Your favourite Cheshire grin

Another day, Another ficlet. Not much to say about this one, it's just what came to me. I think its kinda sad but sweet too.

Enjoy!

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“I used to walk into antique shops and ask if they had old style genie lamps. Like the ones in Aladdin, you know? Figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Ian is sitting in the waiting room at his doctor's office. He’s been a bit down lately, so he’s here for a check-up. See if his meds need some adjusting. They probably do. He’s not thrilled about that, but he also wants to stop feeling this way. 

“And this is when I was little. After watching the movie. I would lay in bed at night thinking about all the things I would ask for. I’d get money for the house. Or an infinite supply of food. Or I’d ask to grow faster so that I could stand up for myself when Frank was being an asshole.” He sighs. The receptionist, Mickey, is walking around his desk, going over to the tea and coffee station they keep. Ian knows he’s listening, and he also knows that he is going to make Ian some tea. He’s nice like that. He doesn’t say much, but he’s always been nice to Ian. 

“When I got older my wishes got different. To be smarter, to be stronger. I wanted to join the Army, but I sort of didn’t want to just enlist. I wanted to make it to West Point.” He tries to laugh at that, but the thing that comes out of his mouth is more like a defeated scoff. “It was a way out. A way to make something of myself.” Mickey brings him a cup of tea and he leaves it on the table next to him. “Thanks.” 

Mickey dismisses him with a wave. “Drink up, Red. The doctor is not ready for ya just yet.” 

Ian takes a small sip, careful not to burn himself. “At some point I think I would have wished for a boyfriend too. Someone who actually… saw me. Loved me.” Ian is not going to get into the Kash and Ned of it all. He’s not going to expand on the other countless men who came after them, men who never gave him what he wanted or needed, but took all they wanted and then some from Ian. 

Mickey raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m gay”, Ian adds, “I don’t think it ever crossed my mind to wish for heterosexuality though”, he says in what he hopes comes out in a lighter tone. Mickey gives him a small smile. 

“After I got diagnosed, I think I would have used my wish on not being ill. It's three wishes, right? I would have given up the other two if I could have gotten that one thing.” He sighs. He's  talking so that he doesn’t totally go under. If he stops talking, he knows it gets worse. 

Some other patient comes out of the office and Ian watches as Mickey helps them. He’s polite and respectful and not too friendly. It suits him, he thinks. If Ian is being honest, Mickey was part of what helped him make the decision to stick with this doctor.  He doesn’t particularly like coming or having to show up whenever he starts feeling a certain way. But at least he gets to see Mickey and somehow it helps make it better. Ian would be lying if he said he hasn’t had a crush on the guy since forever. They talk or… well. Ian talks, Mickey listens. Ian has never found a way or a moment though, to shoot his shot. To find out of there could be something there. The fact that he shows up to this place when he's  not necessarily feeling like himself hasn't helped either.

“What would you wish for now?” Mickey asks, taking Ian out of his reverie. 

“Now? I…” Ian thinks about it. Before he can really get into it, he hears the little buzzer that tells Mickey that the doctor is ready to see Ian. 

“Go right ahead, Red. Dr. Martel is ready for ya”. 

Ian gets up slowly and he makes his way to the office. He feels like such an old man sometimes, when he’s down like this. Moving takes a while, personal hygiene and grooming is a nightmare, eating is a chore. Mickey smiles at him, “See ya when you’re done”, he says, and Ian takes solace in the fact that even though he’s here because of a very specific thing, he gets to see Mickey on his way in and on his way out. 

The session lasts an hour. Just as Ian expected, he’s gonna need a med adjustment, a few days off work, the whole thing. It sucks but he’s grateful. He caught it in time, he took the necessary steps, he did right by himself. A few years ago that wouldn’t have happened. He didn’t even have access to all these resources, he didn’t know how to deal with it. He does now. 

He walks outside and he goes over to Mickey’s desk. 

“How was it?”

Ian shrugs. “Gotta come back in a few days. Med adjustments.”

Mickey helps him set up the next appointment and then helps him with the insurance stuff, which Ian has never been able to figure out by himself. 

