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#mickey milkovich
fionnagallagher · 2 days ago
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mickey milkovich in hos
you’re soft. i’m sensitive, remember?
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sweetcresta · a day ago
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ian when mickey starts to hypnotize him at the docks
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doodlevich · a day ago
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just in case someone hasn’t said it to you yet today:
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arrowflier · a day ago
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huge fan of all your work! i was wondering if you could write something post season 11 of the boys talking about having kids and mickey sorta opening up about his insecurities about it and ian comforting him (kinda like the show but more in depth and better lol)
It had been an amazing night. The party, their family. Some guy’s car burning right on the street under a sky full of shooting stars. Crashing in the back of the ambulance, too drunk to drive home, too handsy to go to the house. Cramming onto the edge of their old mattress, covered in an old sheet no one would miss and a ratty blanket that had seen better days, trying not to roll over onto the boxes propped up on the other side.
Coming together in the small space, whispering love in sensitive ears, forgetting the world outside the doors.
Yeah, it had been good. Great. A night to remember, a night for the books, and Mickey should be sleeping off the sex and the alcohol and everything else in the arms of his husband of one whole year.
But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t, because every time he tried, every time he relaxed, his leg straightened far enough to touch the foot of the crib Ian had crammed into the back with them.
It was dark, and the crib was covered, but it didn’t matter. The metal of the base was cold against his toes, and try as he might to forget, he knew that it was there.
Ian stirred behind him. Shifted under their shared sheet, warm as he pressed his chest to the curl of Mickey’s back. Moonlight flickered through the tinted windows of the back doors, skated over them, over it, and Mickey tucked his head down as if it made a difference to get the thing out of his sight.
“We can get rid of it tomorrow,” Ian whispered, breath hot on Mickey’s neck. Sudden, unexpected. A hand snuck between them, stroked the stretch of skin where Mickey’s shirt had ridden up along his spine, and Mickey leaned back into it even as his shoulders tensed.
“I’m sorry I pushed,” Ian said next, voice fading at the end as he let the words sink into Mickey’s skin. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”
Ian kissed the back of his neck. Soft, sweet, sorry. And Mickey stared at the crib in the dim, silvery light, the posts sticking out over the multi-colored crochet blanket that used to adorn the Gallagher family sofa. The gaps in the fabric were large enough to see through, showing glimpses of worn slats and a threadbare cushion inside.
“I know it’s a big deal, for you,” Ian continued. Leaned his forehead into the nape of Mickey’s neck, whispered like he was telling a secret.
“I know you’re afraid you won’t be good at it, or we’ll fuck it up somehow, like our parents did.”
He was right. Mickey was afraid. And you know what?
He fucking hated it.
“It’s all bullshit,” he said suddenly, voice loud compared to Ian’s quiet murmurs. The words seemed to echo in the darkness, and Ian stiffened, at the height of a full breath.
“What?” he breathed out, more air than sound, and Mickey rolled over as best he could in the narrow space they shared.
Ian’s eyes were wet. Hurt. And Mickey hated that, too.
“Not talking ‘bout havin’ kids,” he clarified, then stopped. “I mean, I am, but…”
He stopped again. Cursed quietly as Ian pulled away, not that he could go far with the mattress not even laying flat behind him, propped against the inside of the van.
“It’s bullshit,” Mickey tried again, scooting into the tiny gap Ian had left between them, closing it with his body, “that Terry fucking Milkovich still makes me—”
He cut off. Swallowed hard. And Ian came back, rolled over him, laid his weight down like a blanket over Mickey’s not trembling, shut up frame.
“Yeah,” Ian murmured, soothing, quiet. Let Mickey tuck his face into his shoulder, pressed his own to short black hair.
“It’s all bullshit,” he agreed, not commenting on Mickey’s tight hold around his back, the way his fingers clenched at Ian’s shoulder blades like they alone could keep him afloat.
“’Cause you’re better than that, Mickey,” he said. “And you know you are.”
Mickey clenched his eyes shut. Pulled his foot away from where it had once again slid down to touch cool metal.
“You’re great with Franny,” Ian went on, ignoring the way Mickey shook his head against him. “Her favorite uncle, even if it kills me to admit it.”
Mickey snorts against Ian’s skin. Rubs his face against it to clear the wetness his eyes left behind.
“And Freddy reached for you yesterday,” Ian continued. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you waved at him, all wiggly fingers and smiles.”
“Shut up,” Mickey muttered, half meaning it. “He’s a good kid, not his fault he’s got your brother for a dad.”
“Not your fault you had Terry,” Ian countered, and yeah.
Okay.
But…
“Still not ready,” Mickey whispered, holding even tighter. “Even if it’s stupid.”
And Ian—Ian who wanted kids, Ian who wanted everything—Ian didn’t let go.
“I know,” he whispered back, even quieter. “It’s okay.”
“Might never be ready,” Mickey added, hating himself for it, but Ian didn’t hesitate.
“That’s okay too,” he said, and kissed Mickey’s head. “We’ll find something else together.”
Something else. Something together. Not what Ian wanted, but he would do it anyway.
