#A.U.gust 2024

[gallavichthings]

A.U.gust 2024

It's almost August again, so time for us to explore alternative universes and see all the other ways in which our boys could fall in love. 😊

For this year, each week will have a general theme, and anything that falls under that theme is allowed, as long as it's original. WIPs, updates or re-imaginings of your own previous works are also allowed (to use someone else's work as inspiration, please ask for their consent before starting).

As always, no sign-ups are needed for this event. Just make sure to mention me using @gallavichthings on the body of your post (you can hide it under a read-more or by using a reblog if you wish to). Posting here on Tumblr is mandatory, but you can host your work somewhere else and post only a link if you want to. There will, of course, be a collection on AO3 (to be announced later).

Some posting suggestions (nothing is mandatory, but it would be courteous):

Tags are to your own discretion, but I suggest tagging NSFW works or hiding them under read-mores (in case of visual posts - fics are normally not an issue).

If you post a long fic on Tumblr in its entirety, it's best to use a read-more in order not to make your post too long and take up a lot of space on people's dashboards and on the tags.

For posting multiple unrelated works on AO3, posting separate works and making them part of one series is better than making each work a chapter of one single fic. That way, you can tag it appropriately and people can more easily find the fic they actually want to read. (That doesn't apply, of course, if your fics are actually connected.)

And without further ado, the themes for each week (please note that a few examples were provided for each week, but they're just a small fraction of what can be done):

Week 1 (01/08-07/08): Seasons/ Holidays (Christmas AUs, summer vacations AUs, New Year's AUs, Halloweeen AUs...)

Week 2 (08/08-14/08): Past/Future (Pirate AUs, Cyberpunk AUs, 1950s AUs, Star Trek AUs...)

Week 3 (15/08-21/08): School/Work (High School AUs, College AUs, Office AUs, Coffee Shop AUs, Tattoo Shop AUs...)

Week 4 (22/08-28/08): Supernatural (Vampire AUs, A/B/O, Soulmate AUs, Superhero AUs...)

Week 5 (29/08-31/08): Free - since this is only half a week, these last three days will be for anything that does not fit any of the other weeks.

If you aren't able to finish your work in time to post it in the designated week, please wait to post it in the last three days. If your AU falls under more than one category, you may post in any week you prefer, according to what you judge to be the most relevant to your work.

I hope that is clear enough, but if not, send me a message and I'll be happy to explain anything further.

And if anyone is in search of some AU ideas, this post contains several AU prompts.

See you in a few weeks!

[sickness-health-all-that-shit]

Accidents happen - a diner AU

“Y’know, to be honest, there’s really only one problem with this job,” Ian says, turning his head to follow a fellow waiter with his gaze, his eyes narrowing. Lip notices the guy giving Ian the stink-eye back and can’t help but burst into a laugh. “I see you’ve been making friends here.” ....... “Okay, so I might have accidentally had sex with him. …Twice.” OR Ian and Mickey work together at a diner. Ian can't stand Mickey and thinks Mickey hates him back. Turns out he was wrong about all of it.

written for A.U.gust 2024 (week 3 - Workplace) hosted by @gallavichthings 💖

thanks to @takeyourpillsbitchh for beta reading this for me 🥰

3k words - read on ao3

[jrooc]

A.U.gust - Workplace - Olympics AU 🥇

==> Holy shit, it was Mickey Milkovich.

Mickey motherfucking Won-the-Olympic-Gold-for-Discus Milkovich. The Mickey who was American but had leveraged his Ukrainian passport to join Team Ukraine. That Mickey Milkovich.

In the flesh.

Walking towards him.

Ian’s brain spun out. Holy shit, he was even hotter in real life. Oh, shit. What was he even wearing? His Team USA Olympic tracksuit. ‘Kay, fine. Had he done his hair? Sort of. It was partially slicked back but also pieces had flopped out. It was gonna have to do. He stood up straighter and puffed out his chest as the other athlete noticed him. He watched in real time as Mickey did a double take and really noticed him.

The moment seemed to slow down as they walked past each other in the hallway of the Paris Olympic stadium.

===

Read A New Personal Best Now.

Rated E for smut purposes.

Wordcount: 5720

Thanks @gallavichthings for hosting!

[sisitrip]

"As Sweet and Soft"

Gallavich A.U.gust 2024

Smell her. She makes an event deadline on time lol.

For Gallavich A.U.gust @gallavichthings 'free week', I'm pulling out something a little different.

A/N and TW: The title of this story is a misnomer of sorts. This is a story that deals with themes of loss, regret, a retelling of an unaliving attempt, abandonment, and unburdening of harmful secrets. But, it also includes, above all, love of family, reconnection and the humorous ways we all try to overcome massive pain because there’s just no right way to do that. Here, there be comedy too (I hope) and moments so special (hoping again), I smiled the entire time I wrote it. 

So, lovely readers, the both of you lol, if the themes I mentioned will bring you harm in any way, feel free to skip this one and peruse other works that will keep you safe. Besides AO3, check out some other Tumblr accounts in the Gallavich fandom that might have offerings for you. This fandom is jammed with phenomenal creatives and I’m so happy they let me say “I go here.” 

With that, please enjoy "As Sweet and Soft."

