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.Â
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 driverâs seat of their car.
âFinally made it to the beach together, Mick.â
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.Â
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 driverâs seat of their car.
âFinally made it to the beach together, Mick.â
Thank you! youâve 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 đ now! the council will hear ye and put forth THIS MESS!!!
some (me) may argue that ian has actually always been lwk (mickeyâs) 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
"đ„ș" 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 đ€ And of course, a huge thank you to anyone who played along this week as well, whether by writing, reading, liking or reblogging đ„°â€ïž
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 âșïžđ«Ł 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 đ
That's about it for now âșïž Enjoy the rest of your Sundays, my dears đâ€ïž
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. âHurry, we canât miss it!â
âCalm down, Little Red, weâll make it,â Mickey assured her. âIt hasnât started yet, we ainât missing shit.â
âMick,â Ian hissed. âWeâre in a fu-freaking childrenâs museum!â
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.
âHoly shit!â Franny shrieked as one landed on the front of her shirt.
Mickey ignored Ianâs glare and gave her a proud smirk. âThatâs my girl.â
Frankâs funeral after-party was held at the Alibi, because Kev and Vee hadnât found a buyer yet and they still had supplies leftover from Ian and Mickeyâs 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 Liamâs sake. Theyâd held the funeral that afternoon and had immediately trooped over the Alibi to memorialize Frank the way heâd 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 Frankâs death. So she was alone again, and while so far she wasnât 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. âYou look sad, Debs. What can I do?â
âNothing, Iâm doomed,â Debbie grumbled. âI guess Iâll just be alone forever.â
âYou have Franny, youâll never be alone! And weâre all here for you, even if some of us are here from you mostly from afar these days.â
âYeah, I know,â Debbie huffed. âBut I want what they have.â
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 wasnât watching Ian like a hawk, ready to catch Ian if he fell into another episode like after Monica had died. Mickey hadnât left Ianâs side once since they had all gotten the news the morning after the anniversary party; she was pretty sure heâd 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 wasnât worried and doing a shit job of it with his eyebrows.
âYeah? Which they?â
âObviously Ian and Mickey, but you know, Iâd settle for a Lip-and-Tami situation.â
âOuch,â Fiona giggled. âI wonât tell them you said that. But you know, Debs, no one has what Ian and Mickey have. Iâve never seen anything like it. If I didnât 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.â
âSo what are you trying to say?âÂ
âIâm saying itâs 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 havenât found my Prince Charming and I got more than a few years on you.â
âDoesnât that bum you out?â
âSometimes, I guess? I donât think about it that much. I like doing my own thing, not having to answer to anyone.â
Debbie considered that. âI guess thereâs 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?â
âSpeaking of MilkovichesâŠâ Fiona pointed to the door, where Sandy had just walked in. âYour ex just walked in.â
Debbie stared her down before Sandy looked away and headed over to Ian and Mickey. âIâm going to need another drink.â
Theyâre 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 theyâre gazing blearily at the TV as the show switches from a cooking show to a competitive eating contest.Â
âThe fuck?â Mickey says after awhile. âWait, 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?â
âUgh, change the channel,â Ian frowns. âThe amount of food on that table alone couldâve fed both our families for at least a day growing up, I canât watch this. Gluttony is fucking disgusting.â
âOkay, Mr. SAT Words, Iâm changing it.â He lands on HGTV this time. âThis work for you?â
âMotherfucker,â Mickey gasped and flailed his arms spectacularly, tossing his lit cigarette over the balcony railing. (âHey!â floated up from the pool. Whoops.)
