It's almost time! Gallavich Summer Camp 2026 is almost over for the year, and our bunks are busily finishing up the final touches on their fics and art!
Here is the schedule of what you can expect:
July 25th - Kissing Daylight, by I'll Be In My Bunk
July 26th - Surviving Matrimony, by The Burn Like a Motherfucker Bunk
July 27th - When Shadows turn to Sunshine, by The Badunk-a-Bunk
July 28th - (Title TDB) , by The Bunk of Bad Decisions
July 29th - Tides that Bruise, by The Floaties
July 30th - Take Me to Florida, by The Beach Bums
July 31 - Fuckin' Marriage (A sequel to Damn Decisions), by The Gallasinners
It's @galladrabbles time! Thank you @katicusdramaticus for your seasonally appropriate theme of "the beach" - here's my take.
Mickey wanted to argue when Ian dragged him into the car at 7am on their first weekend off all summer with a packed duffel bag and no explanation, but instead he just went back to sleep in the passenger seat.
When Ian shook him awake two hours later, he thought he had to be dreaming still.
Clear blue water that matched the clear blue skies above. A, frankly, beautiful little cabin less than 100 feet from the water. And his grinning redhead husband practically bouncing in the driver’s seat of their car.
It's @galladrabbles time! Thank you @katicusdramaticus for your seasonally appropriate theme of "the beach" - here's my take.
Mickey wanted to argue when Ian dragged him into the car at 7am on their first weekend off all summer with a packed duffel bag and no explanation, but instead he just went back to sleep in the passenger seat.
When Ian shook him awake two hours later, he thought he had to be dreaming still.
Clear blue water that matched the clear blue skies above. A, frankly, beautiful little cabin less than 100 feet from the water. And his grinning redhead husband practically bouncing in the driver’s seat of their car.
Thank you! you’ve proved to the jury without contest and through many a reference to mines (beautiful and moving (?)) that Ian Gallagher is indeed the most Husband Shaped Husband to ever Husband. from day 1. The other argument being brought forward to the council is that Mickey Milkovich is babygirl
(is this it? the final stages of madness?)
"beautiful and moving (?)" cracked me all the way up ty 😂 now! the council will hear ye and put forth THIS MESS!!!
some (me) may argue that ian has actually always been lwk (mickey’s) husband shaped
interesting....... what an argument. let's peer review, shall we? gaze upon these primary sources:
"how long?" he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband is off to the mines
"you need this job for your probation," he says, like a long-suffering wife who does not want her husband to return to the mines
"didn't want you to get busted," he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband seems pretty insistent on returning to the damn mines
"🥺" he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband has a last returned from the mines to pour her a warm beverage and rest at her table
"i'll be there," he says, like a long-suffering wife with a baby constantly at her hip and another on the way probably, assuring her husband that she will indeed greet him heartily upon his return from the mines
"i miss mickey," he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband has yet to return from the mines even though she could probably just go there?
"all of it," he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband needs her entire dowry to stay outta the mines
[SEASON EIGHT: FOOTAGE NOT FOUND]
"holy fuck," he says, like a long-suffering wife who thought her husband was lost to the mines forever but has in fact returned from them
"can't we just wait for each other?" he says, like a long-suffering wife whose husband is probably just addicted to going down the mine at this point
This week we said goodbye to June and welcomed July, so it's only fair we say goodbye to this week's prompt as well - thank you, dearest Heidi @dreamjupiter - and welcome the new one.
Darling C @takeyourpillsbitchh, you're up - we'll be keeping an eye out for your prompt 🤗 And of course, a huge thank you to anyone who played along this week as well, whether by writing, reading, liking or reblogging 🥰❤️
On a different note, we're approaching the end of the roster and while we did say it would mean goodbye, it looks like we're not ready for it to be a permanent one ☺️🫣 Vey and I have been talking and we think we landed on some tweaks to the current set-up which would make things flow more smoothly.
So, our goodbye will only be for 2 months. Once we reach the end of the roster, we'll take a little break and return on Monday, 5th October. More details about the new framework will come on Sunday, 2nd August (the last wrap-up) but I can share something now: start thinking of potential prompts, darlings. All of you 😎
That's about it for now ☺️ Enjoy the rest of your Sundays, my dears 😘❤️
I haven't written one of these in awhile, and I wanted to get a @galladrabbles in real quick before my prompt drops tomorrow! This week's prompt was "flutter" brought to us by the lovely @runninonemptyy. I'm a sucker for Gallavich + Franny, so here you go.