--------------------------------

Ian walked him to the front and sat him down carefully as if settling a delicate piece of rice paper. With a kiss and a promise to be back after his ‘errand’, Ian left him alone and reeling.

Mickey sat in the loudest quiet he’s ever been unlucky enough to sit in. Churches, somehow more massive inside than out, always seem to bestow their attendees the power to hear the smallest sound; an apologetic peace offering for its chilly welcome.

Mickey flexed that bestowed power to catch a tiny sniffle. The scritch of nails on stockinged legs. A softly sobbed “42 is so young.” He hid behind this cataloging of sounds, all while wrinkling the most threadbare eulogy ever crafted. Panic rising, he stalled, cataloging absences too. His brothers were here, but his father was not. An aunt he’d never met was here, but Ian was not. 

His mother would never be anywhere again.  

“I’m sorry Mr. Milkovich, but we’ll need to get started. We have a wedding scheduled for later,” the priest murmured regretfully, having materialized like a ghost. He should be regretful. The celebration of death shouldn’t be rushed. 

At the lectern, he looked for Ian’s face in the small crowd, but he still wasn’t back. He needed Ian to keep the world from caving in. What errand could be more important than that? 

He smoothed out his speech on the polished, lemon scented wood. But, tears, fat and blinding, made it impossible to read. At sea, he crumpled the eulogy, struggling to articulate this tectonic cut into his life. He cleared his throat, blinking hard, and gave up on doing this justice. He’ll just do it his way.

“I don’t have a lifetime of memories with her to tell you about,” he began, talking to a pillar instead of the people watching him. 

“She left-” He swallowed hard. “She escaped when I was five. It wasn't as dramatic as that sounds. Her disappearance was actually kind of unremarkable, at first.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “For something that rocked us hard, I somehow managed to miss it.”

He pressed his fingers into the wood, grounding himself. 

“It wasn’t until I hurt myself that it finally sank in. Like a lot of five year olds, I thought she’d feel it if I got hurt. Like physically feel my pain. Dumb, I know. But, she always used to magically appear to comfort me and bandage me up whenever I got hurt.”

He cleared his throat, fighting against the drain of tears building up. 

“When my cut went on bleeding and she didn't show up, I knew. I knew without a doubt that she wasn’t coming back. She couldn’t feel me anymore, I told my five year old self. So, I put a paper towel around the cut and I broke every toy car I had. That’s how I was able to let her go. I didn't know it would be harder to let her go this time.” 

A door opened somewhere and footsteps approached softly behind him. He refused to give the priest the benefit of his attention. He was almost done anyway.

“But, I didn’t let go of what I remembered about her. How she always smelled like dryer sheets and mercurochrome. How her blue eyes dilated to near black whenever she laughed too hard, which wasn’t often.”

He couldn’t see the pillar now and the soft sobbing from the attendees was wrecking his ability to get through this. He went on, nearly whispering as he fought his own sobs. 

“I didn’t let go of the memory of her sneaking up behind me, when I was drawing or coloring, and blowing kisses into the back of my neck to make me laugh. To make me feel like … somebody loved me.”

His eyes were streaming freely now and the pillar was a shapeless waterfall of gray. He doesn’t think he can finish. But, a small hand, bearing chipped, black nail polish squeezed his arm. 

Mandy. Beautiful, and here and here and here, filling the crater of his grief with her light and love. She gave him a curved smile through her tears. 

Weakened by surprise and gratitude, he leaned into her, pressing his forehead to hers. A pressing warmth on his other side was unmistakably Ian who held him up with an arm around his back. He could finish now. He could do anything. But, more than anything, he wanted to honor his mother. He took a deep breath.

“Like I said when I started, I don’t have a lifetime of memories to share with you about my mother. But, I have the ones I just told you about and I will treasure them until I die. When she could be m-my mother, she was everything.” 

He broke. His harsh, raw sobs escaped unchecked and the church saw fit to amplify them with heartbreaking clarity. Mandy and Ian pressed in close and helped him back to his seat where he couldn’t let go of their hands. Not even long enough to wipe his face of tears. Mandy took care of that. Face just as wet, she cleaned his cheeks without bothering to clean her own. That hadn’t changed in all the years they grew up together. Ian held his other hand between his own, sleeving it in safety and warmth.

The awful, anxiety ridden part is over. He did what he could to honor someone he’d lost a long time ago and he’s at peace with it. As at peace as anyone could be whose mother died. It’s a fitful kind of peace that settles uneasily like a misshapen shroud you never wanted to wear.

The rest of the service was quick and when Mandy inclined her head to the side door, he and Ian followed her, leaving the receiving line of strangers for the small, grassy graveyard out back. They sat amongst the sunshine and crooked tombstones, faces upturned to a cloudless sky the color of his mother’s eyes. 

“How’d you know?” he asked Mandy, taking in her shaggy black hair and pierced septum.

“Your hubby tracked me down a few days ago, bought me a ticket. Got me here to the church in record time.” She threw grass at Ian who just smiled softly at her. “He drives like a criminal.”

He caught Ian’s gaze, heart burning inside him. 

“Errand, huh?” he asked, chin trembling. He will never do anything better than marrying this man. 

Ian winked at him then turned to Mandy.

“You’re staying with us for a few days,” Ian said, cleaning grass off his pants. 

