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#impossible for me to not reblog #obssessed #the way he yanks Mickey forward #the look on their faces #🫠

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The epilogue is live! 👏 @mybrainismelted out here always making me laugh. Go read it now! Dooo it.

We wrote a fun little romcom airline pilots 🛫 AU full of fluff, angst and a little 🔥 for @blue-disco-lights. Happy birthday Julia 🥳 from me and @mybrainismelted 👯‍♀️

Summary: Mickey is an airline pilot who's world gets thrown upside down when his teenage crush suddenly appears as his co-pilot one day.

Rated: M

Read it now on ao3!

#good Sunday read #airline pilots au #interrupted intimacy #a lot of it #rom com finish #ian x mickey #gallavich

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The thing is, Iggy was at the wedding. He met all of Ian's gay friends (because he has friends) and they all got along. Iggy respects them for standing up to Terry. "Y'all have balls! Unless you don't, but you still badass!" And the lgbt friends just find him completely amusing.

A couple months later Ian finally drags Mickey to another brunch with his friends and who do they see when they walk into the restaurant?

"Yo, Mick! How come you never told me about brunch?"

"Since when you awake before noon?"

"All you can fucking drink mimosas bro!"

#👏👏👏

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I read a delightful line from Still_Beating_Heart recently that went something like, “his eyebrows rose to full murder mode.” 👏👏

mickey + his expressive eyebrows

#Mickey’s eyebrows #mickey milkovich #his eyebrows wake up before he does #ian x mickey

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it was a very serious episode i swear

#chomp Mickey

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into the darkness there are no refunds or returns or bunches of excuses and reasons why so sit down in the corner to cry

dont try to cover it

@gallacrafts theme 32 – I love you. And I trust miss you ♡

Which Gallavich Scene gets the most views from you?

Mickey Watching Over Ian [S04E07] this is my most watched scene on repeat.

i already mentioned this once, so i'm shamelessly copy-pasting: I love re-watch this scene, i love this song (and i'm so sad that it's been removed from spotify but ok whatever). It's incredibly emotional, that's all. Mickey is so protective, there are so many thoughts on his face. And this silent talk with Svetlana screams very loudly for me. I just like to think that at this moment Mickey is thinking about how much he loves Ian and how glad he is that he's finally here. At his home. In his bed.

#🥹😭 #yes this moment is so amazing #Doshi this is beautiful 😭 #gallacrafts #missed ya #ian x mickey #hey look talent #gallavich fanart

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hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

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#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

#this is exceptional #I want to know every detail here #😍🔥 #clapping

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SHAMELESS, 11x04  - deleted scene

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Galladrabbles: Blur

Thank you dear @callivich for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt! 🩵

=== • === • ===

“Hell no, I ain’t goin’!”

“Mick, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fuck OFF! 10! Now leave it alone forever.”

Mickey storms off down the hall, and -surprise to no one- nearly trips over their cat.

“Sorry Turbo,” he mutters.

Ian follows and tries a softer tone. “Babe, a lot of people need glasses. Imagine if things weren’t such a blur anymore.”

Mickey looks up into his husband’s face - he can see him just fine up close.

“And anyway, guys in glasses are so hot. The things I’d wanna do to you if you…”

“Fine! Let’s go. You’re driving.”

#babe #what’s up to all my fellow near-sighted people! #< this tho #he’d be so stubborn about this #lore accurate #hc #also this > #tho ian will bully you into wearing some sexy nerd glasses

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this weeks @galladrabbles prompt from @callivich was "Blur"

His memories were mostly a blur now.  Time and age had taken their toll, and where once had been determination, hope, and optimism, now was mostly just confusion.

There was one thing that could cut through the blur, could push it back, if just for a bit.

One pair of hands, with faded tattoos that couldn’t be read, but were still clear in his mind.

FUCK U-UP they read, and they brought love, gentleness, and fleeting moments of clarity.

The hands reached out to grasp his own.

“Mick,” he gasped, “where have you been?”

“Right here,” he replied.  “Always here.”

#😭😭

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Blur

Thanks, @callivich for the @galladrabbles prompt. It was the perfect prompt for what I had in mind for this week!

Previously on No Sleep 'Til Nashville, Mickey and Ian made their way to the Greyhound station.

---

The bus trip passes in a blur. I’m lost in a tangle of Gallagher limbs. He touches my forehead, cups my cheek, kisses me every minute on the minute.

After all the shit we’ve gone through, the ride feels too easy. Roadblocks are easy to rally against. But when the path is clear, doubt creeps in.

We pull into Nashville Station at four o’clock. It’s sunny. The air smells like Keith.

He’s probably putting on his tux and double-checking the flowers right now.