Franny dragged them into the greenhouse. “Hurry, we can’t miss it!”
“Calm down, Little Red, we’ll make it,” Mickey assured her. “It hasn’t started yet, we ain’t missing shit.”
“Mick,” Ian hissed. “We’re in a fu-freaking children’s museum!”
Mickey just rolled his eyes as they joined the crowd. The museum educator finished his speech before opening the crate in front of him. Ian, Mickey, and Franny watched, transfixed, as dozens of butterflies fluttered out.
“Holy shit!” Franny shrieked as one landed on the front of her shirt.
Mickey ignored Ian’s glare and gave her a proud smirk. “That’s my girl.”
Frank’s funeral after-party was held at the Alibi, because Kev and Vee hadn’t found a buyer yet and they still had supplies leftover from Ian and Mickey’s anniversary party the week before. Fiona had flown in the day after they heard the news that Frank had died, and the siblings had worked quickly to pull a funeral together and make sure Frank made it into the ground as soon as possible, wanting to avoid a Terry Milkovich situation for Liam’s sake. They’d held the funeral that afternoon and had immediately trooped over the Alibi to memorialize Frank the way he’d want them to - with as much booze as possible.
Debbie sat alone at the bar, miserable for reasons that had nothing to do with Frank. Heidi had left town without her and Franny when Debbie told her she needed to stay with her siblings to deal with Frank’s death. So she was alone again, and while so far she wasn’t that broken up over Frank dying, it did seem like adding insult to injury that her new girlfriend had dumped her within 36 hours of Debbie becoming an orphan.
Fiona danced over the bar and threw herself onto the stool next to Debbie. “You look sad, Debs. What can I do?”
“Nothing, I’m doomed,” Debbie grumbled. “I guess I’ll just be alone forever.”
“You have Franny, you’ll never be alone! And we’re all here for you, even if some of us are here from you mostly from afar these days.”
“Yeah, I know,” Debbie huffed. “But I want what they have.”
She pointed at a booth across the room, where Ian and Mickey were sitting at a table, chatting with Lip and Tami. Well, Ian was chatting. Mickey was drinking whiskey and pretending he wasn’t watching Ian like a hawk, ready to catch Ian if he fell into another episode like after Monica had died. Mickey hadn’t left Ian’s side once since they had all gotten the news the morning after the anniversary party; she was pretty sure he’d even been lurking outside the bathroom anytime Ian went. Not that it was a huge difference from any other time - they were always attached at the hip - but Mickey was also pretending he wasn’t worried and doing a shit job of it with his eyebrows.
“Yeah? Which they?”
“Obviously Ian and Mickey, but you know, I’d settle for a Lip-and-Tami situation.”
“Ouch,” Fiona giggled. “I won’t tell them you said that. But you know, Debs, no one has what Ian and Mickey have. I’ve never seen anything like it. If I didn’t know them and you told me a love that like was possible, I think I woulda laughed in your face. But those two got something most people are never gonna have.”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying it’s not just you, kiddo. Anyone would be envious of a relationship like that, and most people will never experience anything even close in their whole life. I sure haven’t found my Prince Charming and I got more than a few years on you.”
“Doesn’t that bum you out?”
“Sometimes, I guess? I don’t think about it that much. I like doing my own thing, not having to answer to anyone.”
Debbie considered that. “I guess there’s something to that. I just wish I could find something special like what they have. Who knew you could be soul mates with a Milkovich?”
“Speaking of Milkoviches…” Fiona pointed to the door, where Sandy had just walked in. “Your ex just walked in.”
Debbie stared her down before Sandy looked away and headed over to Ian and Mickey. “I’m going to need another drink.”
They’re relaxing on the couch, a little high on edibles and flipping channels between the Food Network, the Travel Channel, and a few others. One of their clients had given them the idea by joking that getting high and watching cooking shows would make them feel like they were actually the one cooking. They had tried it once and determined it was a pretty amazing way to spend an afternoon, or a night, or really any time of day for that matter. So tonight they’re gazing blearily at the TV as the show switches from a cooking show to a competitive eating contest.
“The fuck?” Mickey says after awhile. “Wait, so they get paid to eat? Like to eat a shit-ton of food? Who the hell do you gotta blow to get a gig like that?”
“Ugh, change the channel,” Ian frowns. “The amount of food on that table alone could’ve fed both our families for at least a day growing up, I can’t watch this. Gluttony is fucking disgusting.”
“Okay, Mr. SAT Words, I’m changing it.” He lands on HGTV this time. “This work for you?”