He and Mandy exchanged amused looks. Ian had used his “argue with me and find out” voice. 

“Eww, on the Westside? Do I need to get my shots before they let me in?” Mandy teased. 

Ian stood and yanked her to her feet with a smile. “No shots required for family,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His mother’s dark hair.

They laughed, easy and comfortable, as if no time had passed. He wished his mother could see this enduring friendship between his sister and the man she wouldn’t let him give up on. 

Ian and Mandy held out their hands to him and he squinted against the sun and their openly loving expressions, blinded by both. He’s going to remember this moment forever. His favorite people are smiling down at him and it was as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck. 

When he’s pulled to his feet, he can’t help the impulsive kiss to each of their cheeks, surprising them. He shrugs. It’s that kind of day. 

“You want to go to the repass?” Ian asked, arms around the both of them as they walk through the shrines of people who will keep his mother company. 

“No,” he said, looking at Mandy. “You?” 

She gave the graveyard a sad, final look. “No. Let’s just get out of here. We’re disturbing the sleepers.”

They found Iggy and Colin shuffling around in front of the church, looking uncomfortable in their ill fitting suits. He’d told them not to bother dressing up, and was touched that they hadn’t listened. When his brothers saw Mandy, they broke into twin grins. 

“Dickhead 1 and 2, what’s good?” Mandy called, grinning too. Before they answered, she dropped her purse and took a run at them, arms wide. If there was anything good to be had from this awful day, it was his brothers happiness at seeing their sister. 

Iggy and Colin caught her and lifted her between them in a hug that at first was full of smiles then descended into tears. Mandy wiped their faces with the sleeve of her jacket and they touched her hair, trying to smile through their tears. Another moment as sweet and soft as a kiss to the back of the neck.

“What’s this shag shit?” Iggy husked as she cleaned his face.  

“Wolf cut. Easier to take care of.” Mandy cleaned Colin’s face next as he flipped a hank of her hair. 

“Call it whatever you want. It’s a mullet,” Colin said fondly while very gently cleaning her face with his tie and pressing a kiss into her cheek. “You look butch. I like it.”

“Ian,” Mandy called, smiling at Colin. “Can I bring these two weepy little bitches?” 

Ian picked up Mandy’s bag and looked at him with a soft, questioning smile. He shrugged. It would feel good to have his siblings in the house tonight. 

“Alright, listen up. Anyone of you fart, and I mean one damn fart, and everybody is getting kicked out except Mickey and Mandy,” Ian warned with a smile, linking hands with him. 

At their place, Colin ordered a ton of UberEats from every restaurant within a mile and they got comfortable down to their t-shirts and boxers. He knows the circumstances are different, but it felt like it did when Terry left for long stretches and they’d buy fast food with the money they pooled together. It’s how they celebrated the gift of peaceful days and no fresh bruises.

He smiled when Mandy padded out of their bathroom wearing one of Ian’s shirts, looking adorable and small. With a burger in her mouth, she whipped out a bottle of black nail polish and shook it while eyeing her brothers meaningfully. He knows what’s coming and her habit, born out of a need to self soothe, is exactly what they need.

He and his brothers took off their socks and while they ate, laughed and drank, Mandy painted their toes. It broke his heart a little to see her shoulders relax with each painted toe, a reminder of how she used to cope.

Ian bounced questioning eyebrows at him while Mandy painted Iggy’s toes.

“Mandy would paint our toes when she was upset,” he explained. “Been doing it since she was like what, Col?

“Four?” Colin answered. 

“Three,” Iggy chimed in, pointing a drumstick at Mandy. “I had more paint in between my toes than my actual fucking toenails.”

Mandy threw a french fry at him.

“Better than what you got between your goblin toes now. Was that dryer lint in there?” she asked, moving on to start on Colin’s toes.

“Could be. Or it could be cat hair. I like the mystery.” Iggy wiggled his now black-painted toenails. “Speaking of mystery, what’s up with your bare toes? Never saw you go one day without painted toes when you were home.”

Mandy smiled. “Stopped needing to do it. That should tell you something about my level of peace, yeah?” She started painting Mickey’s toes next. “Who wants to play Dead Body?” 

Ian swallowed his bite of cheeseburger, eyes popped wide. “Dead body?” he parroted weakly.

“Yeah. When we were little, we used to compare the times we all saw a dead body,” Iggy said, eating a slice of pizza. 

“You did this, why?” Ian asked. 

“Because, it was better than comparing bruises,” Mickey murmured, forking into his burrito bowl, toenails painted coffin black now. He doesn’t hate it.

Ian gave him such a soft, sad look, Colin scoffed.

“Of all the brutal shit we endured, seeing a dead body was like getting hit in the face with a pillow. Don’t sweat it, Ian,” Colin dismissed. “I’m going first. Mattara, alley. Gut stuck.”

“My turn,” Iggy said. “Lipotzik, train tracks. Froze to death. They had to crack his ass in half.”

“Don’t know her name,” Mandy said, “But, the girl who OD’d in the massage parlor. I saw them taking her out.”

He wasn’t going to join this game, especially because he’d never told anyone about it. But, now that his mother was truly gone, it didn’t feel like telling someone else’s secret. Not anymore.

