Had this Headcannon that when Multi-Lingual Dick and Jason get drunk they start singing Ballads in Spanish. Yeah some classical shit like Vicente Fernandez but also the most wild Selena you've ever heard.
If you're in the US and you're concerned about Palestine, leave US Jews alone, and start asking your local evangelist how much money their christian church sends annually to support the genocide being committed by the state of israel.
I havent participated in daily dracula this year, but that and re: dracula really shows how important it is that schools reevaluate how they teach classics. Especially when literacy is at such a low point and an interest in books is so uh not great. I guarantee students that engaged in classics in fun and unique ways remember the books so much better than those that were forced to just read it.
Mickey wakes with a soft little snuffling sound, his cheek rubbing against the pillow, his grip tightening on Ian’s bicep.
Ian’s breath hitches. The sappy smile on his lips stretches wider.
Gone are the days when Mickey would wake with a jolt, with a kick and a curse and a wild, haunted look in his eyes. The transition from rest to ready used to be so sudden and jarring and violent.
Now, Ian can barely even tell when it’s happening. Is only able to notice because he pays very close attention to the cadence of Mickey’s breaths.
Mickey cracks an eye open. Glares at Ian sleepily.
“Fucking creep.”
Ian laughs softly. Brings a hand up to smooth over Mickey’s hair, relishing in the way Mickey nuzzles into it instead of batting him away or shoving back. “You oughta be used to me watching you sleep by now.”
Mickey’s response is delayed by a yawn. “Yeah, well, you oughta be used to me calling you out on your creepyass behavior. Goddamn weirdo.”
“A goddamn weirdo that you love~,” Ian teases.
Mickey’s glare softens. His eyes slip closed, one brow arching, a smile tugging at his lips.
Ian can’t not kiss him.
He leans in, seals their lips together, as easy and familiar and comforting as breathing. Mickey hums happily. Wiggles against the sheets. “You gonna fuck me, tough guy?”
Ian nips at Mickey’s lip. Thinks about it. Shakes his head, lips brushing together, noses bumping. “Nah. Just… wanna do this, for a while.”
Mickey huffs. Gets a hand up to tangle in Ian’s hair. “Fuckin’ sap,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips that Ian can taste.
They trade lazy kisses, and fall back asleep still melted into one another.