“Motherfucker,” Mickey gasped and flailed his arms spectacularly, tossing his lit cigarette over the balcony railing. (“Hey!” floated up from the pool. Whoops.)
Ian glared at him from the doorway to the apartment, his eyes smoldering with wrath. “Are you fucking kidding me? We agreed to quit smoking, Mickey!”
“Did we, though?” Mickey asked, backing up a bit, because Ian had steam coming out of his ears already. “Or did you agree to quit and I didn’t actually say anything, which means I didn’t agree–SHIT!” He ducked out of the way as Ian lunged at him and shot back into the apartment to try to make a break for it out the front door with his pack of cigarettes.
He almost made it, but Ian managed to tackle him just two feet from the door. “Give me the damn cigarettes, I’m getting rid of them!”
“Fuck you! No!”
Ian held him down with one hand across his back and used his other hand to dig through Mickey’s pockets until he found what he was looking for, despite Mickey’s struggling. “You just got over fucking pneumonia, you idiot! You’re lucky to be alive right now. No more fucking smoking; you’re done.” He pocketed the cigarettes and got up, releasing Mickey, who rolled over and groaned.
“You’re so worried about my lungs, man, but you just tackled me like you’re playing in the Super Bowl.”
“Sorry,” Ian winced, pulling him upright and running a hand over Mickey’s chest. “You okay?”
Day 5! And today's AU comes from Serenity (the 2005 movie sequel to the Firefly TV series).
I'm probably gonna lose some people with this one (sorry), but if you haven't seen it and care, this contains significant spoilers, cos it's from a late scene in the movie. But this scene came to mind when the theme was announced so I had to... Plus it's kind of Gallavich in space?
Also content warnings for violence and injuries.
Wrath
It's been one hell of a week.
They've fought and they've run and they've lost people. Mickey hasn't even been able to enjoy having Ian back aboard, because the rescue was so fraught, and they haven't had a moment since. Just arguments and complications... And then worse.
Now Mickey's trying to finish this. End the lie that the whole fucking Alliance is built on, that he's been fighting against the whole damn time.
Then, just like every other step along the way, the Operative appears out of nowhere to stop him.
But hey, what week from hell doesn't end in a knock-down drag-out fight on a narrow gantry, with a guy who fights with a fucking sword? Because of course he fucking does.
So Mickey fights. It's all he knows how to do, really. Captaining a vessel, leadership, even crime, are secondary to the fact that Mickey fights. For his life. For his survival. And lately? For what's right. For his crew. His friends.
It's all instinct, punches and hits and kicks, trying to keep the guy moving while his sword is still safely sheathed at his back. When Mickey falls over near someone's toolkit, he grabs a screwdriver from the top and turns, only to find himself facing the blade of the sword.
Fuck.
He dodges. Sidesteps. Gets inside the asshole's guard, angled away from the sword blade to try and stab him with the screwdriver, but the Operative holds him off and delivers a blow that sends Mickey reeling.
And then there's a sword piercing his abdomen.
Once again: Fuck.
Mickey's been injured before. He fought a war, he gets in fist fights on the regular, and he's been shot more than once...
A sword is new. Exquisite pain and a moment where he's stunned, unable to move.
The Operative thinks he's won. He's still close, still holding the sword, but he pauses.
"Do you know what your sin is, Mickey?"
The bastard hasn't won. He's going to have to try harder than that.
"Ah hell," Mickey grits out. "I'm a fan of all seven."
Mickey pitches forward, forehead connecting with the Operative's nose. There's a stumble, just a moment, but the asshole comes back... just in time for Mickey to stab the screwdriver through his fist.
Mickey grabs the hilt of the sword that's still buried in his gut.
"But right now I'm gonna have to go with wrath."
He pulls the sword free, gasping at another wave of pain. Pushes through it to grab the hilt in both hands and lift it over the fallen Operative.
Lip has been banging on the door to Ian and Mickey’s apartment for the better part of ten minutes now. He’s tried texting and calling to no avail, and he’s pretty sure he knows why no one’s answering. It’s really his own fault for coming by unannounced, but he needs to talk to his brother and get some space from Tami while he’s at it.
Finally, Ian opens the door, out of breath, shirtless, and with wild hair. “Lip? What are you doing here?”
Lip rolls his eyes and follows Ian into the living room. “Well, I came over to talk to you, but I see you’re busy. Color me surprised. Are you two ever not fucking?”
“Sometimes, when we have other shit we need to do,” Ian shrugs, “but since it’s our day off… no, probably not.”
