#gw2021

[grabmyboner]

Gallavich Week, Day 1 — Post-series finale

@gallavichthings

Mickey organises the surprise anniversary party and thanks the family (his family) after with a drunk photo of Ian.

+ a message from Big Brother Lip

Gallavich Week 2021

More social media aus!

[smokey-ilya]

it’s only forever ✨

labyrinth au of my dreams coming soon

in the meantime, enjoy this breathtaking and overwhelmingly beautiful artwork by @psychicskulldamage (there will be additional art in the fic because mitchell is amazing) and an excerpt under the cut!

gallavich week 2021 (day two) @gallavichthings

———

The man smirks, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly as he raises an arched eyebrow.

He looks familiar and Ian’s mind races trying to place him. How does he know him? Why does he know him? His eyes grow wide when he figures it out and he swears that the man breathes out the slightest laugh.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Ian asks in disbelief. “You’re… you’re Mickey, the Goblin King.”

What the fuck is he even saying? The Goblin King? This is a dream, it has to be a dream. The result of exhaustion and fantasy stories before bedtime. He shuts his eyes, breathing in deeply and counts to ten, a stupid suggestion his therapist made once.

“Okay, Ian,” he whispers to himself, slowly opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that would work, did you?” Mickey taunts.

[gardenerian]

On the Road, Jack Kerouac | Gallavich Week Day Three: "Travel" | @gallavichthings

[arrowflier]

I wish you would write a fic where the gallaghers + kev & vee find out about ian's 87% comment and they all give their opinions and ask why mickey, ian's husband who's been a part of ian's life for nearly eleven years only gets 87% of his heart, if the other 13% goes towards his toxic exes and why since they're not in his life anymore, ian explaining himself and ends with ian taking the comment back so mickey has 100% of his heart

I decided this was perfect for Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It! Thanks as always to @gallavichthings for hosting💖. Also on AO3.

Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart)

It was a normal morning in the Gallagher kitchen.

That is to say, it was chaotic.

Carl and Liam sat across from each other at the narrow table, tossing dry loops of off-brand cereal at each other over Franny’s backpack, which lay open between them. The girl herself was running circles around them both in her pajamas, Debbie chasing after her with a stern face and a frilly dress held in outstretched hands.

“Come on, Franny,” she muttered impatiently as her daughter evaded her again by diving under the table, “just put on the dress!”

Mickey laughed when Franny ran to him instead, trying to hide behind his legs where he stood by the brewing coffeemaker. Ian ruined her attempt by swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around until Debbie snatched her from him, resulting in an angry shriek as Franny writhed in her hold.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in here!” Lip hissed, coming in from the living room where Tami had just gotten Fred settled in his play pen. “If you get Fred crying again, I swear I’ll fucking end you all.”

If anything, the kitchen got louder as everyone there chimed in in their own defense.

Mickey just snorted as he grabbed two mugs and got to pouring the fresh coffee. “Good luck with that,” he offered to Lip, amused. “You get one Gallagher going, you get the whole fucking pack.”

Lip glared at him, opened his mouth the say something undoubtedly scathing and most likely regarding Mickey’s place in the family, when Carl laughed and chimed in from the table.

“Funny, man, that’s what Trevor said to me and Ian at the station yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Ian, who could see the way his husband’s back immediately tensed at the familiar name, the way he gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight and poured the coffee a little too high before setting down the pot with a hard clack.

“Trevor, huh?” Mickey asked, voice deceptively mild, and Ian winced behind him.

Carl didn’t get the memo.

“Yeah, you remember him, right?” he checked. “He still works at that youth place, came in to post bail for some kid when Ian was bringing by lunch.” He shrugged, tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. “We chatted a bit,” he mumbled as he chewed.

Mickey gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white under his tattoos. “Funny,” he said quietly, “Ian didn’t think to mention that.”

Ian sighed, ignoring the eyes of his family on their quickly unfolding drama. They’d been fighting a lot lately, a lot more than they used to, and today had been shaping up to be better, damn it. Now he had to do damage control again instead of enjoying a quiet day in with his husband.

