shoutout post for all u dms and gms out there (especially you newbie ones), y’all have such a difficult medium of storytelling to work with and it must feel like you’re herding cats 99.8% of the time but you guys have the absolutely amazing ability to engage your players in such a rich world where their words and actions matter and you turn absolute chaos into such a beautiful story that your players are so proud and happy to have had a hand in shaping and just….you’re all fantastic and i love you
Ever wonder how butter came about? Author Elaine Khosrova
has a theory:
Sometime around 8000 B.C., a weary herdsman reached for the
sheepskin bag of milk knotted to the back of his pack animal. But as he tilted
his head to pour the warm liquid into his mouth, he was astonished to find that
the sheep’s milk had curdled. The rough terrain of ancient Africa and the constant
joggling of the milk had transformed it into butter – and bewilderingly, it
Khosrova says the story of butter is a historical roadmap of
humanity. Her new book is called Butter:
A Rich History.
Summary: You have to break the news to Jared and, later, Genevieve. At a convention, Jared lets slip some information that gets you into an uncomfortable situation. Jared x Reader (mentioned Jared x Gen, Jared x Reader x Gen), Genevieve, Jensen, Kathryn Newton (brief Matt and Rich) Words: 6.2k+ Warnings: pregnancy, hella drama/angst, self-deprecating reader, uncomfortable confrontations Beta:@blacksiren
It was a simple word, sliced up into two by none other than Rich.
But the word boyfriends (or rather RIENDS, as written on Michael’s satchel) gave him weird heart palpitations. So what if he’d spent the last…four weeks subconsciously drawing hearts and scribbling Jeremy’s name on his notes during bio?
The turning point though, was the backpacks. The fact that he was now truly “half of a pair” now that their backpacks spelt out “boyfriends” was more than his little heart could handle.
“You don’t mind the fact that our backpacks say boyfriends? If you do I probably have a red–”
“Mike, don’t worry. I’m not thrilled that half my sexuality is paraded around school but it’s whatever.” Jeremy said around his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The brain freeze Michael got from the slushie was probably one of the happiest ones he’s had in a while.
After a hell of a high school day, nothing brought Michael’s spirits up more than smoking a joint and playing vintage games with Jeremy. They’d snack on Doritos and Red Mountain Dew, share a beanbag and talk about their day between bouts of shouting at the television.
“Hey, if the squip works, you won’t be too cool for video games right?” Michael gestured lamely at the Nintendo-64 plugged into Jeremy’s tv.
“You know you’re my favorite person, that’s not going to change.” Jeremy grinned, nudging Michael’s shoulder. Michael hoped that the joint he smoked after school covered for the blush burning on his cheeks.
“Is it really true I’m your favorite person?” Michael cooed, his heart twisting in his chest. The simple fact that Jeremy just smiled and laughed, such a wonderful laugh, was not helping Michael’s crush. Jeremy half heartedly shoved Michael on the beanbag they shared, though he pulled Jeremy along with him as he fell off the bag and onto the floor.
With Jeremy on top of him. Neither moved to sit up. Michael glanced down at Jeremy’s lips, wanting so, so badly to close the gap between them.
“I’ve gotta say, this is pretty gay.” Michael joked. Jeremy’s face burned red, biting his lip.
“I mean, we do have boyfriends written on our backpacks.” Jeremy joked, his eyes flicking down to Michael’s lips.
Michael leaned up and pressed his lips against Jeremy’s. His heart almost shattered until he felt Jeremy relax against his lips and kiss back. Michael tangled his fingers in Jeremy’s curls. He sucked on Jeremy’s bottom lip gently, a bout of pride flowing through him when he heard Jeremy groan into the kiss.
The kiss broke, leaving the two breathless and grinning widely.
“Jesus, you don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do that.” They said over each other.
“You’re kidding,” Michael asked. Jeremy bit his lip and shook his head.
“It’s been a while actually. A couple of months.” Jeremy said before kissing Michael again.
The next day, Michael walked into school with an extra kick in his step, and it wasn’t just because his favorite bob Marley song came on.
It appeared to be all consuming, the act of kissing someone. Sirius was slightly surprised by this. He’d kissed loads of girls before, in fact he’d done quite a bit more than simply kiss them. But he questioned it now… had he kissed them? He didn’t think so, not really.
It had never been like this before.