“I saw Mom dead once. I mean before this time. She died twice.” 

His quiet comment silenced the room. Poor Ian. His face crumpled when he realized that Mickey wasn’t joking. 

“What are you talking about?” Mandy asked, sticking the nail polish brush back in the bottle. 

He looked at his painted toes while he spoke. 

“I got up one night. Had to pee real bad. I used to hold it because even a toilet flushing would set off Terry if he was trying to outsleep a hangover.”

Mandy scooted closer. Iggy and Colin did the same, food forgotten. He went on, speaking from a place of surreal memory. 

“I couldn’t hold it though, so I went into the bathroom. The first thing I saw were her feet. They were pruney and blue looking. Wet too. She was all wet.”

Ian got up and sat behind him, tucking him into the vee of his legs. 

“She wasn’t moving and Terry was kissing her. Or, I thought it was kissing at the time. I realized later he was giving her, you know, mouth to mouth or whatever. See, he’d … he’d pulled her out of the tub where she’d drowned herself.” 

Of all the heavy things he’d wanted to lay to rest today, this secret had to be heaviest.

“Terry kept giving her mouth-to-mouth. He didn’t even notice me standing there. I … I pissed myself when I saw her face.” He inhaled shakily. “Her eyes were open and she wasn’t blinking. She was just … blue.”

Colin and Iggy exchanged grim looks, but said nothing. 

“I must’ve said something. Maybe called her name. Terry kept pressing on her chest and snarled at me to get out. I couldn’t leave so I kind of squatted down and grabbed her cold foot thinking I could help him. Maybe help her.” 

Ian entwined his arms around his waist, and leaned him back into his chest while he finished in a rush, wanting it out and over. 

“She eventually blinked, coughed up a shit ton of water and started breathing again. She saw me and the first thing she did was shove Terry away, told him to get out. When he did, she put me in the same water that she’d drowned herself in, crying the entire time she washed me. Later, Terry told me if I said anything about what happened, everyone would know it was my fault. I knew that wasn’t true, but it felt like it was. At the time. Eventually I didn’t have to say anything because she left a month after that.”

He didn’t cry with the memory. Maybe because it hadn’t felt like a memory at all. It was more like a dream. Blue, cold and unreal in all its horrible detail. 

Colin broke the hold the memory had on him. “Christ, if I could bring Terry back to beat him to death, I would.” 

Iggy took an emotional swig of the Jack Daniels he was clutching, face red and working. “Me first, you second. That fucking fuck.” 

Mandy tossed back the rest of her wine. “Me first and the two of you can hold him.” 

“I’m calling the roster,” Ian interrupted, squeezing Mickey tight. “Mickey gets the first punch, then Iggy and Colin can hold him after they’re done so Mandy can kick him in those two shriveled things he used to call his nuts.” Ian gave his temple a hard kiss. “Me last so I can be the one to wiggle my big, gay dick at him in farewell.”

His brothers and sister held their silence for a single beat before falling into wild laughter. But, instead of laughing himself, he gave Ian a soft, sad kiss of understanding. Ian looked a little pale despite his effort to joke. The story had affected him too. He can see it in the tightness around Ian’s eyes. His story was one of the horrible things they had in common - children of mothers who got a second chance after giving up completely, but who had to leave their children to survive.

“You okay?” he asked Ian, cupping his face. “I probably shouldn’t have brought that up. I wasn’t trying to trigger whatev-” 

Ian pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, his eyes and his mouth last. 

“There. That worry right there. That’s how I know I couldn’t have picked a better husband.” Ian kissed his nose. “I’m good, baby.”

The Milkovich siblings watched this exchange silently, but exploded into gagging noises when Mickey kissed Ian three times in succession, surprising him. Again, today was that kind of day.

“Death makes both of you literal pussies,” Iggy said, laying down to put his head on Mandy’s lap.

“Seeing as how all you do is chase and admire pussy, what you’re really saying is that you want what they have,” Mandy retorted, bouncing Iggy’s head. 

Iggy opened his mouth to argue, but shrugged instead and settled for stealing a fry off Mandy’s plate.

“He definitely wants what they got. But, it takes him twice as long to chase pussy, and when he finally gets some, he’s in that shit for like a minute,” Colin said, slapping Iggy’s foot. “One minute, motherfucker.”

That’s all it takes. Iggy’s up and wrestling Colin while Mandy laughs and picks up her wine to avoid its destruction. Ian calls out a foul hold every now and then, tucking Mickey into his chest to avoid the wild foot swings. 

He smiled, watching it all from the safety of Ian’s arms. This wasn’t a repass that anyone would find dignified and he doesn’t give a shit. This was healing. As healing as any monotone gathering where cookie cutter condolences just made you feel oily and ill at ease.

This was what his mother would’ve wanted. Food, laughter. Love. No eulogy could've honored her more than this.

They stayed up late enough to finish the booze and food. Mandy claimed the couch and the boys curled up on the armchair and floor in front of the fireplace. He checked on them a few times before letting himself be pulled to bed where he lay, eyes hot and unblinking. 

The story he’d told had shaken something loose inside him that he couldn’t quite knit back together. His mother was gone for real. No pruney toes. No gout of coughed up water. No tears as she cleaned him in the water of her death.