“We’ve talked about this, Mickey,” he started, a tad bit exasperated. It must have come through in his voice, because Mickey’s shoulders went up. “Trevor’s not a bad guy, and I’m not gonna avoid him if I see him around.”

Mickey released the counter to grab his coffee again, taking a long, scalding swallow. “Right,” he said finally, not looking at Ian. “Not a bad guy at all. Just wanted to leave your ass rotting in jail when you couldn’t be his poster boy anymore, that’s all.”

“Mickey…” Ian warned, but it didn’t stop him.

“Tell me, Ian,” Mickey mused, turning to face him with hard eyes. “How much of that thirteen percent belongs to him?”

Fuck. Not that again.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Debbie was the one to ask first, voice cutting through their palpable tension. She’d even stopped trying to force the dress over Franny’s head in the interim, allowing the girl to escape up the stairs unscathed. “What thirteen percent?”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that,” Lip butted in. “Said Mickey got all bent out of shape cause Ian still thinks about his exes, or something, right?”

Ian closed his eyes against the hurt in Mickey’s as his brother revealed that he knew about their squabble. Fuck his family right now, seriously.

“Not quite,” he gritted out, but when he opened his eyes again, Mickey had schooled his face back into disinterest.

“No, that’s just about it,” Mickey confirmed. “Got my nose out of joint because Ian, here,” he gestured at Ian with his mug, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed over the side, “said I only got eighty-seven percent of his heart.”

Someone whistled, low and long. Ian couldn’t tell who.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he insisted yet again. “My whole life is a fucking shrine to you, Mick. If my heart was a room, there’s be posters of you on every fucking wall.” He took a step closer, until Mickey’s mug pressed into his own chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt.

“You really can’t let the others have a little space in that room? Not even in the bottom drawer of a dresser that nobody uses anyway?”

Mickey was still, and silent. Then he spun around and slammed his mug back down on the counter, shoved past Ian, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“To clean out the goddamn drawers!”

It was quiet in Mickey’s wake, and then—

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Carl said frankly, and Liam nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Did you really say that?” Debbie asked, sounding horrified, and before Ian could answer the back door slammed open.

“Morning neighbors!” Vee greeted as she came through, Kev on her heels. She was holding something, a dish covered in foil, and a carton of juice hung from Kev’s hand.

“We brought you guys some…” Vee trailed off when no one even looked at her, noticing the tension in the room.

“Uh,” she voiced, confused, “what did we miss?”

Carl answered, still looking at Ian in disbelief. “Ian told Mickey he keeps stuff from his exes in a drawer, so Mickey’s up there looking for it.”

“Oh, that’s cold man,” Kev breathed, and Ian exhaled.

“It was a metaphor,” he muttered, and Vee heard him.

“A metaphor for what?” she asked, curious.

“For the thirteen percent of Ian’s heart that belongs to other people,” Debbie revealed, and Vee set down her dish with a clatter.

“You said that to him?” she clarified, and at Ian’s reluctant nod, shook her head and turned to Kev.

“You ever say shit like that to me,” she said firmly, “I’ll cut off thirteen percent of your dick.”

—

A few long minutes later, after he had finally escaped his family’s inquisition about the state of his relationship, Ian made his way upstairs, alone.

When he got to their bedroom, Mickey wasn’t actually going through their things. He was just sitting on their bed, back to the wall, spinning his wedding ring round and round on his finger. Next to him, balanced on their folded blanket, sat the little box with the fancy ones they used in the ceremony just so they wouldn’t have to take theirs off.

Ian’s heart beat harder. That box had been sitting safe in the bottom drawer of their shared dresser.

The one that nobody used.

“Hey,” he said softly from the doorway. Mickey didn’t look up.

“You okay?” Ian asked, and that at least got a response.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Mickey returned, eyes on his knees.

He didn’t. Not really. He looked haggard, and upset, his hair spiky where restless fingers had combed through it. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were rimmed in red.

Ian let himself into the room, sat opposite Mickey on the bed with his feet still firmly on the floor. He reached out to trace a finger over the rings in the box, and then the ring on Mickey’s finger.