I’ve been obsessed. I haven’t taken a moment to breathe.

Fuck.

Am I doing the right thing?

#kisses every minute on the minute hit the happy hormones in my brain #freckly redhead cuddles #you are def doing the wrong thing #fuck Keith

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@galladrabbles Blur prompt curtesy of @callivich

The day has gone by like a blur but Ian wouldn’t trade it for the world. Being married felt better than he ever imagined. He sits and watches Mickey (husband!) drunkenly dance with their family. He thinks back to when they were kids and Mickey was terrified of letting anyone see them together and how far he’s come. Ian is so proud of him. From banging in the shadows of the high school bleachers to proclaiming their vows in front of a whole room of people. The past ten years have gone by like a blur but Ian wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#husbands #they’re husbands

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He isn't afraid to kiss me

#the inside of my brain at any given moment

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🌑 the moon from the fuck-u-up tarot 🌑

Before meeting Mickey, Ian had no idea that the moon had eight phases. Hell, he didn’t even notice the tattoo on their first night together because some fuckin’ sap liked it face to face, but after lunch with Mandy, Ian had bent Mickey over the arm of his own goddamn couch, and there they were, one right after the other— New Waxing crescent First quarter Waxing gibbous Full Waning gibbous Last quarter Waning crescent —lining Mickey’s spine. Each carrying a different shade, a different energy, and a different way to flow. Ian was fascinated.  Turned the fuck on.  And oddly validated.  He’d never given it much thought before, but after a few meditations on the subject, Ian couldn’t help but wonder: If the moon was in constant flux, constant change; then, couldn’t it stand to reason that maybe his state of mind, his pace, his moods, weren’t so odd after all?  an exception to the rule | ch. 9: opening up in phases

[now updating on ao3]

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62+27🙌🏾

#27: "no. regrets." & #62: "if you can't sleep... we could have sex?"

"you're up late."

"jesus," mickey jumps, nearly falling out of his seat. "you scared the shit out of me."

"sorry." ian plops onto the couch, and mickey tries not to think too much about how close his roommate is sitting next to him. "couldn't sleep, and i saw the light on in the living room. what're you watching?"

mickey turns towards the tv and shrugs. "just criminal minds."

"what an uplifting show to watch at one in the morning."

"it usually puts me to sleep, actually."

"hm." ian raises his brows. "are you sure you're not watching it for a certain someone?"

"i regret telling you that," mickey groans. "i just like reid's character, okay? plus, he's not even my type."

ian looks at him with curious eyes. "what's your type, then?"

hot redheaded alien-looking dorks, mickey wants to say. instead, he throws a pillow at ian's face, to which ian catches and tosses back at him. "don't have one, really. i'm fine with any dick up my ass."

"hm. not every dick," ian mumbles.

mickey's eyes widen. "what?"

"just saying," ian shrugs. "you've never made a move on me, and i have a dick. an above average one, actually, if i'm being honest."

"wh–where is this coming from?" mickey sputters. "you're saying you want us to fuck?"

"what i'm saying is," ian leans in close, warm breath caressing mickey's skin, "if you can't sleep, and i can't sleep, then we could do something together to occupy our time–"

before ian can finish his sentence, mickey catches him by surprise with a soft kiss, their lips slotting against each other hesitantly at first, then quickly deepening and insistent as their tongues intertwine in a fighting frenzy, heated and molten.

"show me this above average dick of yours, then," mickey breathes into ian's ear, and ian responds enthusiastically by dragging mickey to his room and slamming the door shut.

-

afterwards, as they lie in bed together basking in the afterglow, sweaty and thoroughly spent, ian turns to face mickey and ghosts his fingers along mickey's arm.

"was... that okay?" he asks, quiet, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"gallagher," mickey brushes ian's hair back and smiles when he sees ian melting into his touch, "i've been wanting to do that since you moved in."

"okay, good," ian says, relieved. "i was scared you'd regret sleeping with me and kick me out of the apartment."

mickey snorts. "my only regret is not jumping your bones earlier."

"well," ian rolls over and straddles mickey, bracketing his thighs around mickey's hips, "we have a lot of time to make up for, then."

#roomates #gallavich ficlet

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Holler if you need me. Sure...

#how is he so handsome #I love him you’re honor #the pouty chin 🥹 #ian gallagher #look at how beautiful he is #look

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shameless creator's network - april two by two

I used a verse from Robert Frost's famous poem "The Road Not Taken" The road that Ian and Mickey chose was often hard. It wasn't the easy path. It was so unknown to the people around them. They couldn't see the path ahead. They couldn't see the destination but they believed there was one. And that has made all the difference.

#😭🥹 #shamelessedit #ian x mickey