She was gone.

Ian settled close to him, and the small lump in his throat became a boulder. It forced him to cry to alleviate the pressure, or so he told his cowardly soul. His tears turned into sniffling. Soft sobs, helplessly cried into Ian’s chest, followed. The quiet crying became harsh barks of pain and he curled into Ian trying to escape it all. Ian took him in his arms and cupped the back of his head to murmur nonsensical sounds of comfort. If only it was as simple as that. Soft words and a firm hug to clear away the pain. God, he wished it was that easy.

A soft knock on their bedroom door preceded Mandy padding in. His crying must’ve called her. It always did. Even when it meant she might catch a beating, Mandy always slipped into his bed  and hugged him until he stopped crying.

She did the same thing now, climbing over Ian to lay on his other side. She put an arm around his waist and he cried harder. For her, for his mother. For all of them.

Another soft knock. Iggy and Colin padded in with pillows and blankets. They settled down on the floor on either side of the bed without saying a word. Ian, God bless him, just smiled into his hair and gave him a squeeze, letting him know it was alright. 

After everyone settled down, the room was quiet and filled with the blue-tinged light of the moon and their collective breathing. 

“I think it goes without saying that we expect y’all not to fuck while we’re in here,” Colin said quietly from the floor. 

Iggy snorted from the other side of the bed. Soon, they were all laughing. 

Ian leaned over, kissed Mandy on the cheek, leaned down over her to slap Iggy on the chest then leaned all the way back to slap Colin on the top of his head. When he settled back down, he gave Mickey the softest, sweetest kiss. It was exactly what he needed. This closeness is what they all needed. 

As he started to fall into sleep, a gentle, almost melodic fart rang out. The bed shook as he, Ian and Mandy struggled not to be the first to laugh aloud.

“I can still stay, right Ian?” Iggy whispered from the floor, his plea a confession. 

They all dissolved into giggles, hissed softly between teeth. It was cleansing, this infantile humor. It was also a way for motherless children to find comfort and laughter in the dark.

“Yeah,” Ian said, breathing soft laughter into Mickey’s hair. “You can stay.”

He hid his face in Ian’s neck to let the warm pulse there soothe him towards sleep. He faded to the sound of the occasional laugh from his family, glad he was surrounded by the people who love him. 

And he can’t be sure, but just as he made his final descent into sleep, he felt something that eased his pain enough for him to sink into unconsciousness. 

A kiss, soft and sweet, pressed into the back of his neck.

[wehangout]

Fast & Furious: Chicago Drift

Summary: The rest of the drive would be awkward if you told him to stop. He’s right. Thing is, the rest of the drive will be awkward after the fact if you don’t tell him to stop, so …

Might as well make it fucking count.

Written for fun. Posted for A.U.gust 2024. Read on AO3

@gallavichthings

[blue-disco-lights]

✨✨ A.U.Gust 2024 ✨✨

The Night Shift ~ A Workplace AU 🪩

The vibe at the club usually shifts at around midnight. What starts with flirty mingling and suggestive eye contact becomes bold and confident full-body connection. The DJ switches it up from pop diva hits to a steady pounding beat, drawing even the most reluctant out to the dance floor.

Tonight, in the center of it all, the two men appear. They’re standing on one of the dance platforms, usually only occupied by one chiseled body in sequined shorts. It’s odd to see two men up there, one dressed in plain street clothes, plaid shirt open at the neck, surprisingly seductive for a guy who looks so damn agitated.

The rest… on AO3

Words: 2,000

Tags: Flirting & Fluff :)

Thank you @gallavichthings for hosting this event! Thanks to @mybrainismelted for the read-through and sounding board!

[mybrainismelted]

Saddle Up - an AUgust fic

My first entry for AUgust 2024 hosted by @gallavichthings

Gallavich on a Dude Ranch? My brain really is melted. thanks to @blue-disco-lights and @ms-moonlight-inn for the beta and editing help!

[suzy-queued]

A.U.gust is here!!! I'm writing a story, one chapter a day.

A Song Only You Can Hear

Chapter 1: Shot A tragedy sets Ian on a quest for Mickey's soul. Read here

@gallavichthings

[konaiiro]

AU if Ian is in the military and Mickey is inevitably waiting for him. 

Started as a sketch then i got carried away. For A.U.gust (Hosted by @gallavichthings). Some accompanying drabble bc I fell in love when drawing them:

The last time Ian Gallagher was back home, he was doing time at Cook County for breaking parole. Only for a couple months, but Micky had missed the man by a week when he had left for another tour. A failed drug test had just costed him more than he was ready to pay. Ian had come to visit him anyways, wore his camouflage gear with badges and all; the security guards always loved a man in uniform. Still, it hadn’t been the same through the glass. So close he could see Ian’s chest rise and fall, his dimples sliding on to his face with amusement as Mickey had ranted on about his cellmate - so close to touch but all he could do was pretend until the fifteen minutes were up. 

This time, Ian hadn’t even told him he was in town - only finding out when he opened his front door with a beer in hand with a singlet and boxers on. “Hey, Mick.”

