1 - 20 of 212 Works by sam_writes_fics
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In the summer of 2016, up and coming rock group Sour Milk rose to popularity with the release of their second album, Nothin’ Good, and subsequent nationwide tour. The band, which consists of four siblings native to Chicago, Illinois, first gained popularity on the internet, posting videos of them playing popular covers and a few original songs. Reel Records signed them two years ago, and they’ve been on the rise ever since.
We sat down with every member of the band individually, as well as some of their more well known associates from that summer. Thirteen months after one of the most shocking and memorable performances of their careers and the end of the Nothin’ Good tour, they’re ready to share their story.
// rockstar au
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"O-kay," Ian says, quickly taking him by the shoulders and trying to steer him away from the center of attention.
"Fucking—" Mickey shrugs off his hands, shaking his head hard in a way that looks more like a violent twitch.
"Mickey, you gotta calm down—"
"You fucking calm down!" he says, shoving Ian away from him.
Ian stumbles, but catches himself easily enough. His brows draw together, his brain trying to swim through the fog of his buzz to piece together the problem.
Because there is a problem.
// s5: ian and mickey go to a party and it does not go well
Series
- Part 3 of whumptober 2025
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The whole thing could have been avoided. It should have been avoided, shouldn’t have even been a possibility in the first place.
The walls shake as the front door slams shut. Mickey’s boots stomp in the hall, the sound fading as he gets farther away from the apartment.
Ian folds his arms over his chest, his face still warm from yelling and his adrenaline spike refusing to recede.
It’s fucking ridiculous.
The whole thing is fucking ridiculous.
// post-canon whump
Series
- Part 2 of whumptober 2025
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They cruise along downtown, dodging in and out of traffic with the lights on but no sirens. It’s not until they start to get out of the city completely that he even asks where they’re going.
“Medical transport,” she says easily. “Non-emergent.”
Ian bangs his head against the back of the seat. “Great. What nursing home is it this time?”
“It’s a different kind of transport.”
His brows furrow with curiosity, but before he can open his mouth to ask for clarification, he recognizes something. The highway signs and the exit ramp, the ones he’s been on only a few memorable times before.
He watches as the landscape grows more and more familiar, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
// s7-ish canon divergence
Series
- Part 1 of whumptober 2025
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Ian’s been back on campus for three days, but the long weekend before classes started clearly wasn’t enough. One day in and he already has two essays to write and a lengthy problem set to solve before Wednesday. Everyone said sophomore year was a bitch—and it was—but junior year just might kill him.
He pushes open the glass doors of the South Campus Library and rolls out his neck, his backpack slung over one very tense shoulder. At least this part isn’t new. Ian knows these hallowed halls—all five of them—better than he knows just about anything.
// college/library au
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Hurdling Towards You by cometthespacerock, emopriest, Lostinanalternatereality, sam_writes_fics
Fandoms: Shameless (US)
28 Jul 2025
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First time Olympic qualifier Ian Gallagher arrives in London for maybe his one and only shot at bringing home the gold in the Men's 110m Hurdles. But when he meets a mysterious man on his first night in the Olympic Village, his plans and his priorities get thrown all out of whack.
Ian tries to focus solely on his lifelong goal, the only reason he's in London in the first place, but he can't get this guy out of his head. Maybe he doesn't really want to...
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Donna grins, threading her other hand into the crook of Sam’s elbow, and linking arms with both of them.
“So how often are you actually flirting with my girlfriend?” Josh jokes, the other two giggling together as they make their way down to the gate.
They don’t know where they’re going. They barely have a plan.
// post-canon: the end of a long day for josh, donna, and sam
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“Why the hell are you here, Ian?”
Mickey’s tone is defeated, and his shoulders barely hold their shape. He’s tired. Exhausted, really. Ian can see that in every line of his body, every curve of his face.
There’s so much that Ian wants to say to him, so much he wants to scream across this phone line connecting them, but he can’t. His head is a mess, in more ways than one, and no matter how fast he tries to parse through his tidal wave of emotions, he can’t figure them out.
He broke up with Mickey. Right?
Only now, he can’t really remember why.
“I don’t know,” Ian says honestly, and hopes it’s enough.
(It’s not.)
// s6 rewrite: what could have happened if mickey didn’t go to prison
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"What the fuck."
Mickey groans around the cigarette between his lips, almost growling as he blinks blearily down at his phone, face down on the concrete below him.
His day hasn't even fucking started yet.
He's dropped his phone a hundred times since they bought upgrades a year ago, but he's never heard it make that sound when it fell before.
// post-canon: husbands dealing with a shattered phone screen
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"What's wrong?
Buck blinks slowly, his mind coming back to his body. "What?"
"Come on, Buck. I know you. I know that stare." Eddie folds his arms over his chest and raises his brows at the camera. "What's going on?"
Buck lets out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping with it. "It was a long shift, Eddie. And a long afternoon of doing yard work. I'm fine, I'm just... tired." His brow twitches as he says it, like even Buck doesn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
// post-8x13: eddie facetimes buck and can tell something is off
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"My Mickey," she says to her son. "You're all grown up."
She stares at him and stares at him and stares at him—drinking him in.
He stares right back, eyes wide, unmoving, and says,
"You're supposed to be dead."