Ian glared at him from the doorway to the apartment, his eyes smoldering with wrath. âAre you fucking kidding me? We agreed to quit smoking, Mickey!â
âDid we, though?â Mickey asked, backing up a bit, because Ian had steam coming out of his ears already. âOr did you agree to quit and I didnât actually say anything, which means I didnât agreeâSHIT!â 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. âGive me the damn cigarettes, Iâm getting rid of them!â
âFuck you! No!â
Ian held him down with one hand across his back and used his other hand to dig through Mickeyâs pockets until he found what he was looking for, despite Mickeyâs struggling. âYou just got over fucking pneumonia, you idiot! Youâre lucky to be alive right now. No more fucking smoking; youâre done.â He pocketed the cigarettes and got up, releasing Mickey, who rolled over and groaned.
âYouâre so worried about my lungs, man, but you just tackled me like youâre playing in the Super Bowl.â
âSorry,â Ian winced, pulling him upright and running a hand over Mickeyâs chest. âYou okay?â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
Fuck.Â
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...Â
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.Â
"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."Â
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.Â
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 Mickeyâs apartment for the better part of ten minutes now. Heâs tried texting and calling to no avail, and heâs pretty sure he knows why no oneâs answering. Itâs really his own fault for coming by unannounced, but he needs to talk to his brother and get some space from Tami while heâs at it.
Finally, Ian opens the door, out of breath, shirtless, and with wild hair. âLip? What are you doing here?â
Lip rolls his eyes and follows Ian into the living room. âWell, I came over to talk to you, but I see youâre busy. Color me surprised. Are you two ever not fucking?â
âSometimes, when we have other shit we need to do,â Ian shrugs, âbut since itâs our day off⊠no, probably not.â
âI donât know why I thought the lust might calm down once you two tied the knot, but I think itâs actually getting worse the longer you two are together.â
âThatâs because itâs not lust, itâs love.â
âUgh, whatever. I love Tami, but you donât see us constantly banging like itâs going out of style.â
âAnd thank god, because I really wouldnât want to see that!â Ian easily sidesteps the slap Lip aims at him, grinning.
âNo one wants to see Jabby in action,â Mickey agrees, joining them in the living room. His hair is in far worse shape than Ianâs and thereâs an impressive hickey forming on his collarbone, easy to see because heâs practically swimming in one of Ianâs tee shirts. âNext time fucking call ahead, man, weâre busy today.â
âI did call! And texted. And was out there knocking for who knows how long.â
âOkay, so, that wasnât a clue you should fuck off and try again later?â
âJesus - you know what? Nevermind, Iâm going home. Clearly I need to just deal with my own shit and let you two get back to what you were doing.â
âYeah, exactly!â
âWait, Lipââ Ian grabs his arm. âIâm sorry. Stay, tell me whatâs going on.â
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 Lipâs âI have someone who loves me and want whatâs best for me, it's the worstâ stories without a snack, he might actually murder someone. Even with the snack, Lipâs on thin ice for interrupting them. He mostly tunes Lip out as he shoots a text to Tami to let her know Lipâs dumb ass is here bitching about something or other. She sends back a shit-ton of angry emojis, which he gathers to mean sheâll 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 Mickeyâs apartment for the better part of ten minutes now. Heâs tried texting and calling to no avail, and heâs pretty sure he knows why no oneâs answering. Itâs really his own fault for coming by unannounced, but he needs to talk to his brother and get some space from Tami while heâs at it.
Finally, Ian opens the door, out of breath, shirtless, and with wild hair. âLip? What are you doing here?â
Lip rolls his eyes and follows Ian into the living room. âWell, I came over to talk to you, but I see youâre busy. Color me surprised. Are you two ever not fucking?â
âSometimes, when we have other shit we need to do,â Ian shrugs, âbut since itâs our day off⊠no, probably not.â
âI donât know why I thought the lust might calm down once you two tied the knot, but I think itâs actually getting worse the longer you two are together.â
âThatâs because itâs not lust, itâs love.â
âUgh, whatever. I love Tami, but you donât see us constantly banging like itâs going out of style.â
âAnd thank god, because I really wouldnât want to see that!â Ian easily sidesteps the slap Lip aims at him, grinning.