He knew his face must’ve looked stupid because Ian cracked up before going in for a hug. Micky let him, not giving a shit about his family inside and folded his own arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He had never gotten changed so quickly, desperate to get Ian to himself, as the man lounged on his bed and pretended he wasn’t watching Mickey by fiddling around with the decade-old kunai knifes. They stopped for booze and a pack of smokes on the way. After a quick makeout against the alley wall, the two of them continued on, pushing and shoving to give each other a reason to touch. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as it was just them where Mikey could do more than take glances at Ian’s army issued cargos. He looked good - ginger hair shaved on the sides, his shirt fit snug, skin tanned as much his pale Irish genes let it. There was the scar too - a slash across his cheek that won’t fade completely. Ian hadn’t mentioned it, so he wouldn’t either. 

They dumped their haul on a secluded bench and drank a disgusting whiskey-and-orange juice combo. Ian said it was good enough, but Mickey blamed that on the moonshine shit that he must’ve usually had on hand in the middle of trying not to get shot. They didn’t talk about his tours, in the same way they didn’t talk about court mandates or prison or deals gone wrong. The closest was if there was a stupid story to get a laugh out of each other. No point in talking about all the fucked-up stuff in their lives - they’ve only got until Ian has to leave again. The two of them drank some more, smoked a bit, kissed, jerked each other off until Ian turned around, placing the barely alive joint into Mickey’s mouth before bending him over the bench. They had a lot to catch up on. 

Before this last tour, Micky had been in prison. Two tours ago, they had first held each other in Ian’s childhood bedroom, knuckles split and bodies bruised from the brawl with Terry. He tried not to think about how his life was now segmented into pieces by the brief lapses of Gallagher being back in town - even if it was true. Micky thought about the inevitable homecoming party for Ian at the Alibi tonight and tried not to think about how two weeks was not a long time at all. 

[sleepingkings22]

A.U.gust 2024 Week 2 Submission

Don't Let Me In (With No Intention to Keep Me)

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As he approached the door, reaching out preemptively to wrench the metal knob open, to make his entrance known. The owner was a coward, his wife’s personal bitch. Mickey paid him a visit whenever he needed a snack on the go, something to mildly fill the echoing cavern that was his stomach. He adjusted his jacket, listening to the metal detailing jingle just as the door did as it slammed outward. Mickey’s body moved before his mind could even process what happened, feet stumbling backwards to make room for a new person; somebody who surely would’ve crashed into him otherwise. Manicured nails poked the victim– a lanky, ginger boy with freckles sprayed across his cheeks– in the chest. The guy didn’t even fight it. He only flinched as the woman shut it back in his face.

“The fuck was that all about, huh?” Mickey’s words were prickled with venom.

Eyes, the same color as shattered beer bottles, flicked over. The acknowledgement was brief, however, and he brushed past Mickey with murmured apologies and a shrug. Mickey looked over his shoulder, spitting, “Yeah, real helpful, asshole!”

-

As always, thank you to @gallavichthings for hosting this wonderful event! This was inspired off of their 50's suggestion for week two. You can read the full work here.

[firendeavor]

Aaaand with less than an hour to spare, I rush in with a WIP! This is a snippet from the middle of a longer fic that I originally wanted to post for Week 3, but life got in the way. So thank you for @gallavichthings for hosting A.U.gust 2024 and hopefully I'll be back sometime next month for the full thing!

And without further ado, I present to you:

The Emergency Services Meet-Cute AU!

Mickey doesn’t show up at any of Ian’s calls for a good few weeks after their first encounter, so when Sue pulls the rig to a crawl in front of someone’s yard and gestures to a couple of firefighters carrying a ladder, Ian’s already squinting to try and make out any distinguishing features.

“Hey, isn’t that… What’s-his-name?” 

“Mickey!” Ian confirms, probably a little too enthusiastically if Sue’s snort is anything to go off of. But she’s right, it is him, the new firefighter that set up camp in his mind after one singular chance encounter.

“Mickey,” Sue repeats knowingly. Ian doesn’t even have to look at her to know the teasing grin that's plastered over her face. He shakes his head as if to say don’t start and it immediately sets her off laughing. “You’re terrible, Ian. Are you working your way through the entire fire brigade? You’ve dated Caleb, Oscar, Nathan–”

“Newton.”

“Even worse! Now you’re going after Mickey too?”

“I met him once!” Ian huffs, defensively. “A month ago, and he was friendly. So sue me for wanting to get along with the other departments.”

“Something tells me you get along a little too well with the fire department.”

Ian ignores her lighthearted jab, rolling down the window just in time to see Mickey scoop up a small, nervous kitten and tuck it against his shoulder.

“What is this, an after school special?” He calls, grinning as Mickey struggles to find the source of the voice. 

When he spots the ambulance beneath him, he cracks a smile and shakes his head. “Fuck off, Gallagher.”

So he remembers Ian’s name? Granted, it’s the one on his patch and not the one he gave Mickey when they first met, but a win is a win. “Do you reckon you can play the sirens for me, Mr Firefighter?”

Mickey laughs and hooks his arm through the rungs of the ladder so he can shoot Ian the bird without having to let go of the kitten latched tightly to the fabric of his jacket. “You want me to do an oil fire demonstration for you later too?”

“You’re making my day, Milkovich.” Behind him, Sue snorts. Ian deigns to ignore her again. “They’ve really got you out here saving cats?”