// post-canon: mickey’s mom shows up unannounced
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"Tired, big guy?" he mutters, kissing along Ian's jaw.
"No, I just... feel good." Ian tilts his head and Mickey runs his tongue over his pulse point. "That feels good."
"You look good," Mickey says, trailing down his neck. He tugs on Ian's security vest. "Look hot in this shit."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Camo's always been your color."
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"This is fucking crazy."
Ian grins, one hand on the steering wheel and the other fiddling with the radio. "Isn't it better when you can actually see?"
He looks over at Mickey, sitting back in the passenger seat and sliding his new glasses up and down over his eyes. Up and down. On and off. Lenses, no lenses. The gift of sight, blurry oblivion.
"This can't be what normal people see every day," Mickey says, his brows pinching together as he slides his glasses on fully. "Feels like I can see for fucking miles."
// mickey gets glasses
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"Yo!" someone shouts from the other side of the bar. "Can I get a beer?"
When Ian looks up, he locks eyes with someone... familiar. No, not really, he doesn't know the guy or anything, but those eyes... Those piercing blue eyes that he recognizes from before. The ones that couldn't stop staring at him when he was on stage.
The guy raises his brows, two annoyed points that jump up on his forehead. "Are you fucking deaf?"
Ian blinks and his brain shuts down. His wires get crossed or something—the anger and the self-loathing intermix with lust and problem solving—and suddenly he has an idea.
And then a plan.
And absolutely nothing to stop him.
// holiday in handcuffs au
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Mickey jerks awake.
His heart is racing and he's breathing fast. He glances to his right and sees Ian asleep in bed next to him.
It just was a dream. A nightmare, actually.
Mickey tries to slow his breathing, his eyes adjusting to the dark of their bedroom as he stares at the ceiling. He squeezes his hands into fists, then releases.
He digs his knuckles into his eyes and scrubs until he sees stars. It felt so fucking real. He hasn't had a nightmare like that in a long fucking time.
// post-canon: mickey has recurring nightmares
Series
- Part 8 of whumptober 2024
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“Right, yeah. Sorry.” The bartender stutters. “I didn’t mean—”
“S’fine,” Mickey says. The word feels ironic, almost. Nothing about any of this is fine. He’s so fucking far from fine, the word doesn’t even feel real coming off his tongue.
The bartender is—whatever. Mickey doesn’t give a shit about this hipster wannabe trying to be politically correct. It’s the rest of it that does him in. The weight of it all on his shoulders, the blood on his hands.
“Shit’s dark sometimes,” Mickey says quietly, his voice almost unrecognizable even to himself.
He stares at the wood grain on the bar, and he keeps going, because he wants—no, he needs someone else to understand this. Or at least try to.
// post-canon: ian isn’t doing well and mickey drinks to cope
Series
- Part 2 of whumptober 2024
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"Fuck," Ian says, his hand tentatively prodding at his jaw. It hurts like a bitch, but when he runs his tongue over his teeth, at least none of them are missing.
"You okay?" Mickey asks, concerned.
"Yeah," Ian says, nodding. "You?"
"I'm fine," Mickey says, blood falling from his hairline into his eyebrow. He grabs Ian by the shoulder with one hand, gently moves his face around with the other. "Where the fuck are you bleeding from? Why is it all over your shirt?"
"It's not my blood," Ian tells him, but Mickey's eyes still look panicked. "Hey," Ian says, grabbing Mickey by the wrist. "It's not my blood."
// post-canon: ian and mickey try out a new bar on the south side and get jumped in the alley behind it
Series
- Part 7 of whumptober 2024
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"I just don't understand why you have to go there."
Mickey pulls a clean shirt over his head. "Not askin' you to understand." He grabs his jeans off the floor. "Just tellin' you where I'll be."
Ian sits on their bed, arms crossed as he shakes his head. "You really think this is a good idea?"
"Fuck no." Mickey does up his button and zipper. "I never said it was a good idea. I said it's something I have to do."
"Yeah, but why?"
Mickey swipes his phone and wallet off the dresser. "Just do."
// s10: mickey sees his father for the first time in years
Series
- Part 6 of whumptober 2024
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The bags under Ian's eyes have doubled since he left earlier, and he's literally dragging his feet across the living room floor. Despite the tiredness radiating from him, his face melts into a smile the second he sees Mickey. "Hey."
Mickey glares at him while he takes a slow sip of his beer. "Hey? Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
"Uh, no, actually." Ian runs a hand through his hair, his backpack falling off his shoulder so the strap hangs from the bend in his elbow. "Don't honestly know where my phone is. Might be in my locker at the club, or under the bar, maybe."
Mickey eyes him carefully. "It's after three."
// s5: ian comes home exhausted after a long night at the club
Series
- Part 5 of whumptober 2024
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"Mickey, you're hurt," Ian says.
"I'm fine," Mickey repeats, climbing another two steps. He winces as his left foot hits the wood, mutters a quiet, "Fuck," under his breath.
Ian folds his arms over his chest. "Is it your leg or your ribs?"
Mickey looks away and sighs through his nose. "...My ribs. Mostly."
"Can I help you?" Ian asks. "Just up the stairs?"
"Don't need anybody seein' us that close, man," Mickey tells him, climbing another two stairs.
// s2: ian skips school to help patch up a bloodied and bruised mickey
Series
- Part 4 of whumptober 2024