ian-galagher

[ian-galagher]

Svetlana the woman that you are

[ian-galagher]

[…] even if you aren’t.

[ian-galagher]

a year of art

very proud of everything i’ve learned this year, particularly with improving how i draw bodies and hair

i also never think i have a style but looking at this it’s so obvious it was all some by the same person

[ian-galagher]

Still in my lineart era <3 Apologies for the latest on this but here's my secret santa gift for @badassfetish!! Inspired on a scene in Cooperative Gameplay.

thank you @spookygingerr & @ian-galagher for the event <3

[ian-galagher]

No thoughts, just two besties chilling (I miss them so much)

[ian-galagher]

🧪 idiots guide to office crushes 🧪 by @mmmichyyy

[ian-galagher]

i finally did it. i wanted to do it for a few months AND I DID IT

[ian-galagher]

my 2024 art summary, i hope to be more active next year

[ian-galagher]

🧪 idiots guide to office crushes 🧪

a gallavich workplace au / mentions of soulmates (but not a soulmate story!) / a cat brings them together fic, written for @doshiart for @gallavich-fic-club's secret santa gift exchange 2024 🌸 hope you like it doshi!

summary: Ian has a crush on Mickey. Mickey has a crush on Ian. Are they going to do something about it? No. Are they idiots? Yes.

excerpts:

So that left him. Ian Gallagher. The middle, often forgotten sibling, with a long list of guys he had hooked up with since he was seventeen, ranging from closeted high school jocks to random hookups at Boystown to geriatric grandpas. None of which, as he learned the hard way, were his soulmate (or any kind of mate for that matter) (though anyone with eyes probably could’ve told him that) (he was young and naive and didn’t know any better, okay?).

Now he’s twenty-five, living alone in a shoebox studio apartment, working a steady but horribly boring desk job as a sales rep for office supplies, with coworkers he gets along with but kind of can’t stand to be around at the same time, and still hopeful he’s going to find the love of his life in this bleak, dreary world.

...

Mickey lives a quiet life and works a boring job to pay the bills and get by comfortably. He purposely chooses not to interact with his coworkers because what’s the point? He’s fine with the routine he’s established. He doesn’t need to be with anyone. If he wants to get off once in a while he’ll go to a club in Boystown and find the first available guy to jerk him off. It’s fine. He’s fine with it. He can’t complain. He’s single and alone, but he’s alive and that’s all he can ask for.

Until Ian fucking Gallagher came waltzing into the office one day and flipped his worldview completely upside down and sideways to all hell.

🧪 read the rest on ao3 🧪

[ian-galagher]

a lil christmas smooch for @nozenfordaddy 🎄

[ian-galagher]

here's my secret santa gift fic for @mmmichyyy as part of the event organised by @gallavich-fic-club! <3 hope you like it Michelle, happy holidays 🥰✨

Shit.

A quick look over his shoulder and yeah—cops are still fucking chasing him. Mickey needs to lose them, fast. He doesn't know how long he still has it in him to run and they're bound to call for back-up soon. They'll probably send someone to cut him off and then he'll be surrounded and then he'll be fucked.

He is not getting arrested. He's over 18 now, so it'd be big-boy prison for him this time.

Not a fucking chance.

Mickey turns onto a different street, feet pounding the pavement in quick succession like his life depends on it. Because it kind of does.

He turns back to check if the pigs have gained on him. And with his head still turned, bam—he suddenly runs into a wall. Well, that's what it feels like, anyway.

—

Ian smiles down at his phone. His maybe-boyfriend has just sent him two more song recommendations that he should absolutely, immediately listen to, so he pops in his earbuds and presses play.

The music starts, and it's fine. Ian has never been that much into club music—especially listening to it at home instead of, you know, in a club. But it's pretty cool stuff. He bobs his head to the rhythm as he walks, his steps syncing to the beat.

He likes that Trevor is so passionate about the things he loves and wants Ian to love them too. He does. It's just that sometimes Ian can't help but wish Trevor would ask him about what he likes for a change. Ian's all for having his horizons broadened and learning about new things, but it all feels like too much of a one-way street. Trevor teaches and Ian learns. Never the other way around.

Ah, whatever. Ian's perfectly happy to play the student here. Trevor knows a lot of stuff. Ian was always too busy surviving day-to-day and helping his siblings put out fires—real and metaphorical—set by his parents to be able to focus on music and all the other shit kids are usually into. So it's fine.