“Okay?” Ian asked, and Mickey nodded into the curve of his neck.
“Okay,” he answered, and promised himself it would be.
And as Ian slipped back into sleep, his body rolling to the side but hanging onto Mickey all the same, Mickey relaxed. Relaxed, and let his leg stretch out, until his toes touched metal.
Okay.
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isbelevans · a day ago
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Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich In Shameless Season 7 Episode 11 “Happily Ever After”
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psychicskulldamage · a day ago
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First page of my gallavich fancomic is up! 😄
✨Start Here✨
Being a Gallagher and growing up in the Southside was difficult enough, throw in presenting as an Omega at 14 and Ian's life might as well be over.
Make sure to look over the tags! 💖
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sully-999 · a day ago
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Mickey Milkovich’s guide to gardening:
Step 1: Judge your husband for bringing it up. But also totally start researching how to grow your own weed (…and which tomatoes grow best in Chicago)
Step 2: Go to the store and steal buy the supplies needed (Are we seriously paying for fucking dirt?!)
Step 3: Get to the garden. Sunscreen the shit out of both of you or you’ll burn like a motherfucker
Step 4: Suggest farmer role play for that night. (Shirtless overalls anybody?)
Step 5: Sit back and let your husband garden. You know… carrying heavy stuff around, bending over, getting on his knees… and enjoy the show.
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Mickey absolutely takes his and Ian’s kid to the park to get dirty and have fun in the grass and the woods and to look at all the stuff in the ponds and streams and they muck around in the dirt and the mud and have so much fun exploring and being silly. And he loves it because when he was a kid it was so different (him being dirty wasn’t a sign of a child having fun but a child neglected which he didn’t truly understand until he was older) but his kid sees the joy and happiness in enjoying things and not worrying about what other people think. And Mickey wants his kid to enjoy being dirty but also feel comfortable that they can go home and get clean too. And Ian meanwhile is taking pictures and enjoying the same thing - that their kid can be so happy and not worry about what others think and know that they will be taken care of.
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southside-forever · 2 days ago
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Mickey's gonna be the best at helping their kid with arts and crafts projects. He always has these brilliant ideas that seem over the top and not practical at first but he manages to nail it every single time. Ian helps them with bio and history, and Mickey's surpsisingly good at math - until the kid goes to high school and Ian steps in to help, then.
DEBS 😩
mickey 🤝 arts and crafts is my most favorite thing in the entire world and it is FACT. can you imagine all of the nights he’ll spend with their child covered in glue and marker and glitter at the kitchen table while ian looks on smiling?! he will be the best and get so into all of their kid’s projects and as the kid starts getting older and getting letter grades, he’ll see the B- and scoff, saying your teacher doesn’t know shit
ian is going to be king at history and english—our boy didn’t skip 10th grade english for nothing 😎✋🏻 (or was he in an advanced class? it’s been awhile since i’ve watched early shameless 😅)
i also think you’re right about the math part, mickey is going to be Mathematician Dad 🤓 until algebra and geometry where all of a sudden we’re solving for X bc uhhh, what the fuck? letters don’t belong in math
but they’re going to be so good and attentive and supportive and defend that kid to hell and back bc no one fucks with baby milkovich-gallagher 🥺👊🏻
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season1ian · a day ago
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losing my mind actually
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*Ian, Mickey, Debbie and Lip picking out foldable chairs*
Ian: Black, like my soul.
Mickey: Red, like the blood of my enemies.
Debbie: Blue, like how I feel everyday.
Lip, holding a green chair: Weed.
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shamelessbigbang · a day ago
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Due to some personal circumstances, I’m pushing the dates back on everything two weeks. If you already checked in for the December 2 check in, you’re set. If not, the new date will be December 16. I think one or two authors are missing artists, if you have not received confirmation of being paired up, please reach out to me. New schedule going forward is below. Thanks for understanding!
December 16 - first artist and second author checkpoint
December 30 - second artist and third (and final) author checkpoint
January 6 - posting schedule will be announced
January 13 - posting begins
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arrowflier · 12 hours ago
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a request i would love to see you write: ian and mickey’s kid is a toddler and when someone in the family has a new baby they go visit and ian gets baby fever. mickey’s like ‘don’t even think about it.’
Caitlin, thanks for prompting and sorry this took so long! You probably don't even remember asking for this it's been like two months.😅
A tattooed hand reached out and pressed the doorbell, one quick buzz and gone. Mickey shifted on his feet, scuffing off the dirt against clean concrete steps, and shoved his hand back in his pocket.
“Now remember,” Ian was saying behind him, crouched down and still too tall for his conversation partner, “we need to be quiet for the baby, okay?”
Mickey glanced down in time to catch the response, a vigorous nod that sent brown hair flying across a small, round face.
“And we don’t touch without asking,” Ian added, grabbing that tiny chin to stop the motion. “Even if we want to.”
He frowned when the response was an irritated groan.
“Okay, Brit?” he asked firmly, brows lowering, and was met with a sigh.
“Okaaay,” came the whiny reply, Brit pouting. The effect was somewhat ruined—or enhanced, maybe—by the way her hair stuck to her face.