“Your brother’s picking you up?” Mickey asks.

Ian nods, “Yeah, he should be here in a few minutes”. Lip usually drives him, when he comes in for stuff like this. 

“So, wanna tell me?”

“What?”

Mickey smiles at him. It’s soft and it’s warm and it makes Ian wanna live there. He needs to find out how to live there. “What would you wish for now?”

He thought about it. While he was in there, with the doctor. The doctor said it couldn't hurt to think about things he can look forward to once this little dip is over. Stuff he wants to do, people he wants to see. Ian immediately thought of that warm smile, those blue eyes. Of the crush he’s had for over a year, of how he always talks and how Mickey always listens. The tea, the special nickname. 

“A date.” Ian finally says. “With you”, he adds quietly. 

He is not even sure if Mickey is gay or not, he doesn’t know if he’s single or not. And Ian is in no position to actually go on that or any other date at the moment, but he thinks that he might have to stop waiting for that genie to show up, he has to stop wishing for things and he has to start making them happen. If Mickey turns him down, well… Ian’s already down. It won’t help, but it won’t make it  much worse either. He's under observation. If he gets a rejection, it's the best moment for it.

Mickey doesn’t even hesitate. “Wish granted, Red.” He takes out a little piece of paper for Ian to write down his number, “You work on getting better and when you feel like it, we’ll go to fucking… Sizzlers or something”.

By the time Ian gets home, he’s doubting if it actually happened. If he actually said it and if Mickey actually agreed. His phone vibrates as he lands on the bed. He might as well check his messages before taking a much needed nap. What he sees makes him smile. 

Unknown number [13:45]:  🧞‍♂️🥩🍽️

Slightly overdramatic title, isn't it? 😅

Okay, first things first, thank you dearest Jessica @mickeyismyian for this week's prompt and thank you to all of you for "playing", writers and readers alike. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we really wouldn't have gotten so far without you all 🥹😍🤗

And now, on to the promised details ☺️ First of all, reminder that we'll be going on a two-month break, returning on 5th October in a slightly new format.

WHAT WILL STAY THE SAME

100 words exactly; multiple submissions allowed, as long as they're different takes on the prompt;

daily reblogs and new prompts on Mondays, somewhere around 5 p.m. GMT (which can be whatever you like: words, phrases, songs, pictures, etc.);

whoever sets the prompt sits that week out;

deadline for submission: the following Monday, beforethe new prompt is posted.

WHAT WILL CHANGE

The roster system 😊

The thing is, people express their interest to be on the roster but by the time their turn comes, some of them may be on hiatus or not interested anymore or invested in other fandoms, so the chasing part has always been a bit of a pain.

Therefore, we're trying something else: open prompting. Whoever has an idea for a prompt can submit it via Ask to the blog and we'll go through them one by one in the order we receive them (provided we haven't had said prompt before and trying to mix things up a bit, as in, no consecutive prompts from the same person). Anyone can submit, not just people who regularly write and, for the time being, even while on Anonymous.

So, during the next two months, feel free to submit prompts ☺️

I'll be reblogging this post regularly so that it reaches as many people as possible and... we'll see how it goes 😁

Once again, thank you so much for being part of the Galladrabbles family 🤗❤️

Enjoy the rest of your summers, darlings, and we'll see you in October 😘

-Evie

Ok guys, welcome! I had a lot of stuff planned for this event but then real life came up and beat my ass. So, I won't be posting everyday. BUT I do have a couple lined up.

This is for the first prompt HOTEL.

Also, unrelated but incredible, @pillowbee posted a beautiful fanart yesterday which fits spot on for this little ficlet, so we've decided that it's the unofficial fanart for it (it really is amazing, go check it out here)

I'll be uploading these to AO3 too, at the end of the month in bulk.

Anyways, enjoy and let me know. Welcome to AUgust!