He shakes his head at himself as he shoots off a quick text to tell Trevor how much he's enjoying the music. He gets as far as Hey Trevor, music kicks a— when bam, something like a freight train runs into him. Or at least that's what it feels like.

—

Mickey's grateful he manages to keep his balance and not land on his ass. He's also grateful the cops haven't followed him down this street yet, which gives him a chance to right himself and get his bearings.

Whipping his head around, he discovers the 'wall' he ran into is actually a person. A man. A tall, Adonis-shaped, red-headed man. He gulps. His instinct to absolutely tear this fucker a new one for not watching where he was going falters slightly. But he's still Mickey Milkovich, and he's still very much running from the police so he's not gonna take kindly to people being in his way.

"Watch where you're fuckin' goin', asswipe!" He shoves him for good measure, his hands lingering on the guy's chest a little longer than necessary.

Ian tries to regain his footing as he takes out his earbuds, leveling the small 'freight train' who ran into him with a glare. "You clearly weren't watching where you were going either, asshole!" He tries to maintain eye contact and hold on to his anger, but the guy's pretty lips and blue eyes are making it kind of hard.

Mickey eyes him up and down, taking in the short-sleeved button-up, skinny jeans, and obnoxiously red sneakers. "Yeah well, not all of us are lucky enough to be just strollin' down the street without a fuckin' care in the world. Speakin' of which—"

And with that he launches himself down a nearby alley, leaving Ian gobsmacked until he registers shouting voices and heavy footsteps approaching. A few seconds later a couple of police officers appear from a side street, running in Ian's direction.

They stop for breath right in front of him. "Have you seen—" one of them tries. "Have you seen a dark-haired man, about 5'8'', running this way?"

"Uh, yeah, he practically ran into me and kept going down the street," Ian answers pointing a thumb behind himself.

"Thank you, sir!" the other policeman shouts after they resume sprinting in the direction Ian indicated.

"Hope you catch him, officers!" Ian shouts back, cupping his hands in front of his face.

He keeps watching them for a few more seconds until they disappear from sight. Then he turns his head back, surprised to see the wanted man himself tentatively emerging from the alley.

"They gone?" he asks Ian.

Ian nods. "Thought you'd be long gone."

"Nah. I hid behind that dumpster," he says, gesturing behind him.

"Risky," Ian says. "If I told them you went that way they coulda spotted you easily."

Mickey hums, then raises an eyebrow. "Why didn't you? We were cursin' at each other not five minutes ago."

Ian shrugs. "I'm Southside. We don't snitch. It's ingrained in me, I guess. Lie to the cops, ask questions later kind of thing."

"Southside?" Mickey blinks. "Your Northside-lookin' ass?" He gestures towards Ian's clothes.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Ian says, smirking. "Born and raised. You too, I'm guessing?"

Mickey nods, taking a moment to survey the street to see if those cops have circled back. But the coast seems clear.

"I'm Ian, by the way."

Mickey's gaze settles back on Ian. "Mickey." He studies him for a moment. "So, got any questions to ask me?"

"Huh?" Ian tilts his head to the side.

"You said you lie to the cops and ask questions later. I'm guessin' you wanna know why they were chasin' me and shit."

Ian makes a show of thinking it over. "Hm, not really. I'm good."

Mickey chuckles. "Oh, you're good, huh? Come on, man. I could be a murderer or something."

"And you'd just tell me that? Also I'm not sure I'd wanna know, if you were."

"So you're really not gonna ask?"

"Nope. None of my business. If you wanna tell me, be my guest. But I'm not gonna pry. I've done my share of shady shit, and I sure wouldn't have appreciated questions about it. We all have our reasons."

Mickey clicks his tongue. "You're on the straight and narrow now though, right?" He points at Ian's clothes again, glad for another opportunity to look his body up and down.

"Yes," Ian snickers. "I've got a steady paycheck I can actually spend on myself for the first time ever, now that all my siblings are doing well for themselves and we don't need to bend over backwards just to put food on the table. I guess I'm trying to find my look? I've always worn hand-me-downs so I don't really know what I like now I can actually choose clothes to buy. It's weird," he concludes with an embarrassed laugh, realizing he hasn't talked about this latest change in his life with anyone in a long time.

"I get it man. I mean, not the steady paycheck thing, but I got into some money…in a way that cops would fuckin' object to—and it just feels weird to have enough for other things once I pay the bills and shit."

