looks at the way his husband's hair looks in the lamps, the soft green of his eyes. It's not the full model glow he's been seeing of late, a look that does have a kind of appeal to someone with a husband as hot as Ian is. But it's something better; he looks like he did in the Gallagher house. He looks like he's at home.

After all these years, they've finally got a home that's together. And now even the lighting is perfect.

----

@gallavichthings

[jrooc]

Fic Links

Since We're Alone: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33757897

Last Cigarette: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65028892

A New Personal Best: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58201258

On Ice: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485250

In My Veins Like Lightning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50736748

Something About Him: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32616301

Break Point: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39553572

Rookie Mistakes: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712258

Catch Me, If You Can: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122751

The Ball's In Your Court: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325037

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Galladrabbles: sharing clothes

*waves awkwardly* hi again. this week's @galladrabbles prompt is sharing clothes from @wasmickeyadopted.

_________________________

For as often as Ian has returned from class to find his roommate drowning in one of his hoodies, he should absolutely not feel guilty about rooting through the guy’s drawer for socks.

Except—

His roommate is a bit prickly. Especially about touching his stuff. But it’s an emergency! Ian’s midterm starts in 15 minutes and—

Ian stops short, his fingers catching on something he doesn’t expect. Something soft. Something … lacy. 

The doorknob rattles and Ian has only seconds to act, stuffing the blue thong into his pocket and spinning to face his roommate, blushing and breathless. 

“H-hey, Mickey."

[jrooc]

It's Gallavich Week!! Should I be working on other things? Yes! Did my brain free-associate an entire-ass story upon reading the prompts from @gallavichthings? Also yes.

Enjoy this seven-part series, one chapter a day.

Ian+Mickey In fair Chicago, where we lay our scene … Ian never expected to lose his parents at a young age. He never thought he'd live with his half-siblings South Side. He is thrust into a decades-long feud between two families and finds love written in the stars.

Chapter 1: Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity Prompt: Sports

[jrooc]

I wanted to do some shorts for Gallavich week but this is the only one I actually started... And it's not finished, but I thought I'd post it to Tumblr anyway, and if you like it maybe I'll finish it and post it to AO3 sometime.

Thanks to @gallavichthings for organising the event. 💜

Gallavich Week Day One: Sports

On the River

The boat club locker room is a dangerous place to check guys out. Three of the crewmembers had made offhand homophobic comments before, and while Ian's pretty sure they don't mean much by it, he's not in a rush to out himself, just in case. He's doing well with rowing... He thinks the crew have a good chance at their next competition, depending on what the new rowers are like. So he's keen not to rock the boat.

This new guy makes him slip. Because he's hot. Hard and soft in all the right places. Muscles shifting effortlessly under his skin as he pulls off his hoodie to reveal a very well-fitting tank top underneath. Dark hair and pale skin. Gorgeous profile. Expressive eyebrows.

Ian stares for too long when he's supposed to be changing for their outing. And startles when Peterson (who rows at stroke) calls him over to the ergs to warm up. 

The new guy is also the shortest in the room by a way, Ian guesses about 5'7". Which is maybe why Edwards--asshole that he is--says, "You the new cox?"

There's no way he actually thinks that. The guy isn't tall, but he's way too bulky to be a cox, even if he wasn't wearing rowing lycra. Edwards is just being a dick. 

New guy turns to him, eyebrows raised in threat, front teeth resting on his lower lip. It's threatening. Ian shouldn't be turned on by it. He's glad he's sat on the erg because the slide and pull of the rowing machine is probably the only thing that stops him from getting hard. 

“The only cock I see here is you,” new guy says. 

Edwards responds in kind, straightening up and squaring off. Peterson is on it immediately, standing between them with a warning hand on Edwards' chest.

“Settle down. Edwards, warm up.” The six-two hulk rolls his shoulders and backs away with a snarl. Peterson turns to the new guy. “Which of the new guys are you?”

“Milkovich. Mickey. Your new number 6.”

Fuck, Ian's going to be sat right behind this guy.

Peterson nods. “Edwards is a jerk,” he says, with a glare over his shoulder. “But try not to let him rile you. Warm up once Gallagher's done.”

Which reminds Ian that he's supposed to be warming up, rather than eavesdropping. 

He pushes through a final few strokes on the machine, then stands up, nodding to the new guy, Mickey, who sits on the rowing machine without hesitation. 

Ian tries not to watch. He does. But he checks the news guy's form... Straight back, good posture as he works through his arms, then back, half legs and full legs until he's rowing full strokes on the machine and it's kind of beautiful to watch. Muscles flex in his arms and shoulders and Ian hopes he never wears sleeves. 

The other new guy--a lanky six foot blond whose name Ian doesn't catch--arrives last, flustered, and warms up. Their new cox is there shortly afterwards.

She's not much shorter than Mickey, but slight and fine-boned. Strong cheekbones and long brown hair. Pretty, if you like that sort of thing. She has a Russian accent, but her commands are instantly understandable as she arrives and, without preamble or introduction, orders the crew out to get the boat. 

***

When they're on the water, the cox (who does eventually tell them her name is Svetlana) starts their warm up. Half the boat at a time. 

Ian's sat in the middle of the boat, tall and strong at number 5. Mickey's just in front of him, and Ian catches him in profile more than once, staring at the river bank when he's not actively rowing. But he's quick to pick up his blade and row when it's their turn, perfectly in time with Peterson and Thompson at stroke and 7. 

It's fucking distracting, is what it is. It's hard to pay attention to the feel of the oar in his hand when he's got a view of Mickey's back. 

A view he'd be more than willing to revisit under different circumstances. 

“Five! Feather your blade. Keep together.”