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HOTEL

Ian really hates this job. Like, hates it, hates it. He has to be on his feet all damn day, lugging around suitcases from the trunks of cars and taxis to the golden luggage cart and then to the rooms and suites of the hotel wearing this vintage style uniform. Everyone thinks that their luggage is the most precious thing in the world. It doesn’t matter if the bag itself is falling apart or if it is one of those bags that cost more than Ian’s entire annual salary. And people can be extremely nice about it, or they can completely ignore Ian or worse, they can be rude. 

He doesn’t appreciate the old men, with wives or partners who hit on him either. They seem to think that Ian comes with the room sometimes, offering him a few bucks for services he hasn’t provided in years. They get angry too, when Ian plays dumb or politely declines. 

Still, he’s grateful for the job and the money. It has allowed him to move into his own apartment, he’s got benefits and insurance, which helps with his therapy and meds. He’s stable and happy for the first time in years and that’s worth something.  It’s worth a lot, actually. Lip and Fiona are no longer up his ass all the time about his health and Carl and Liam actually look up to him. Debbie… well, she’s got her own shit going on. At least he’s no longer trying to smash her head in with a bat, thinking that she’s the MP.  So: progress. 

Ian is setting up for another day of carrying suitcases, he’s wearing his bellhop uniform, he’s got his luggage cart ready. The first car pulls up into the driveway and he waits for it to  park, and then he waits close by to see if whoever it is will be needing his assistance. 

Ian sees the guy coming out of the car and he’s immediately floored. His jaw might have actually dropped to the ground, someone might need to come help him clean up the drool, etc, etc. 

The guy is shorter than Ian. White skin, blue eyes and jet black hair. He’s got more than a few tattoos on his arms and he looks calm. Collected. He gives the valet his keys and he looks around, spotting Ian. 

Ian shakes off his shock just with enough time to notice that the guy has stopped in his tracks and he’s doing a double take on Ian. And well, that just makes Ian’s fucking day. 

“Good morning, sir. Welcome to the Ambassador Hotel. Can I help you with your luggage?” Ian tries his most professional voice. After all, he’s here to work. 

“Yeah, uhm, can you grab those and…” the guy points at three big suitcases and a small bag, “And take them up to my room? The uhm… it’s named after a flower.”

Oh. So he’s one of those guys. 

“The Orchid Suite?”

“Yeah, that one”. The guy glances at Ian one last time before he proceeds to the reception desk. 

The Orchid Suite, along with the Rose and Tulip Suites are the most expensive rooms in the entire hotel. A single night there could run someone thousands of dollars. It’s the usual pick for guys in suits and women in heels. He’s never seen someone who looks like this guy stay in one of those, but Ian doesn’t judge. He’s probably an artist or musician or something like that. 

Ian takes the suitcases to the service elevator and he gets them to the room. The guy will most likely get there soon, since the check-in process for these luxury suites is expedited. Just as Ian thought, a few seconds later the guy is entering the room. 

“Just set those down wherever, thanks”, he says as his phone starts vibrating. “Yeah? Yeah, I’m here. What? No. I need… Calm your fucking tits, Mandy. I am going to take a shower and then I’m going over to your… Well tough luck, bitch. The brat will keep until I fucking get there. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck you too.”

Ian tries not to listen to that entire conversation but he does. So. A woman named Mandy and a brat. Wife and kid? He didn’t notice a wedding ring and he chances a glance at the guy’s hands again, and yeah, no wedding ring. Some pretty cool knuckle tattoos, but nothing else. So apparently not married but most likely straight. What a pity. Ian could have sworn the guy was checking him out downstairs but he was probably wrong. 

The guy hangs up the phone just as Ian is done arranging his bags. “Would that be all, sir?” 

“Yeah, uhm. Yeah. Thanks, Red.” 

Ian doesn’t correct him. The guy hands Ian some bills. It’s a good tip. 

Ian thanks him as he exits the room. Once outside he mourns the fact that he doesn’t get to spend anymore time with the guy and that he doesn’t even know his name. 