"Yeah…" Ian shouldn't be so shocked to be having a conversation where not only his feelings are validated but the other person actually gets it and feels the same way. It shouldn't be a novel experience and yet it is. Especially since he hasn't been back home in a while and hasn't had a chance to catch up with his siblings.

"Hey, man, you got a smoke?" Mickey interrupts his train of thought. Ian is just grateful to be pulled out of the spiral he was about to go down.

"Uh, yeah, hold on." He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a cigarette and lighter, handing them to Mickey.

"Thanks." Mickey lights the smoke and takes a few puffs, noticing the way Ian's gaze fixes on his mouth for a few moments. "So yeah, I get what you were sayin', y'know…about not really knowin' what to do with all this freedom now. Like, my evil prick of a dad kicked the bucket recently, and he was the one stoppin' me from doin' a lot of things that would…I don't know—maybe make me happy and shit."

"But it still feels wrong to do those things 'cause you're not used to this new freedom. Plus change can be scary as fuck," Ian says, almost to himself.

"Exactly!" Mickey says exhaling smoke and passing the cigarette to Ian. "And that's what pisses me off so much, 'cause it's like I'm still lettin' the fucker win. Makes me feel fuckin' stupid."

"You aren't, though," Ian says after taking a drag and giving the cigarette back to Mickey. Their hands briefly touch and the contact sends sparks down Mickey's spine. "You're just human. It takes time to get over that shit and be able to live your life and function semi-normally. You'll get there."

Ian smiles at him—a beautiful, genuine smile that steals Mickey's breath for a few moments. And fills him with something like hope.

"I should probably bounce soon. Here," he says, handing Ian what's left of the cigarette and pointing to the phone peeking out of his front jean pocket. "Gimme your phone."

"Why?" Ian asks, already moving to do it anyway.

"I'm givin' you my number. Can hook you up with weed—"

Ian chuckles. "I already got a guy for that."

"—half-price baseball tickets… Whatever you need, I can probably get my hands on." He turns on Ian's screen. "Who's Trevor?"

Fuck. Ian had completely forgotten his abandoned text conversation with Trevor when Mickey first bumped into him.

"Shit!" he says, fumbling to exit the screen while the phone's still in Mickey's hand. "No one. I mean, a friend."

"Uh-huh." Mickey looks down towards the phone and types his number. "There. Use it, don't use it. Choice is yours," he says, starting to walk backwards after handing the phone back to Ian.

"I will use it. Just try to stay out of prison until then, alright?"

That gets a laugh and a raised middle finger from Mickey. "Can't promise anything, man, but I'll try. See ya!"

"See ya!" Ian shouts back just as Mickey turns to continue up the street.

Ian knows he's got a great big, goofy grin on his face right now, but he wouldn't care even if there was anyone around to see it.

He keeps looking down at his phone—Mickey's number displayed on the screen, a promise of what's to come. A chance to build on the connection they both felt today.

It's been a long time since Ian's been this excited about something. About someone.

He's gonna hold on to this feeling and count the days until he'll see Mickey again.

[ian-galagher]

Happy Holidays @jrooc !

Here’s a tiny little drabble from your secret santa (aka me)

For once, Mickey’s life is good.

Terry’s dead, and Mandy’s safe, and he’s on this path of self-improvement courtesy of art classes at Malcom X.

Figure drawing isn’t his favorite; he prefers to draw what he comes up with in his head.

But he could get used to this model.

He tries to focus on the angles of his body, but he keeps getting distracted by the curves of his muscles, the red hair trailing down into his underwear, the veins running through his forearms.

Maybe he’s crazy, but he swears the model smiles at him when their eyes meet.

[ian-galagher]

Secret Santa 2024 - a Gallavich Fic Club Event!

Thank you to all the writers and artists who participated this year - we're so excited to share your work!