âNo one wants to see Jabby in action,â Mickey agrees, joining them in the living room. His hair is in far worse shape than Ianâs and thereâs an impressive hickey forming on his collarbone, easy to see because heâs practically swimming in one of Ianâs tee shirts. âNext time fucking call ahead, man, weâre busy today.â
âI did call! And texted. And was out there knocking for who knows how long.â
âOkay, so, that wasnât a clue you should fuck off and try again later?â
âJesus - you know what? Nevermind, Iâm going home. Clearly I need to just deal with my own shit and let you two get back to what you were doing.â
âYeah, exactly!â
âWait, Lipââ Ian grabs his arm. âIâm sorry. Stay, tell me whatâs going on.â
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 Lipâs âI have someone who loves me and want whatâs best for me, it's the worstâ stories without a snack, he might actually murder someone. Even with the snack, Lipâs on thin ice for interrupting them. He mostly tunes Lip out as he shoots a text to Tami to let her know Lipâs dumb ass is here bitching about something or other. She sends back a shit-ton of angry emojis, which he gathers to mean sheâll 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, heâs aging well, for all that heâs only in his early 30âs. Hair still completely red with no signs of gray, great skin, but heâs put on a little bit of weight as heâs 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 heâs got enough padding now that he probably wonât ever be asked to put on gold booty shorts and dance for a crowd again.Â
It bugs him a little bit that people donât 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 doesnât get the kind of attention he used to as a younger man. He doesnât get hit on every time he and Mickey check out a new bar or make a grocery run. And thatâs fine! Itâs not the end of the world. But it does bother him just a tad.
Heâs looking at himself in the mirror before bed when Mickey comes in so he can brush his teeth. âYou asking the mirror whoâs the fairest of them all again, Snow White?â
âSnow White didnât ask the mirror that, it was the evil queen. Snow White actually was the fairest of them all and the queen was jealous.â
âYeah, I remember. I called you Snow White because youâre the fairest of them all, smart guy.â
Ian scoffs. âMaybe a decade ago, but no oneâs lining up to kiss me if I accidentally eat a poison apple now.â
âExcuse me?â Mickeyâs eyebrows skyrocket. âFirst of all, I wouldnât 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!â
âThatâs not the point. I donât want anyone else to kiss me, either. Iâm just saying no one else would want to.â
Ian shrugs and looks away, because he really hadnât discussed his insecurities about his appearance with Mickey. He's pretty sure Mickey wouldnât get it, because heâd never been that concerned with anyone other than Ian being hot for him.
âWhat, you think youâre losing your touch, babyface? You think now that youâre a grown man, no oneâs looking at you anymore?â
âI mean⊠yeah, kinda. I donât remember the last time I got hit on.â
âLiterally a minute ago. Me. Your fucking husband.â
Ian rolls his eyes. âBy someone else, obviously.â
âMan, why the fuck do you care if strangers are coming onto you or not? No oneâs lining up for my ass, either.â
âWell, I am. Best ass in all of Chicago.â
âChicago? Thatâs it?â
âFine, the whole universe, Mick. Happy?â
âIâd be a lot happier if you werenât hung up on other people thinking youâre hot or not, but I guess Iâll take it.â
âLook, I know itâs dumb, okay? I just always took a lot of pride in being hot and people being obvious about it, and now that doesnât really happen so much anymore, and it just makes me a little insecure. I canât just turn that off, you know?â
âAlright, fine, I get it, I guess. You know youâre still pretty to me, right? Prettiest face and best husband in Chicago.â
âJust Chicago, huh?â
âWhole fucking universe, Red. Infinity and beyond, all that shit.â
[Mickeyâs speaking in Disney references because theyâve been babysitting Lipâs kids so much lately and Ian wonât 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, theyâd elected to spend the day in bed and do absolutely nothing productive.
Obviously, they had sex, because thatâs always a part of the their equation, but most of the day, theyâd 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? Didnât 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 heâd 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.Â
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 Mickeyâs body next to his. There was no better way to spend a day off than this.