The scene repeats itself four more times in the next couple of months. The guy comes in, Ian hauls his suitcases in and out of the Orchid room when the guy leaves. Ian always gets a good tip. They chat politely sometimes. Ian even managed to make a joke once or twice, pulling a delicious smile off the other man. Ian wonders what else he could do to him, if given the chance. It’s not like they are friends, but they know each other. The guy keeps calling him Red and Ian actually likes it. 

Two months to the day when they first met, the guy shows up the day after checking in with a black eye and a split lip. Ian watches him as he goes to the breakfast buffet, loads up on bread and eggs and he sits by himself at a corner table. He eats quickly and he walks upstairs, fast. 

A minute or two later, Ian is being asked to go pick suitcases from the Orchid room. 

Ian makes his way there, knocks on the door, his usual polite smile more forced than usual. The thing is, he wants to know what happened. He wants to know who fucking dared and where can he find them.  But mostly, he wants to know if the guy is ok, he wants to look into his eyes and ask if he’s ok, and then maybe help him take care of that lip wound. It’s sappy and soft and Ian is not quite sure where it came from, but it’s what he wants to do. He’s greeted with a scowl. “Fuck. I specifically asked for someone else”. 

Ian’s smile falters. “Oh?” He steps back, “I can… uhm. I’ll… Sorry for the mix-up, sir. I’ll make sure they send someone else up right away”. He turns to leave. The faster he gets away, the better. Here he was actually worried about the guy but as it turns out, the guy didn't even want to see him. Not even to carry his fucking bags down. 

“No! Hey. Wait. It’s ok. Just… get the bags”. He sighs and he steps to the side to let Ian in. 

He can’t refuse, he can’t make a scene, he can’t let it show that it sort of hurts. He nods and he makes his way inside the room, where he makes a beeline to the bags. Ian makes a point of not even looking at the guy again, since he clearly didn’t want him there. He works fast, he needs to not be there anymore.

“I’m sorry, Red.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Ian responds as he concentrates on his job. “I’ll make sure that this doesn’t happen again”. He’ll talk to the people downstairs, make sure they always send the other guy from now on. 

“Mickey”. The guy has stepped closer to Ian, and he’s looking at him with sad yet sincere eyes. “My name is Mickey”. 

Ian places the last bag in the luggage cart as he looks at the guy. Mickey. Sounds about right. “Ian”, he supplies. 

They both stand there, frozen for a moment, before Ian starts moving again. “I really should take these down, sir. Uhm… Mickey sir”. Great. He gets one piece of information on this guy and now he’s a bumbling idiot. Way to go. Not that it matters anymore. 

Mickey grabs the cart to softly stop it. “I am sorry, Ian. I guess I… Didn’t want you to see me like this”, he says as he whirls his hand around his face. 

“What happened?” Ian asks before he can stop his stupid mouth. 

Mickey stands there, quiet and hesitant. 

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I hope you get better soon, sir.” He grabs the cart and he tries to move it again, but Mickey doesn’t let him. 

“Had a run in with one of my brothers. We don’t get along. I usually don’t see them at all when I’m around, but I’ve been visiting because my sister, Mandy, is pregnant and it’s been a difficult pregnancy”. 

That’s more than the guy has ever told him and it all piles up in Ian’s head. Bad brothers. But also, Mandy is not a wife or ex wife and the brat… is his unborn nephew or niece. So there’s a chance that the guy…

“Why are you smiling?” Mickey asks as he raises his eyebrows, a playful little smile on his lips. 

Ah fuck. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I just… Uhm. Those don’t look too bad. Seems like they didn’t really get you.”

Mickey lifts his hand to his lips. “Yeah, I guess they didn’t”.

Ian smiles with more intent now. “I really should take these down now”, he says a little sadly because he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay and ask more questions and maybe even fucking touch this guy, with his hands and his lips and his whole fucking body.

“Yeah, yeah, for sure”. Mickey doesn’t sound so thrilled to let him go either, as he stares at Ian, his eyes roaming over his body and lingering for a moment on his lips. 

Ian takes a chance. He takes out the little note pad he’s supposed to carry around, with the little pen he’s supposed to carry around too, just in case any guest needs anything. He writes his number down and he extends his hand to give Mickey the note. “My number. Just in case you might want to… I dunno. Hang out or…” 

He falters and he starts withdrawing  his hand immediately because Mickey is standing still, looking at him like he just grew another head.