“Slow day,” Mickey shrugs, but the moment the words are out of his mouth he freezes up like a statue. “Oh fuck.”

As if the EMT Gods are listening, Ian and Sue’s radios crackle to life and alert them to a minor accident only a couple of blocks away.

Mickey grimaces apologetically, his own radio remaining completely silent. “Sorry, man.”

“You bastard,” Ian teases, unable to feel too upset - not when he's feeling this giddy at getting a chance to talk to Mickey again. “Enjoy the sunshine, Doctor Doolittle. I'll catch you later.”

As they pull away, Ian catches sight of Mickey in the rear view mirror with one hand in the air, flipping him off again, and the other cradling the kitten. He doesn’t need Sue to tell him about the smitten look he’s sporting as they floor it to their next call.

[gallavichthings]

Three days till A.U.gust!

[sisitrip]

"The End is Nai"

Gallavich A.U.gust

Sigh. I missed the Gallavich A.U.gust 2024 @gallavichthings week for supernatural themed works. So, I'm just flinging this out there because it's my first demon related work and it is mess-ay.

That said, I had fun. Hope you enjoy "The End is Nai."

________________________

“Father, please take these feelings from me or end my life as your servant,” Mickey whispered, slipping inside the cool building. A blasphemous plea coming from someone who does not pray. But, it was critical. 

His desire could end his life in this church today. 

The familiar pew creaked softly under his weight as if in greeting. It wouldn’t be far off to say he and this church knew each other well. They should. Together, they’d killed enough demons in its walls to make them old friends.

Basilica de Guadalupe’s beautiful stone structure swam with the cloying scent of incense. But, the few parishioners in attendance couldn’t smell it like he could. The simple chemical warning told his senses that a malevolent presence was near. He could practically feel the target. It was close.

A sudden press of cold smoked air painfully tightened the skin all over his body.

“Why do the churches in Mexico keep using the Three Kings Pontifical Blend? That incense smells like poor choices dipped in potpourri. I prefer Will & Baumer. The French variety, mind you.”

Nai’s lofty comment startled him more than his materialization next to him. Caught unaware for the first time in years, he cursed softly and turned to the demon, telling himself not to be impressed by what he saw. Instead of a vicious battle face, he was met with a soft smile and curious green eyes. It rattled him that Nai didn’t seem ready to fight, especially since it was their job to kill each other.

“Prefer the Gloria F8 blend myself,” he finally mumbled, heart speeding. He allowed himself to gaze at Nai’s straight, fiery red hair. It was lightly waved at the root, as if fighting to curl. He wondered if curls would suit Nai and if they would feel as soft as he imagined. 

“Oh my, a non-traditionalist.” Nai tilted his head in a disarming way and continued with a purring that had him rooted to the spot. “I wonder what your bosses in Citta del Vaticano would do if they knew. Flagellation, hopefully? The rope enthusiast in me is practically rigid at the thought.” A slow smile spread across Nai’s perfect features.

He stiffened. Flirting? In a church? Nai shifted toward him, bringing the full power of that face to bear down on his indifference. In response, his tattoos grew heavy on his skin, warming the air in anticipation of an attack. 

“My bosses ain’t none of your business,” he said, making the mistake of looking Nai in the eyes. 

He was immediately lost.  

The taste of chocolate entered his mouth, rich and thick. It was mixed with the slight savory taste of peanuts, caramel and something else. Something even sweeter than chocolate. 

“Nougat,” Nai whispered knowingly, the cold smoke scent radiating off him as he inched closer. “Creamy nougat. A main ingredient in your favorite candy bar.”

He gritted his teeth. The flagrant invasion of his senses triggered a small tremor, showering dust from the ceiling. While he got a coating, Nai was spared. The dust floated in a corona-like crown around the demon’s head, as if unwilling to settle on something so unholy.

“Sensory infusement of a candy bar is entry level at best,” he said disdainfully, brushing dust off his shoulders. “Are we dehydrated? There’s a bowl of water in the back. Help yourself.”

Nai’s verdant eyes danced with amusement. “I’ll be saying ‘no thank you’ to the offer of lethally blessed water. And to prove I’m less violently inclined than you, you should know I’m utterly wounded by how unimpressed you are. We can’t have that. Let me try again.”

The taste of sour cherry, silkily warm, filled his mouth. Not just the sour cherry, but also the sweet dough surrounding it and the butter it was tossed in. He could even taste the dollop of sour cream. Vareniki. A dish his mother made for him when he was a sick child. Before she abandoned him. He blinked, stunned. 

“Ah, a direct hit,” Nai whispered, delighted. “Maybe I’ll make vareniki for you one day. Just like your incubator used to mak-”

He grabbed the front of Nai’s white linen shirt, fisting it hard. 

“She was my mother. Not a fucking incubator,” he said through his teeth. “Watch yourself, dyavol.”

Nai merely smiled at him, unbothered. “I should give you the same advice. Your tattoos are about to set this place on fire.” 

The air around them grew hotter and the wood varnish on the pews began to bubble and smoke in reaction to the energy his tattoos were emitting. He had to calm down, but Nai was making that impossible with his proximity and his smile. Incredibly, Nai inched closer still and their thighs ghosted against each other. He forced himself to let Nai’s shirt go and instead simply stared at him while he was sized up as well. He fought the urge to smooth his hair.