It had never been that each and ever act or thought his body and mind performed somehow stemmed back to the kiss, to Remus. It hadn’t even been particularly long. It had been rushed, lost in the heat of the moment. Wonderful, but nothing monumental as far as kissing goes. Sirius had led him to bed afterwards and forced himself to walk away. He’d apologized afterwards and taken it back. As far as kissing goes, it honestly should be considered rather awful. But it wasn’t.
Sirius felt slightly sick with nerves, standing there surrounded by the whirling action of of the First Bloom Ball preparations. Stray petals scattered themselves on the floors of the long hallways, having fallen off of the millions of bouquets that were being transported into every part of the castle imaginable. Noble and servant girls alike stood around in groups, chattering and working excitedly, hoping desperately that they would receive a bloom from whichever boy it was they dreamt about. It was rumored that the one who gave you the bloom was the one who remained yours forever. Sirius allowed himself a small smile at this. The idea had never appealed to him until now. Then again, the idea had never applied to him either. It still didn’t but he allowed the smile all the same.
Sirius felt the eyes of many on him as he strode about the room. He knew it was because of the party, but he couldn’t help but notice the eyes lingering on his head more than his face, or, more specifically, his crown. He didn’t make a habit of wearing it about but it was one of those days that his mother had insisted. She did that occasionally. He liked it fine and all. It sat comfortably, if not a bit heavily, but he could definitely do without the attention—something he knew his mother valued above all else. He only made the mistake of making eye contact twice before the barely repressed squeals that followed taught him to keep his eyes pleasantly aloof from any one person, discreetly searching for the dark mass of hair that was James. He finally spotted it peaking out from behind a particularly large bouquet. He pulled on his jacket some, straightening it, before all but speed walking over to him, waiting by the double doorway then falling into step with his stride.
James’ face appeared between two pink peonies, “S-“ His face straightened, eyes glancing around, “Your Royal Highne-“
“My mum isn’t here. Can you come?”
James heaved out a sigh as he let the vase carefully down on the table, dusting various shades of what looked like pollen from his shirt. Sirius distastefully glanced only briefly at the yellow stains it left behind.
James raised an eyebrow, “I’m thinking you’re forgetting that status of our relationship.”
Sirius blinked, “What?”
James raised both eyebrows now, offering a smile, “Sirius, it isn’t a matter of if I can come. If you want me somewhere, I go.”
Sirius knew this wasn’t meant as a blow. James was probably joking, relieved that he was getting out of work. But it was true. James couldn’t refuse. Sirius thought briefly back to the way Remus had kicked him out that night of the chocolate cake. The heat that was becoming familiar to him very quickly filled his chest at the memory and he motioned his head for James to follow him. He was doing this. He could do this. This was James.
Sirius walked until they were nearly half way across the castle, in the predictably quiet West parlor. He motioned for James to shut the door.
“What’s this about? I can’t be gone for too long. My mum would have my head.”
Sirius could have laughed at his particular choice of words if he hadn’t been so bloody nervous.
“Well, I’m certainly about to tell you something that could cost me mine.”
James froze half way between standing and sitting on the couch. He rose again, “Come again?”
Sirius sighed and pushed on his shoulders until he plopped down on the cushions, then sat on the lean wooden table across from him. He took a shaky breath, lacing his fingers together across his knees. He went to open his mouth, but suddenly found that his jaw wouldn’t cooperate.
James spluttered, “Mate, you can’t lead with a phrase like that then sit on it.” He waited a moment more then shoved Sirius’ shoulder, “Come on.”
“I kissed someone.”
James blinked, mouth falling open in surprise. Sirius suddenly wished there was a fire crackling, or a rainstorm outside, anything to fill the silence.
“Oh.” James shook his head a little then laughed, “Well, what’s so bad about that? Your mum doesn’t approve of her?”
Sirius looked at him.
The realization spread quickly over James face and he nodded again, “Oh… Oh. Does- Does she know?”
“No one knows.” Sirius said quickly, “You know, I know, and- and… she knows.” Sirius swallowed.
Sirius felt like he was swallowing over his heart. He surprised himself with just how desperate he was to shout that it wasn’t a she, and that it hadn’t felt like just a kiss.
James went to speak again, but Sirius held up his hand, suddenly glad he had some power of James. He didn’t know how many questions he could lie his way through.
“Just listen, alright?” He sat back, letting his hand rest nervously against his thigh once more, “I need you to do something.”