It was worth the shot, but Ian will probably lie in shame over this for the next 5 to 10 business days. “Sorry I… Can you pretend this didn’t happen? I’m sorry, sir”. He really should get a grip. A guy like that? Who looks like that, who books the Orchid Suite? Ian’s just the help, and Mickey didn’t even want Ian to help him today, he requested someone else. Ian’s the help and he’s just a minimum wage, high school dropout with a shady past,  a mentally ill nobody and it’s probably written all over him and people like Mickey don’t hang out with the likes of Ian. He crumples up the piece of paper and he puts it in his pocket as he quickly exits the room.  He  makes his way to the elevator as fast as he can, drops off the bags, loads them up into the car and he announces that he’s going to take his lunch. He doesn’t even wait for Mickey to show up so that he can get his tip. 

By the time he’s grabbing his stuff out of his locker to go home, he’s beat, exhausted and just sad. He wants to go home and pretend this whole day never happened, and he hopes Mickey never brings it up if they ever see each other again.. He checks his phone. A few messages in the group chat with his family, his therapist confirming his next appointment, nothing of note. 

A series of texts from an unknown number. 

Unknown number [11:55 am]: Jesus Christ, Red, I’ve never actually seen anyone “scurry away” until I saw you leaving the room at warp speed. 

Unknown number [11:55 am]: And then I looked for you but I had to make my flight and you also sort of… disappeared? 

Unknown number [11:56 am]: Anyways, sorry if I froze. I didn’t really see that coming but yeah. If the offer still stands, I would like to hang out the next time I’m in town. 

Unknown number [11:56 am]: This is Mickey, btw. 

Unknown number [11:58 am]: Also, if you are wondering how I got your number it’s because the little ball of paper fell out of your pants while you were activating the hyperdrive that you apparently come with. Not stalking you or anything, just had to figure out your awful handwriting is all. 

It’s almost 7pm, there’s no new messages after that. Ian can’t help the smile that forms in his lips while he saves the number on his phone. 

Ian [6:45 pm]: When are you coming back? 🙂

Mickey [ 6:46 pm]: Ah! He lives. Thought you were going to ghost at this point. 👻

Ian [6:46 pm]: Says the guy who looked at me like I was an alien 👽 when I tried to give you my number. 

Mickey [ 6:46 pm]: Next week. Friday morning. And sorry to break it to ya, but you do kinda look like an alien. 

Ian [6:47 pm]: Ha. Ha. Funny 😣. So, burgers Friday night?

Day 1 - Hotel

“We are glad to have you back, Mr. Milkovich, as always.”

“Happy to be here, Red.”

it’s not weird to love it and comment and leave kudos because the author will probably still see it someday and it will make them happy.

it’s not weird to like said author’s work so much that you want to go look for other fics from them.

it’s not weird to go through the authors profile and look for other fics from the ships you like (or maybe some that you’ll give a chance because you liked the author) and maybe bookmark them for later.

it’s not weird to read these other fics and like them too and comment on them because you actually like them and you want to let the author know.

it’s not weird to read fanfiction from 5, or 8, or 10 years ago and actually enjoy and engage with it because it’s perfectly normal to relate to something that’s less than a decade old!

let’s stop treating fanfiction like they’re instagram posts that stop being interesting in 24 hours! fanfiction is NOT social media, fanfiction is art!!! and art doesn’t get old in one day, one year, or even a decade!

and no, this isn’t me saying “write that messed up, disgusting thing” because while, yes, write it if it’s what you want (I myself enjoy writing dark fics, something I believe would be considered “vile” to a lot of people), this is me saying in a world of censorship and capitalism, ao3 really is a treasure.

Then humans start spotting predators, ambushes, and hidden creatures in complete darkness before any of the aliens can detect them.

Apparently, when a human says, "That shadow has a face," the correct response is no longer, "You're imagining things."

It's, "Everyone stop moving."