“I don’t know why I thought the lust might calm down once you two tied the knot, but I think it’s actually getting worse the longer you two are together.”
“That’s because it’s not lust, it’s love.”
“Ugh, whatever. I love Tami, but you don’t see us constantly banging like it’s going out of style.”
“And thank god, because I really wouldn’t want to see that!” Ian easily sidesteps the slap Lip aims at him, grinning.
“No one wants to see Jabby in action,” Mickey agrees, joining them in the living room. His hair is in far worse shape than Ian’s and there’s an impressive hickey forming on his collarbone, easy to see because he’s practically swimming in one of Ian’s tee shirts. “Next time fucking call ahead, man, we’re busy today.”
“I did call! And texted. And was out there knocking for who knows how long.”
“Okay, so, that wasn’t a clue you should fuck off and try again later?”
“Jesus - you know what? Nevermind, I’m going home. Clearly I need to just deal with my own shit and let you two get back to what you were doing.”
“Yeah, exactly!”
“Wait, Lip–” Ian grabs his arm. “I’m sorry. Stay, tell me what’s going on.”
Ian and Lip make their way to the couch where Lip complains about some bullshit fight he had with Tami, and Mickey digs up a bag of chips and some dip from the pantry because if he has to listen to another one of Lip’s “I have someone who loves me and want what’s best for me, it's the worst” stories without a snack, he might actually murder someone. Even with the snack, Lip’s on thin ice for interrupting them. He mostly tunes Lip out as he shoots a text to Tami to let her know Lip’s dumb ass is here bitching about something or other. She sends back a shit-ton of angry emojis, which he gathers to mean she’ll be by shortly to collect her wayward Gallagher so he and Ian can get back to it. Satisfied with his meddling, he relaxes and settles in next to Ian on the couch to wait.
Lip has been banging on the door to Ian and Mickey’s apartment for the better part of ten minutes now. He’s tried texting and calling to no avail, and he’s pretty sure he knows why no one’s answering. It’s really his own fault for coming by unannounced, but he needs to talk to his brother and get some space from Tami while he’s at it.
Finally, Ian opens the door, out of breath, shirtless, and with wild hair. “Lip? What are you doing here?”
Lip rolls his eyes and follows Ian into the living room. “Well, I came over to talk to you, but I see you’re busy. Color me surprised. Are you two ever not fucking?”
“Sometimes, when we have other shit we need to do,” Ian shrugs, “but since it’s our day off… no, probably not.”
“I don’t know why I thought the lust might calm down once you two tied the knot, but I think it’s actually getting worse the longer you two are together.”
“That’s because it’s not lust, it’s love.”
“Ugh, whatever. I love Tami, but you don’t see us constantly banging like it’s going out of style.”
“And thank god, because I really wouldn’t want to see that!” Ian easily sidesteps the slap Lip aims at him, grinning.
“No one wants to see Jabby in action,” Mickey agrees, joining them in the living room. His hair is in far worse shape than Ian’s and there’s an impressive hickey forming on his collarbone, easy to see because he’s practically swimming in one of Ian’s tee shirts. “Next time fucking call ahead, man, we’re busy today.”
“I did call! And texted. And was out there knocking for who knows how long.”
“Okay, so, that wasn’t a clue you should fuck off and try again later?”
“Jesus - you know what? Nevermind, I’m going home. Clearly I need to just deal with my own shit and let you two get back to what you were doing.”
“Yeah, exactly!”
“Wait, Lip–” Ian grabs his arm. “I’m sorry. Stay, tell me what’s going on.”
Ian and Lip make their way to the couch where Lip complains about some bullshit fight he had with Tami, and Mickey digs up a bag of chips and some dip from the pantry because if he has to listen to another one of Lip’s “I have someone who loves me and want what’s best for me, it's the worst” stories without a snack, he might actually murder someone. Even with the snack, Lip’s on thin ice for interrupting them. He mostly tunes Lip out as he shoots a text to Tami to let her know Lip’s dumb ass is here bitching about something or other. She sends back a shit-ton of angry emojis, which he gathers to mean she’ll be by shortly to collect her wayward Gallagher so he and Ian can get back to it. Satisfied with his meddling, he relaxes and settles in next to Ian on the couch to wait.
Ian had always taken a lot of pride in his appearance. It made sense, given that in the past, his attractiveness to others had been what kept food on the table (both at the club and even as far back as getting his job at the Kash & Grab) and made sure he always had company (boyfriends, sugar daddies, and everything in between). It felt good to know that people liked what they saw when they looked at him. Especially Mickey.