Mickey let his own hand fall away when he did.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, right?” Ian asked, suddenly desperate to hear Mickey agree. He needed to know that Mickey understood, that just because he remembered his past, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dedicated to his future.

But Mickey just shrugged.

“Not a lot of ways you can mean it,” he said, and shit. Ian had really fucked up this time. “Either I have your whole heart or I don’t,” Mickey continued, “and I don’t. So,” he shrugged again, “whatever.”

Ian took a moment. A long one. He thought of Mickey’s reaction the first time he had said it, when he was mostly just teasing. The way he had been shocked to think that Ian still had fond thoughts for other men. And he thought of his family downstairs, each one more fucked up than the last, all in agreement over the severity of his error.

And to be honest, he still didn’t quite get the uproar. But maybe that was because none of them got his side, either.

“You’re right,” he began, “you don’t.”

Mickey tensed further, pulling away from him on the bed, but Ian wasn’t done.

“You have all the good bits, you know,” he continued. He went to rest a hand on Mickey’s chest, saw his stiffness, and pointed at his own instead.

“You have all four chambers,” he told him. “Atrium and ventricle. You keep my blood moving, keep it useful, keep me alive. And you have my valves,” he added, trailing a finger side to side to point to the right spots as he spoke. “Mitral and aorta, pulmonary and tricuspid.” He smiled. “You keep me going in the right direction.”

Mickey was softening, he could tell, the tension seeping from his limbs as Ian droned on. He kept going anyway.

“You have all my arteries, Mick,” he whispered. “You’re in all my veins. You said I was under your skin, once?” Ian laughed. “Well you’re under my skin, too. And in my muscles, and in my blood.”

“And the others, they’re like…” he hesitated, searched for the right words. Better words than he had used before. “They’re like cholesterol,” he settled on, “plaque. Or…like the scar tissue from a triple bypass, the parts that don’t work anymore.”

Mickey’s lips quirked, despite himself, and Ian counted it as a victory.

“You have a lot a heart surgeries, Gallagher?” he questioned softly, catching on.

Ian smile widened, and he reached out to take Mickey’s hand. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Maybe a few,” he admitted. “And maybe I’m better for it.”

He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips, held it there.

“I don’t mind the broken bits,” he told his husband. “The pieces they left behind. Because you pushed through them every time, and made me healthy again.”

Mickey fidgeted, and nudged himself off the wall to settle closer to Ian’s side.

“Alright,” he allowed, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ian asked earnestly. “Because I want you to, you know.” He dropped Mickey’s hand to hold his face instead, gently stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to know that that thirteen percent, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the parts that are you.”

"I chose you, Mickey," he murmured. He reached out blindly for the spare rings in their box on the bed, worked one free. Slipped it onto Mickey's finger without looking away from his eyes. Mickey's hand clenched around it, around Ian's hand, and held tight.

"I married you," Ian added. "Because I love you with every real part of my heart, every little bit that works."

“All eighty-seven percent?” Mickey prods with a soft expression, leaning forward until his nose brushes Ian’s.

“All eighty-seven percent,” Ian confirmed, and kissed him.

[gallavichthings]

Gallavich Week 2021

Gallavich Week is here! Are you all ready?

This year it’ll be from July 11th to July 17th. Themes are below.

Quick reminder that all kinds of fan works are accepted as long as they’re original. No sign-ups required, just post your work on the correct day and tag us.

More details and guidelines after the cut.

Themes

July 11th - Post-Series Finale

July 12th - Fantasy AU

July 13th - Travel / Vacation

July 14th - Lyrics / Quotes

July 15th - Fix-it / Re-write (aka canon-divergent)

July 16th - Historical AU

July 17th - Meet-ugly (examples here)

We look forward to seeing all of your creations!

What is Gallavich Week?

Gallavich Week is a full week especially dedicated to Ian x Mickey fan works. Each day has a different theme, and people will post their works according to the theme of the day.

How do I participate?

You don’t have to subscribe to anything or announce what you’re doing, you just have to post your work on the appropriate day and tag us using @gallavichthings. It’s important that you tag us properly so that we can be sure to see your post and reblog it.