Mickey sighed, then reached down and smoothed her wild mane, tugging on her ear in the process.
“Hey,” he grumbled when she frowned up at him. “He means it this time.”
“But—”
“If you’re too loud, or you touch them too much, you know what babies do?” Mickey cut her off to ask, and she shook her head.
“They poop on you,” he finished, and watched her eyes widen. “Throw up, too.” Her little face crinkled. “Sometimes they’ll pee on you so much that you can never ever—”
The door creaked open.
“Mickey,” Lip greeted tiredly from the other side. “What lies are you telling the kid now?”
“He said that, that the baby would poop on me!” Brit chimed in immediately, at least three levels too loud and outraged.
Ian winced. Mickey shrugged. Lip blinked.
“Oh,” he said, too exhausted to sound surprised. “Well, yeah. Babies do that.”
“Come on in,” he directed to the adults as Brit stuck her tongue out of her scrunched-up face in disgust. “Everybody’s in the living room, and Tami just got the kid up from a nap.”
-
It was a full house. And by that Mickey meant full of Gallaghers, of course.
Carl was by the entry to the kitchen, nursing a beer and belching periodically into the face of Liam, who stood next to him with the expression of a long-suffering saint. The kid waved when they entered, and Mickey gave him a nod, with a one-finger salute ready for his cop brother.
It was a salute that Carl returned readily, until Debbie shoved his hand down.
“Have some respect,” she hissed, standing tall. “You’re in a mother’s house.”
Mickey swallowed his chuckle at that—like Little Red wasn’t just as bad as the rest of them—and let his gaze wander again.
Wander right to the sofa, where Tami sat unburdened, her new bundle of joy secure in their niece’s lap instead.
“That’s right,” Tami was saying softly, helping Franny arrange her limbs. “Support the head, you’ve got it.”
And Franny, lovely beaming Franny with her bright hair and her bright eyes and her bright smile, was holding the newest addition to the Gallagher family with all the tenderness of a girl that grew up loved.
“Perfect,” Tami breathed as Franny adjusted her grip.
“So little,” Franny breathed in awe, cradling her cousin.
“Easy, buddy,” Lip breathed when Freddy tried to help, leaning over Franny’s arm and nearly falling off the sofa.
“Mickey,” Ian breathed as he watched, eyes filling, hand clammy on Mickey’s arm.
“No,” Mickey said shortly, and backed away.
“No what?” Ian asked, following him to the other end of the room. Brit stayed behind, captivated by the other children, watching over the arm of the sofa with wide eyes as Tami stroked back her baby’s fine hair.
“No,” Mickey said, “you can’t have one.”
Ian frowned. Mikey ignored it, grabbing the beer out of Carl’s hand and ignoring the exasperated look thrown his way.
“Didn’t ask,” Ian muttered, but leaned up against the wall with him with arms crossed over his chest, determinedly not pouting.
“Didn’t have to,” Mickey retorted, and started to take a swig—
Only to stop as Tami shifted over on the sofa, and motioned for Brit to join her.
“Come on up,” she offered, patting the cushion, and even helped Brit clamber up next to Franny. “You want a turn, Brittany?”
“Hey, whoa,” Mickey interrupted, straightening. Tami looked to him—as did Ian, as did Lip— and he flushed. “That a good idea?” he asked weakly, and got three eye rolls in return.
“It’s fine, man,” Lip answered first. “Monica let me hold Ian when I was younger than that, and I only dropped him a little.”
“He’s joking, Mickey, he didn’t drop me,” Ian cut in as Mickey gaped.
“Frank did,” he added nonchalantly, and stole the beer before it could fall from Mickey’s limp hand.
“She’ll do fine, Mick,” Tami reassured, as only a second-time mother could. “Besides,” she said, smiling at Brit, “you’d never hurt your cousin, would you?”
Brit’s head shook. And so did Mickey’s heart.
Franny passed the baby over, Tami helped Brit support the head, and Mickey swallowed hard, and smiled, as his daughter held her cousin—her cousin, her family, a baby born a Gallagher held by a baby that became one. That was so casually included by her aunt it would never cross her mind that she hadn’t started as one of them.
Brit’s open, wonder-filled face filled his view. Her little fingers prodding even smaller hands, disappearing into a tiny fist as the baby greeted her for the first time. Her long brown hair brushing a fuzzy blonde head, brushed away in turn by Tami’s careful hand. Her eyes, wide and focused, fixed on the life in her arms.
Ian leaned closer, their shoulders brushing.
“You really never think about—” he started, and Mickey nudged him away.
“Never,” he mumbled, then, “one monster is enough, you kiddin’ me?”
“Too bad,” Ian murmured, taking a drink of Mickey’s—Carl’s—beer. “She’d make a great big sister.”
“Not happening,” Mickey repeated.
“You sure?” Ian pushed, and Mickey swallowed. Met Brit’s eyes across the room, happy and comfortable. Saw her smile; saw her press a kiss to the tiny head in her lap under Tami’s watchful gaze.
“Yes,” he answered, and stole the beer back out of Ian’s hand.
No, his heart countered, looking up at him with Brit's young, bright eyes.
It won.
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