Thankfully, he’s aging well, for all that he’s only in his early 30’s. Hair still completely red with no signs of gray, great skin, but he’s put on a little bit of weight as he’s gotten older. Not a lot, by any means - he still runs several times a week and lifts weights most days, and he tries to eat healthy. But his face is a little bit fuller and he’s got enough padding now that he probably won’t ever be asked to put on gold booty shorts and dance for a crowd again.
It bugs him a little bit that people don’t stare hungrily at him when he walks down the street anymore. Sure, some people still watch him a little longer than others, but overall, he doesn’t get the kind of attention he used to as a younger man. He doesn’t get hit on every time he and Mickey check out a new bar or make a grocery run. And that’s fine! It’s not the end of the world. But it does bother him just a tad.
He’s looking at himself in the mirror before bed when Mickey comes in so he can brush his teeth. “You asking the mirror who’s the fairest of them all again, Snow White?”
“Snow White didn’t ask the mirror that, it was the evil queen. Snow White actually was the fairest of them all and the queen was jealous.”
“Yeah, I remember. I called you Snow White because you’re the fairest of them all, smart guy.”
Ian scoffs. “Maybe a decade ago, but no one’s lining up to kiss me if I accidentally eat a poison apple now.”
“Excuse me?” Mickey’s eyebrows skyrocket. “First of all, I wouldn’t let a poison apple near you, and if one got through me, the only kissing you awake is me. The second dudes start lining up to kiss you is when I get homicidal. I thought you wanted to keep me out of prison!”
“That’s not the point. I don’t want anyone else to kiss me, either. I’m just saying no one else would want to.”
“That’s fucking stupid, why wouldn’t they?”
Ian shrugs and looks away, because he really hadn’t discussed his insecurities about his appearance with Mickey. He's pretty sure Mickey wouldn’t get it, because he’d never been that concerned with anyone other than Ian being hot for him.
“What, you think you’re losing your touch, babyface? You think now that you’re a grown man, no one’s looking at you anymore?”
“I mean… yeah, kinda. I don’t remember the last time I got hit on.”
“Literally a minute ago. Me. Your fucking husband.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “By someone else, obviously.”
“Man, why the fuck do you care if strangers are coming onto you or not? No one’s lining up for my ass, either.”
“Well, I am. Best ass in all of Chicago.”
“Chicago? That’s it?”
“Fine, the whole universe, Mick. Happy?”
“I’d be a lot happier if you weren’t hung up on other people thinking you’re hot or not, but I guess I’ll take it.”
“Look, I know it’s dumb, okay? I just always took a lot of pride in being hot and people being obvious about it, and now that doesn’t really happen so much anymore, and it just makes me a little insecure. I can’t just turn that off, you know?”
“Alright, fine, I get it, I guess. You know you’re still pretty to me, right? Prettiest face and best husband in Chicago.”
“Just Chicago, huh?”
“Whole fucking universe, Red. Infinity and beyond, all that shit.”
[Mickey’s speaking in Disney references because they’ve been babysitting Lip’s kids so much lately and Ian won’t let him show them his Segal movie collection]
Thanks again to @gallavichthings for hosting! Read my take on Sloth at AO3 or below the cut.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It was Sunday, their day off. By unspoken agreement, they’d elected to spend the day in bed and do absolutely nothing productive.
Obviously, they had sex, because that’s always a part of the their equation, but most of the day, they’d just laid there next to each other, napping on and off, playing games on their phone separately and together, watching random videos, not really talking to each other - just existing, lazily, with each other, without a care for any of the things they could be doing outside of their bed. Slothlike.
Ian remembered reading about a lot of different sins during his Gay Jesus phase, but he found sloth interesting in particular. What was wrong with a little bit of laziness? Didn’t everyone need to rest and relax sometimes? But apparently, laziness was just one piece of the puzzle - the bigger issue was apathy. Spiritual apathy, specifically, but Ian understood apathy in general. A medicated low for Ian was very different from the lows he’d experienced early on - no more crying and staying in bed for a week, now it was more like day-drinking and doomscrolling and a complete lack of care about his responsibilities whatsoever. Mickey could always tell when a low was coming on, pretty much right from the start, and he would keep Ian on his routine and see him through it.
Today, though, Ian felt the opposite of apathetic. All he had to do was glance about three inches to his right to see Mickey snickering at reels of people falling down, and feel the warmth radiating from Mickey’s body next to his. There was no better way to spend a day off than this.