What types of works are accepted?

Any kind of original fan work is accepted, including but not limited to: fanart, fanfiction (no minimum words required), graphics, gifs and gifsets, videos, and fanmixes.

When can I start posting?

We’ll always make one initial post for each day, at 12am GMT (check here to see when that is in your time zone). After that, post away!

Can I still participate even if I don’t have a Tumblr account?

Absolutely! Just submit something here.

Can I post on Twitter or Instagram?

You can post anywhere you want! On Twitter and IG, we encourage you to use the hashtag #GW2021 and we’ll RT you (we do not have an IG account though, sorry). That being said, we do encourage you to post here as well, so it can be seen by more people (all gallavichthings reblogs get cross-posted to Twitter automatically anyway).

Can I post something that I’ve already posted before?

No, sorry. The works should have been created specifically for GW. You can, however, create a sequel or a different version of a previous work.

Can I post something that is not in English?

Of course. Just make sure that it is original. or that you have the original author’s permission (and, in that case, link to the original too).

Can I make R-rated works?

Yes, just please give any necessary warnings and tell us the rating at the very beginning of the post. If the post is visual (like a fanart or a gifset), it would be nice for you to also tag it #NSFW. Please remember that Tumblr now has stricter rules regarding that type of content, so if the post is really NSFW I’d suggest hosting it somewhere else and just posting a link to it.

Can I post something that’s AU?

Of course! There are specific days for AUs, but feel free to post them on other days as well as long as they fit the theme.

Can I post supernatural works, mpreg, or genderbends?

Yes! But if it’s a fic, please include it in the warnings.

Can I post more than one work?

Definitely! The more, the merrier. You can post as many works as you want, on as many days as you want, be it one post per day or ten on the same day. Anything goes!

Can I post on more than one day? Do I have to make something for each day?

Again, the more, the merrier! You can post on only one or all days if you wish!

Can I make one work that fits two or more themes?

Sure thing. I only ask that you post it on the day of the last theme included. For example, if you are posting a work that includes the theme from Day 1 and the theme from Day 4, post it on day 4 (just make sure to tell us that it includes both).

Can I write a multi-chaptered fanfiction?

Yes, and you don’t have to post everything either. When you do, just be sure to include either a masterpost, or the links to the previous chapters in the beginning.

Can I include other characters/pairings in my work?

Yes, as long as Gallavich is still the focus.

What if I can’t finish on time?

The Gallavich fandom is ALWAYS happy to see new fan material, so just post it when you’re done and tag us, ok? The same goes for people who can’t finish a work on the assigned theme day; you can still post it on a different day during GW, just make it clear which day it was made for.

Is there a contest?

No. It was an idea once, but most people didn’t want it, and felt a bit intimidated by it.

We hope that answers all your questions, but feel free to send an ask if you still have any doubts.

[luminoustrace]

Gallavich Week, Day 1: Post-series finale

Or Ian and Mickey (mostly Ian) cooking together for the first time in their new apartment.

And yes, Mickey is mocking at Ian 😌🤣

[wolfestw]

Gallavich Week 2021. Day 1 - Post-Series Finale. Got inspired by @ianandmickeygallavich idea and had some fun with it✨

Thank you @gallavichthings for organizing this awesome event!

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 1: Post-Season Finale

Hey, @gallavichthings, thanks for organizing this once more! Have ~900 words of morning cuddles, handjobs, banter, and fleeting surprise angst (it’s mostly cuddles, though).

---

This Morning, With You

Morning came, with the sound of rain against their window and Mickey sprawled halfway across Ian's chest in the remnants of an embrace. Ian woke first, but when he shifted to alleviate some of the stiffness in his back, Mickey stirred, groaned, and blinked awake, blue eyes peering blearily up at Ian.

”Hey,” Ian said, keeping his voice quiet and soft as he reached out to brush a hand over Mickey's hair. ”Morning, Mr. Gallagher.”

A sleepy grin. ”Morning, Mr. Milkovich.”

It was an old bit by now, traded ever so often in their first year of marriage. Still, it sent a small shiver of happiness down Ian's spine, and he pulled his arms a little tighter around his husband. The feelings of last night still lingered; he still felt light with the sense of surprise and elation and fondness so intense he could hardly contain it.