ART

gallavich x swan lake by @spookygingerr for @ian-galagher

Art by @badassfetish for @spacerockwriting

Art by @doshiart for @creepkinginc's story

emt!ian and bartender!mickey Art by @deathclassic for @konaiiro

FICS

Secret Santa ficlet by @ian-galagher for @spookygingerr

Story & Art by @creepkinginc for @notherenewjersey

Christmas Miracle, story & art by @gallapiech for @deathclassic

Sinner by @spacerockwriting for @thepupperino

The Housewarming Party by @blue-disco-lights for @runawaybrainsc

Infinite Runner by @jrooc for @gallapiech

Fuckin' Hate the Holidays, But I Fuckin' Love You by @runawaybrainsc for katelionski

The cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone; by @notherenewjersey for @sickness-health-all-that-shit

The Soft Places by @nozenfordaddy for @blue-disco-lights

Thank you to @spookygingerr & @ian-galagher for all their work creating and running the event! 💕

[ian-galagher]

merry early christmas to my not so secret santa Willow 🧡 @ian-galagher

gallavich x swan lake

ian is so under the evil spell that he doesn’t realise that ballerina isn’t mickey 🙄 in this version tho no one dies and gallavich live happily ever after 💖

[ian-galagher]

✨ 🎁 Gallavich Fic Club Secret Santa 🎁 ✨

Happy @gallavich-fic-club Secret Santa to @runawaybrainsc - it was so much fun to write this ficlet just for you. A Roommate AU inspired by our mutual love of Schitts Creek :)

The Housewarming Party Summary: Mickey can't believe what he lets his roommate Ian talk him into. Like hosting this 'high school sleepover'-themed housewarming party so they can score free stuff for their apartment. He doesn't expect the night to change everything.

[ian-galagher]

For Keely

Happy Holidays from your secret santa!

@thepupperino

and a fic

Winter time was one of the worst times to be an EMT. Calls left and right from drunk patrons celebrating the holidays, kids falling on ice, and worst of all, DIY projects for the holidays. Not that Ian minded; he loved his job. He loved being able to make a difference in a way that helps the community. It gave him purpose, a reason to exist .

The day was going slower than normal, which was a surprise for the holiday season. But it made sense, it was a little too early for the drunk carolers, as it was for the office parties. Sue was chatting about gifts for her relatives, as Ian just sipped on his thermos of Fiona’s cocoa, nodding his head along with her chatter

Some shifts just seemed to drag, and so far, this was one of them. 

A call came over the walkie talkie, Sue nodding in response. “Incident at the Old Ukrainian church on Michigan, Saint Andrew’s, I think. Let’s go, Gallagher.” Ian follows his work partner into the ambulance, as she chats about the holidays and the romantic things her spouse has planned–as well as the not so romantic. “Who knows,” Sue chuckles. “Maybe one day you'll finally find someone. Can’t be hung up over that douche bag forever.”

“I’m not looking to date anyone. Not right now, anyways.”

“Gallagher,” Sue says, shaking her head.

The Church they pull into is old, historic. There’s a large archway for the entry , with stone steps leading up to the door. Stepping inside, Ian can hear  two men arguing loudly . One has messy blond hair that needs a wash and a brush, and the other..

Ian stops. The man’s wearing an old flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, a t-shirt underneath the flannel with dark ripped jeans. His dark hair is off his face, and even though he’s in pain, he has the bluest eyes Ian has ever seen.

“Over here!” A woman with a clipboard calls out. She’s waving over to where the hurt boy is on the ground. “We’re over here!” She shouts, louder this time, waving Ian over. Grabbing his kit, he kneels down to check on the handsome man with the dark hair.

“Iggy, that’s my fuckin’ leg.”

“Shit,” Iggy apologizes. “Sorry Mick.”

“Fucker, that’s my leg,” Mickey repeats.

“Can you stand?” Iggy asks, and Mickey grimaces again. “Fucker, again, that’s my fucking leg,” he repeats.

“Hi, I’m Ian,”He introduces himself to the raven haired.. Gently tapping and examining the dark haired man’s leg., he nodded, carefully removing the shoe. “So, we’re going to get you to the hospital. Could I have your name please, Sir?”

“It’s Mikhailo,” the messy blond boy teases, smirking at the raven haired.

“Mickey,” Mickey says. “Don’t listen to that fucker.”

“Okay, Mickey,” Ian says calmly. “We’re going to put you in the ambulance. Just hold tight.”

“I’ll ride,” Iggy states, and Mickey scoffs, suddenly remembering how he arrived at this.

“You’re the one that did this Fuckface.”

Ian pauses. “If this is some sort of assault case we’re going to have to get the police involved.”

“Nah, not assault, just my idiot brother not knowin’ how to do shit.”

“Fuck you! The board just fell!”

“Cause you fuckin’ dropped it!” He hisses back. “Shit—“ he adds, aching as they placed him on the gurney. “Fuck.”