Ian clears his throat and glances through his rigging at the blade he's holding way too straight. It's only been three weeks since his last outing, and this is all muscle memory by now... He shouldn't need to think about it. But apparently something has fucked him up. Someone.

Someone by the name of Mickey Milkovich. 

***

He gets into a rhythm after a while. Overcomes his initial distraction. Rowing is like that. And even though Mickey and the lanky blond are new to this crew, they're obviously experienced rowers. It doesn't take them long to pull together. 

They do a push, down the widest part of the river, listening to shouted instructions from Svetlana (as well as various berating comments and the odd token of encouragement).

It’s familiar, that burn in the muscles. The breeze in his ears. It might be a different cox, but the shouted count is familiar. The sounds of the boat; the gentle swish of oars over the water as eight rowers roll forward on their slides, perfectly together. The clunk of the rigging as eight oars hit water at the same moment and push back again.

Ian’s still staring at the back of Mickey’s head, but it’s purposeful now. Keeping in time. Following his movements. He twists one way while Mickey twists the other, but when they push back it’s all in perfect unison.

“Hold it up!”

It’s a hard stop, oars pushing into the water, blades straight to stop the boat. They come to a stop and Ian looks up, breathing hard, adrenaline rushing through his blood as he wonders whether this was an unplanned stop or if Svetlana was just testing them.

He looks over his shoulder and sees the problem; there’s another boat turning on the river in front of them, novices probably, fucking up their turn and taking up the whole river while they do it. Then he sees why; a swan or a goose or something is pecking at their bow rower as the crew tries frantically to get away from it.

Ian can’t decide whether to laugh or not as he watches the hapless crew trying to push the swan gently away with their oars while it hounds them and hisses loud enough to be audible even at their distance.

“Fucking amateurs,” Mickey grunts, and his voice does something to Ian, rough at the edges in all the right ways. He glances back to the front to see Mickey’s also looking back, a look of mild scorn on his face.

“Deal with many angry swans?” he asks.

Mickey meets his eye, and Ian doesn’t know if he’d really given Ian a second look back in the boat house, but it’s clear he does now, blue eyes giving him an unmistakable once over.

Ian hasn’t spent a whole lot of time imagining his perfect man, but if he had he’s pretty sure he’d have come up with something pretty close to Mickey Milkovich.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m not really one to tangle with birds.”

Did he…? Was that…? Ian blinks in confusion until the situation on the river ahead seems to resolve itself and they’re starting up again. Mickey winks at him before turning to face back towards the stern.

Ian’s so distracted for a moment that he almost lets his oar sail clean over his head… because catching a crab is exactly what he needs. He holds it, though, just, pulling his blade up and resynchronising with the rest of the crew while his heart pounds in his chest for reasons that aren’t entirely related to the physical exertion of their previous push.

--------------------------------------------

So... I rowed a bit in uni, and I've had this idea in my head for ages. I have no rationale for how they got there, and I did zero research into rowing in Chicago, so all the terminology I've used is the stuff I was taught and I have no idea if it's different elsewhere (my uni tended to have its own stupid vocab for a lot of stuff). As are the locations I've imagined in my head. I did Google whether there are swans in Chicago, though.

I don't want to have to dump a glossary for a daft one shot, but I've no idea how well these come across, so:

Erg: nickname for rowing machines.

Cox (short for coxswain): crew member who sits at the stern and commands the crew and steers the rudder.

Catching a crab: when the rower loses their grip and the oar goes over their head. Sign of shitty rowing (yes I did this a lot, including once during a race 🙃).

Blade: another name for oar.

Feathering: twisting the blade parallel to the water when rolling forward.

Stroke: the rower at the stern by the cox who sets the pace for the others.

Bow: the front of the boat, or the rower at the front of the boat.

I also always get confused about bow/stern and back/front, because rowers sit facing the rear. So "bow" is the front of the boat but the back of the crew.

[jrooc]

Gallavich Week 2025

Thank you @gallavichthings for this event ❣️

Day 1: Sports

I saw the prompt and I knew I had to draw the boys in all their hockey au glory.

They are particularly referenced to @jrooc ‘s hockey au fic “Last Cigarette”. ❤️‍🔥

[jrooc]

[RESTOCK UPDATE] My Shop will reopen on June 18th @ 6pm UTC+2!

There will be a bunch of new items as well as the return of some older ones! I hope you'll check it out 🥰🥹!!

RETURNING ITEMS!! NEW ITEMS!!! LIMITED EDITION QUEBEC PINS okay maybe not that one.

[jrooc]

Shameless meme: [10/10] scenes

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Nothing is as funny to me as the fact that Mickey Milkovich fell for a skinny little top who dared to stand up to him and then Ian went through puberty and emerged as a big tall buff hunk of a man. Talk about return of investment

[jrooc]

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🎨W e e k l y T a g W e d n e s d a y ✏️

@gallapiech what a good idea! Also lol I disgraced your drawing but I had so much fun doing it. Come join in a therapeutic coloring session of our favorite boys.

Original blank below or b/w version on Pie’s post.

Tagging 👩‍🎨🖌️

@deedala @michellemisfit @heymacy @energievie @femboymilkovich

@spoonfulstar @blue-disco-lights @runawaybrainsc @runninonemptyy @echotrees

@mmmichyyy @sam-loves-seb @samantitheos @pillowbee @kowhaifairy

@jessij1997 @geonbaeeeesblog @doshiart @guinguin1984 @rereadanon

@gallavich-annise @kiennilove @fireballazalea @burninface @gallawitchxx

@lanagallavichbrazilian @palepinkgoat @suzy-queued @heymrspatel

@solitarycreaturesthey @nozenfordaddy @ian-galagher @creepkinginc @sgtmickeyslaughter

@crossmydna @gardenerian @andthatisnotfake @casey-ackkat @too-schoolforcool