“You have a black ring around your irises,” Nai murmured, leaning in a little and stunning his senses. “Which one of us gave you that?”

He let Nai sweep a bit of dust from his temple and resisted leaning into the touch. 

“Vorter.”

Nai sighed while running his eyes greedily over his face. 

“Oh, he is particularly nasty, that one. You might not believe this, but I severed my bond with him after what he did to your Ignatius. Tell me, has he recovered the use of his sight?”

Another tremor. This one was strong enough to rattle the stained glass windows. 

“No thanks to Vorter. And what do you mean bond? Bond like what, like a … boyfriend bond?” He was sweating.

Nai chuckled and dragged his gaze up and down his body, pale lashes sweeping his cheeks prettily.

“We're no different than the bleating cattle you protect. We prefer companionship too.”

He stiffened. “Fuck you. People aren’t cattle and neither am I.” 

Nai sniffed the air between them, putting an arm around the back of his seat. The sensitive skin between his shoulders sang from the whisper of Nai’s tracing thumb. A simple touch and he's lost again. God, help him.

“Oh, I agree. You're like a spring lamb and smell just as sweet. Even your anger is intoxicating to my senses. The things you make me imagine, Mikhailo.”

Nai offered up his name delicately for the first time, like a hot house flower opening for the briefest moment. They stared at each other as the church started to violently shake around them. 

“Looks like your time is up,” he whispered as Nai grimaced in pain. The church’s air intensified its invisible defense system, pulling small grains of black sand from Nai’s freckled cheeks where he brushed them off like so many flies. 

“So it seems.” Nai stood, all six feet of him. “No matter though. I think this little experiment was a success.” 

With a soft, inward flex of air, Nai apparated midwalk into the aisle, startling a veiled parishioner. She stared in horror from behind her black lace veil and crossed herself. If only it was that easy to kill Nai’s kind.

“What experiment?” he called after Nai, tattoos no longer heavy, but sliding around his skin ready to be weaponized. He didn’t want this to be over yet.  

“Proximity test. I wanted to see how long we could be face to face before it became … unpleasant,” Nai called back, still walking. 

He rolled his eyes. 

“You know what happens when you get near one of us. It’s been established since the beginning of time.”

Nai turned and walked backwards with a smile that slowed the pace of his heart. Even though Nai should be repugnant for simply being what he was, he couldn’t see anything but his beauty. He was certain of nothing anymore.

“Oh, I’m aware of what happens to your ancient markings in our presence. I didn’t mean that type of proximity.” 

He stepped into the aisle too, shaking dust out of his hair. The church growled from its rafters to its foundation, pulling screams from the few parishioners. He barely heard it.

“Then what kind of proximity test?” he asked, desperate to keep Nai a few more moments. 

Nai stopped and the church thumped hard on its foundation, sending the congregants running for the back exits.

“My proximity to the man and not the Vatican weapon.” Nai’s jovial smile slipped and his confusion was plain. “It’s just that, really it's a bit, you probably wouldn’t understa-” 

“Today, dyavol,” he interrupted, tattoos singing to be let loose.

The confusion fled Nai’s face completely and all that was left was soft, vulnerable wonder.

“I …,” Nai smiled ruefully. “I didn’t expect to like you.”

The church rumbled hard around them, sending small pieces of painted stone ceiling to the floor. A crack signaled a larger piece coming loose above him, opening the roof to send a beam of sunlight directly onto Nai, bathing him in a beatific glow. Mesmerized, he forgot to duck, not that he would have cleared the space in time. But, the impact he expected never came. He looked up and the stone slab, about thirty feet wide and possibly weighing a ton, hovered in the air, held there by two of Nai’s relaxed, raised fingers. With a gentle flick, the slab shot into the confession box, shattering it. He almost felt sorry for the priest who’d been watching from the lectern with wide eyes. The poor man screamed and fled the pulpit. 

“I hope you’re not waiting for a thank you,” he said, brushing dust off his shoulders, heart hammering.

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” Nai replied, Its dark hilarity back in place. “I’ll settle for a drink the next time we cross paths though. Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Grand Cru. 1945 is my preference if you can find it.”

With that, Nai stepped out into the sunshine. The quaking church stilled, leaving him in dazed silence. 

He sighed as his tattoos resumed their place on his knuckles. The Sede was going to lose its shit over this. The story of how a demon got close enough to kill, yet walked away alive was going to be required at his Rome debriefing. Malene was going to kill him for the headache coming her way.

But, all he could think about was where he was going to find a Romanee-Conti burgundy, circa 1945.

[suzy-queued]

Thanks for checking out my A.U.gust story! It's so much fun to plot out a story in 31 tiny pieces.

Chapter 3: Independence Read chapter 3 here | Start from the beginning

@gallavichthings

[suzy-queued]

A tragedy sets Ian on a quest for Mickey's soul. An A.U.gust story, one chapter a day.

Chapter 2: Christmas Read chapter 2 here | Start from the beginning

@gallavichthings

[gallavichthings]

It's the last day of the first week of A.U.gust! Last day* for the fics about seasons/holidays.

Starting next week, the theme is Past/Future!

*reminder that late works can be posted on the last days of the month