He was about to say something about it – thank Mickey for yesterday, maybe, or wish him a happy one year and one day anniversary – but another slight stab of pain his his upper back had him making a face instead.

Their celebratory fucking had been highly enthusiastic but not very ergonomical. Sleeping with Mickey more or less on top of him probably hadn't helped either.

Mickey caught the grimace, and immediately deduced its cause. ”We need to get your bed up here, man,” he said. ”What's the point of having our own place if we can't even fuck properly?”

Ian's mattress and the stuff they'd grabbed from Kev and V's place yesterday were still loaded into their ambulance. By the time they made it home after the party they'd both been too drunk, on booze and each other, to carry anything up the stairs, and designated driver Lip had declined doing it for them all on his lonesome.

Ian snorted. ”Didn't hear you complaining last night. Or the night before that.”

”Nah, but this cheap ass thing ain't gonna make it through another night like it. Don't really feel like crashing face first on the floor while you're pounding me.”

”No? First I've ever heard about you not liking it rough.”

Mickey raised his head to give him an unimpressed stare, a yeah you're not so funny, Gallagher-stare.

”There's a pretty huge difference between getting slapped around by you and the fucking floor,” he noted. Then he yawned hugely, laying back down. ”Promised me some fucking furniture, man,” he muttered into Ian's collarbone. ”Better deliver if you wanna get near this asshole anytime soon.”

Ian's lips quirked at that. It was hard to take the threat seriously when Mickey was pressed flush against him, face hidden in the crook of his neck, warm and solid and there in Ian's arms. Still, ever competetive, ever unable to back down from a challenge, Ian pulled back just a little, putting just enough distance between them to run his hand up Mickey's thigh and in between his legs, brushing over the bulge there.

He could feel Mickey's grin against his skin, feel rather than hear the pleased hum as Ian began to stroke his dick, slowly, and with intent.

”So,” Ian said idly as he felt Mickey harden under his fingers, ”this is a bad idea, right? Shouldn't start something when we can't fuck properly. Should probably stop and we should go take a cold shower or something.”

”You stop, I'll feed your dick to fucking Melanie's poor dog,” Mickey promised immediately, glaring at Ian even while pushing into his hand, with no attempt at feigned indifference.

Mickey was easy like that. Hadn't always been, that was for sure, but now, and for a long time now, he was completely unfazed about letting Ian know just how much he wanted him at any given moment. It never failed to sent a surge of both wonder and satisfaction through Ian, seeing Mickey so responsive to his overt or covert invitations; stepping so eagerly into his arms; grinning so wide into kisses it was blinding.

It terrified him at times, too; the responsibility of it. Being loved and wanted like that, by someone who wanted nothing of Ian except to make him happy and to be loved and wanted in turn. Having someone in his life who'd literally do anything for him, be it torturing treacherous half-sisters or selling out cartels or planning surprise parties.

Well. Someone who would do almost anything. Anything but putting his socks in the laundry bag instead of just dropping them on the floor. Anything but refraining from harrassing Melanie. Anything but admit that spit made for shitty fucking lube.

No one would ever accuse Mickey Milkovich of always being easy to live with.

Still, there were times when Ian couldn't help but think that maybe he himself wasn't such a great prize; couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever be truly worthy of Mickey's devotion, and wonder if he wouldn't inevitably end up abusing it (as Monica had, again and again). He'd tried to explain that to Mickey, after the fiasco at city hall, but–

”Hey,” came Mickey's voice, disgruntled and breaking Ian out of his reverie. ”The fuck did I tell you about stopping?”

Ian's eyes snapped to Mickey's face, and he met his husband's gaze, clear and direct and impatient. No hesitancy there; no fear.

Mickey raised his eyebrows: Are you getting on with it or what? This dick ain't gonna rub itself, Gallagher.

And Ian smiled, leaning in to place a quick peck at his husband's lips as he begun to move his hand once more.

For better or for worse, all Mickey wanted was Ian. And that, Ian knew, he would always have.