#bfdc

heres the page of the comic btw

have i written a single thing in the time i've been gone? no. nope. not a single damn thing. not even a word :(

secondly... the issue that made me go offline in the first place... has still not been resolved. if anything, it's 1000x worse, and i don't know how my life is going to pan out in the next couple of years. (obviously i can't give specifics, because privacy, but i have to vent somewhere... essentially the main gist of it is that i could lose everything in my life lmao... nbd)

i've had a close family member die in the time i've been gone, and i haven't even been able to grieve their death properly because of this stupid fucking issue that won't go away.

i've not done any of my hobbies. i haven't walked, i haven't illustrated, i haven't written, i haven't read any fics, i haven't come on this app, and i haven't seen many of my IRL friends. i've barely left my apartment. every time i do, i feel guilty, because it's like, this Thing™ needs to be dealt with, but i can't do more than what i'm doing (which isn't a lot because it's mostly out of my control), so it's kind of like i'm in limbo.

the only thing i've felt not-guilty for doing is eating like crap, doomscrolling on tikok, and ignoring all my personal needs. effectively, this issue has triggered a depressive episode. i've not slept a lot in the past couple of months and it's really been taking its toll. when i'm depressed the first thing that goes to shit is the cleanliness of my place and my personal hygiene.

YET... throughout it all, the thing that has been consistently on my mind is this fandom, and my fic. and also every other fic i've read and loved which triggered me to start writing in the first place. it's playing on a loop in my mind, and i physically cannot ignore it any longer. i think about this every single fucking day.

so i'm gonna try.

i'm not going to make myself any promises or put any deadlines on myself... but i'm going to try. atp, gallavich is one of the only things that makes me feel joy. i tried to pull back, because i was worried the stress of my personal issues would ruin my love of it, and i worried i wouldn't love it any more... but i do. i love it entirely.

so, here's to trying, i guess o_o

thank you to the lovely people that have sent me messages and commented on my fic and tagged me in posts. i can't tell you how good it felt to check in today and see all of that. and to that one ao3 commenter who can never be bothered to log in... you're a fucking G.

ttfn 🖤

p.s. i won't be uploading for my fic any time soon... but i will be carrying on writing it in private. when it's ready—when it's good and it's gone through rewrite after rewrite—then i'll post it. ALL OF IT. and i will finish it, because it's something that i know in my heart i have to do. somehow i feel like finishing it will heal something in me. idc if that's lame to say, it's just how i feel. i wouldn't be here today if i didn't press play on that first episode of shameless. it's fundamentally changed me and made me look at myself and my life in a deeper, richer way. it just is what it is 🤷🏻‍♂️

“You already know I’ve never tried that before,” Ian smirks as he takes the controller, unable to stop the flirting now that he’s gotten started.

Mickey blinks at him, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. 

Heedless, Ian continues. “But if it’s you handing it to me, I might be more inclined to give it a shot.”

Mickey pulls his lips into his mouth, but is unable to stop the amused huff that comes out of his nose in a puff of air. 

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey snorts. “Do you just blurt out what you fuckin’ think all the time?”

“Pretty much,” Ian feels like he’s glowing from the inside out when Mickey smiles at him, really smiles at him. 

A truly genuine, happy smile suits Mickey Milkovich down to the fucking ground and Ian wants to make it happen again and again.

Mickey sighs, and starts to set the game up for two player mode. “Whatever, man, it’s your funeral.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Ian emerges victorious.

Ian won the first race, much to Mickey’s disappointment, but Mickey ended up winning the second and despite putting up a firm protest, Ian was secretly loving it. They’d ended up going for two out of three to see who the real winner was, only for Mickey to demand rematches when Ian kept winning. They’d played at least ten games before Mickey threw in the towel. 

“Fuck you, Gallagher!” Mickey cusses as he rounds the corner and sees the finish line, only for Ian to swoop in at the last minute and win the game.

“Anytime you want, Milkovich, just say the word,” Ian winks at him, and at Mickey’s harassed look, starts laughing. They both set down their controllers.

“Dick,” Mickey mutters, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. Ian beams at him.

“So I won,” Ian gloats and nudges Mickey’s thigh with his knee, getting a silent thrill at the contact. “What’s my prize?”

“Barely,” Mickey scoffs. “You won like one more game than me. What makes you think you’re getting a prize?” 

Mickey rolls his eyes at him and drains his beer. Gallagher was a fucking menace, but Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn’t thoroughly enjoying it.

“I think I deserve one,” Ian says softly. “Don’t you?”

Mickey shrugs, and when he responds, ignores the fact that his own voice is a little soft, a little low. “What d’ya want?”

It’s a dangerous question, for sure. Mickey’s practically levitating with this feeling inside of him. When Ian’s eyes automatically dip down to Mickey’s mouth, Mickey has to swallow and look away for fear he might evaporate in a puff of steam.

Somehow, during their gaming session, they’d drifted a little closer together, having resorted to shoving each other to try and throw each other off. The close contact was fucking with Mickey’s brain, big time.

More than anything, though, Mickey’s surprised at how easy this is. How quickly he’d melted in Ian’s presence. It should be awkward, especially after the past two weeks. But it wasn’t. Ian was extremely easy to talk to.

He’s coming in like a bad storm, and Mickey’s powerless to stop it. He’s not even sure he wants to stop it anymore.

The way Ian’s always open and kind, despite Mickey ribbing him every chance he gets. Ian takes it all in stride, not put off by it in the slightest and instead giving back as good as he got.

“Not subtle, are you?” Mickey huffs an amused breath, his blue eyes wandering all over Ian’s face.

“I know what I want,” Ian grins, something small and sweet and sincere. “I know you want it too.”

Mickey laughs. “What, like your dick is so irresistible?”

“You should know, since you’re the one who hit on me first,” Ian pokes out his tongue like a child. “I might be a little further along than you, Mick, but I know what you want. I know what you think about. Because I’m thinking about it, too. I want it too.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffs. “I want it like I want a hole in the fucking head.”

“Hm,” Ian bites his lip as he weighs his options, deciding in the end to throw caution to the wind. “If you don’t want it, then what was last week?”

Mickey says nothing, and instead crosses his arms and keeps his mouth firmly shut, deciding that ignoring the question was the best and only option here. Even if it was hard to do, what with Ian being so fucking close Mickey could feel the heat of his body and—

Ian presses a little closer, and Mickey has to hold his breath at the feel of their outer thighs pressing together.