#an unyielding need for validation? in my writing process? its more likely than you think

[mickittotheman]

I just read the snippet of your fic from an ask from iansw0rld and I'm just ‼️‼️‼️‼️ about it literally can't form coherent words but I'm obsessed already and I'm very excited to read it! 🖤🖤🖤

GAH omg thank you!!! Here's another snippet. As a little treat. It takes place immediately after the prev one:

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“What is with you and the fucking sprite?” Mickey grouses the next day. He’s having a bit of trouble looking Ian in the eye, but he’s sure Ian will lure him back into a relaxed state soon enough, his weird fucking alien powers doing whatever the fuck it is they do.

“You got something against sprite, Milkovich? ‘Cause we can’t still be friends if you do.”

Who the fuck ever said anything about fucking friendship? 

Mickey bites his tongue, sure that if he says anything about it Ian will make some stupid quip like, ‘oh? what do you want us to be then?’ and Mickey will have to grit out some answer like ‘strangers’ or ‘mortal fucking enemies’ while fighting a losing battle to keep his cheeks from going pink.

Yeah. Probably way smarter to just let Ian keep thinking they’re friends, no matter how fucking faggy that is.

“This is a fucking bar, man. You ever gonna order a real drink?”

“I’m good,” Ian chirps, slurping obnoxiously at the glass Mickey hands over. “Soda tastes better than alcohol. I’m not 21 yet, anyways. Not for another few months.” 

“Jesus, you aren’t supposed to fucking tell me that.” 

Ian grins at him. “Oh yeah? What ‘m I supposed to do, then?” 

“You’re supposed to show me a fake ID like a normal fucking person. Or just not fucking say shit in the first place, considering we don’t even fucking card people.” 

Ian splays one of his big ass hands over his chest. Drops his jaw in shock. “Mickey. Surely you aren’t encouraging me to break the law.”

Mickey snorts, a smile breaking out on his face despite his best efforts. Ian’s eyes go wide, delighted, his grin the most blinding one yet. Mickey scurries away to refill the glass of some girl who didn’t even fucking ask for one.

“Hey, I didn’t–”

“Yeah, I fucking know. On the house.”

The girl frowns at his language, then perks ups at the concept of a free refill, then frowns again. “You aren’t, like, trying to hit on me are you? Because you are so not my type.”

Mickey directs his eyes heavenwards. The shit he has to put up with in this fucking hellhole.

Ian finally leaves just before ten, just like he always does. He smiles, just like always. And, just like always, his last smile of the night is soft and sleepy in a way that makes Mickey want to punch him. “See ya tomorrow, Mick.”

“No you won't,” Mickey says, snatching the five dollar bill Ian’s holding out. He knows by now to be careful not to let their skin brush as he does it. “Work the opening shift tomorrow, with any luck I’ll be gone before you roll in. And I’m off Sundays.”

Ian frowns for a minute before brushing it off, his grin cropping up again. “No problem,” he chirps. “I’ll come by on Monday, then. My wallet and glucose levels could use a rest from all the drinks, anyways.”

And yeah, okay, Mickey’s had this sneaking suspicion that the guy has mostly just been coming to hang out with Mickey for some insane fucking reason. But for the guy to just straight up fucking confirm it like that? Just put it out there in the open, no holds barred?

It’s fucking unsettling, is what it is. Guy definitely has a screw loose. What is it with EMTs and their weird ass obsessions with making Mickey’s life a living hell.

He spends the last twenty minutes of his shift all fucking jittery and shit. Thank fuck he doesn’t have to deal with this shit again until Monday.

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#my scribblings #an unyielding need for validation? in my writing process? its more likely than you think #deadass i could probably be baited into posting the entire fic in tiny little snippets like this smh #mechy answers