“Hold still,” Ian commands. “We’ll get you there in a minute. In the meantime, is there anyone we can call? A spouse or…?” Ian notices that there’s no ring on his finger.

“Nah. No spouse, no boyfriend,” Mickey says, swallowing nervously at the last words. He hasn’t been out for long, but this whole living your truth thing he was advised to do rings in his head. He was trying, especially since his father was locked up again.

“Uh, me too,” Ian adds awkwardly. “Boyfriend that is. So uh, what were you doin’ at the church?” He asks, genuinely curious. He wonders if the guy is religious. Not that he’d mind, it’d just be an adjustment. After all, every so often his own father, Frank, went through little religious bouts. Ian can recall many times he had to be dragged to mass because Frank just decided it was what they did now. Then weeks later he’d be back to how he normally is.

“What’s it look like? Was helping with the nativity,” he adds, grimacing at the pain.

As Ian unloads Mickey from the gurney and places him in his room he gives the other a weak smile before going back to work. His heart flutters when he gives another once over at the man. --

The Chicago winter was cold. All Ian wanted to do was be bundled up with his sister’s famous hot cocoa and a blanket, watching holiday movies on TV. But, leave it to his siblings to leave him to do the errands. But, neglecting the errands Ian finds himself wandering to the very same church from that call he was on just a few weeks before.

The doors are unlocked as Ian heads inside, taking a peek at the people congregating. Standing in the back quietly, he watches as the others rehearse, catching a glimpse of the man who now has his leg in a cast. He’s sitting on a pew, leg propped up as he bosses around the others. As soon as he takes notice of Ian, he grabs the crutches and wobbles his way to the back of the church.

“Yeah?” 

“I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by. Y’know, check to see how your leg is doing.”

“S’alright. Fucker’s annoying. You always check in like this to your patients?” Mickey teases.

“Just the ones I like. So, uh, you like this sort of thing? The church an’ stuff.”

“That a pickup line, Red?”

Ian smirks. “Maybe.”

“Mm, well, not really, then.” Mickey shoves his hands into his pocket, trying to not fall over. “Community service. It ain’t picking trash up off the streets.”

“Are you in it?”

“Nah, just building shit. Well, was, until that fucker broke my leg.” He points over at a boy with shaggy hair. “Now I’m just supervisin’.”

Ian chuckles. “In that case, do you uh, wanna maybe grab a bite or something?”

“Like a date?”

“Uh, yeah, if you—“Ian looks down at his phone and sighs. Of course his siblings would interrupt this moment. Mickey quirks a brow. “Sorry, my brothers pestering me. I gotta—Sorry—“ As Ian turns around to head out the door, he curses his siblings.

Mickey follows him out the door, carefully maneuvering his crutches around the ice on the sidewalk. “You just gonna ask then leave?”

Ian feels the buzz from his phone once more, and this time he picks it up angrily. “What? Yes, Carl, tell Debs I got the milk. Fuck!” Ian hangs the phone up annoyed. “Sorry, I really gotta go but uh, here—You gotta pen?”

Mickey grabs at a marker placed behind his ear. “Might be dried out but eh.” He shrugs.

Grabbing the marker, Ian scratches down his information on the thigh area of Mickey’s cast. Call me-Ian followed by a number. Bending back up to hand the marker back, Ian’s eyes flick up to see the snow starting to fall.

“I should probably go back in,” Mickey says, gesturing to the cast on his leg. The snow was starting to fall harder, and Mickey didn’t want fuck up chances and have his cast get wet. Last thing he needed was to have to spend more time in a cast.

“Let me help.” He grabs the inside of Mickey’s arm, helping him back to the inside of the church. There’s tons of mistletoe planted around the church awnings, and while it could be easy to ignore, Ian isn’t one to ignore the tradition. 

Pausing, Ian takes a moment to glance into some of the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. The boy’s cheeks are reddening, and Ian wonders if its blush or from the cold, considering the boy just has on a tattered old hoodie. Gently stroking his cheek and glancing into his eyes, Ian presses his lips to the raven haired boy, surprised as the boy kisses him back. And it’s there, in some old Ukrainian church with lightly falling snow that Ian kisses the boy he swears he’s going to marry one day.

[ian-galagher]

happy secret santa @konaiiro !!

i saw emt!ian and bartender!mickey and i was so inspired <3 <3 i hope you enjoy this little drawing