Remus had spent the better part of the minutes between three and four in the morning running his hands over the soft fur of Sirius’ slippers over and over. By the time he had to get ready, he almost felt guilty stashing them away in his tiny moldy trunk at the base of his bed, underneath a pile of old shirts. The flower too, that had somehow remained tucked into his hair, got flattened between the pages of an old book he found in there. Maybe it was more sadness than guilt. Things so wonderful shouldn’t even been associated with such items, much less wedged between them.
He missed the feeling of the soft leather against his heels. He swallowed. He missed the feeling of Sirius’ hands on his skin. His mouth…
There was a hiss from in front of him and he jolted backwards at the steam issuing from the nearly over boiling pot of tomato soup.
“Shit.” He crouched, using the long iron tongs to push the heavy pan to the side, away from the flames, causing the bubbling to subside.
“Since when are you such a day dreamer?”
Remus turned his head to Mrs. Potter who was giving him a sly smile over her steadily growing mound of peeled potatoes. He offered her a slightly sheepish, slightly tight one of his own, “No. I mean- yes. I mean, sorry. I don’t know where I was.”
Mrs. Potter laughed, “Don’t apologize for dreaming, Remus. If anything apologize for the swearing.” Her eyes were kind and reflected the firelight warmly, “But never for the dreaming.”
Remus had to turn his head away. He didn’t want her to see his face fall, his grin succumb to uneasiness. He let the soup swing back into place and eased the fire down to a bluish flicker, then stood and dusted his hands on his apron.
He hesitated a moment, hands pressed to his thighs, before turning around slowly on his heel, “Um. While we’re… I… Just, about dreaming…”
Mrs. Potter’s knife flew on the potatoes and she didn’t look up, but hummed in a way that let him know he had her complete attention. Remus was glad for the lack of eye contact.
“If you…” He paused, desperately trying to think of his words carefully and quickly at the same time, “If you… have something. A dream. Something good, but you know…” he walked forward, pressing his hands to the cool counter top, “you know it isn’t going to last, this dream. This something good…” Mrs. Potter finally looked up at him, fingers stilling, and Remus swallowed before finishing, “do you think it’s worth it? Dreaming it up at all?”
Mrs. Potter looked at him for a moment thoughtfully, then went right back to peeling, “Hm.” She took a breath, “There’s a tale of two brothers. They’re walking in the forest and they come across a stone.” Remus looked at her quizzically but she pressed on, “On the stone are instructions on how to live ten years of pure bliss and happiness, full of riches and power. One brother follows them. He climbs a mountain, he wrestles a bear, he crosses a stream until he comes to a house that holds an enchantress that gives him what he came for. The brother becomes king of a large village with all the money and happiness one could want.” She hands Remus a few potatoes of his own and a knife then continues, “It lasts for ten years, just as the stone said. After his ten years of bliss, his kingdom falls, the woman he loves leaves him, his people turn against him. He is left powerless, loveless, and friendless. He has nothing to do but turn to the only person who knew him before he became what he was.”
“His brother.” Remus supplied, peeling slowly, more intent on listening.
Mrs. Potter nodded slightly in his direction, the pile beside her growing as she spoke, words rich and purposeful, “Exactly. Now, his brother had refused to take the instructions. He claimed that he was happy right then, with the life he was living. He didn’t know what would happen after ten years, so why risk it? He had a modest home, a good wife, had enough money to put basic food on his table. Why take the risk?”
“Well, he’d be happy for a time, at least. Truly happy.” Remus twirled his knife thoughtfully against the wooden counter, the point creating a small indent in the wood, “Why would he settle for something that he was just… content with when he could have something fantastic like his brother did, for even a little while…”
Remus trailed off, suddenly realizing what he was saying. Mrs. Potter was looking somewhat knowingly at him, almost too knowingly for Remus’ comfort.
“Well, I do believe you’ve just answered your own question, love.”
Remus felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, flicking a potato skin in her direction and making her laugh, eyes crinkling. They worked in silence after that, the soft scraping being the only sound that filled the room.
Remus supposed he had answered his own question. He had something good right now. Something better than anything he’d ever had in his life. He had someone. Or at least he was beginning too. Would he really be able to give that up, to give Sirius up, out of, what, fear? Fear of the future? It was there. It was definitely a real fear. There was no hope for them. They had kissed, Sirius had smiled, Sirius had apologized, Sirius had taken it back, Sirius had left. That in itself said it, right there: They both knew, if this began, how it would end. Remus closed his eyes briefly. If it hadn’t been for the remembered feeling of Sirius’ hands on his skin, Sirius’ lips on his own, he would have been decided right there. End it. Sooner rather than later. But logic was consumed by emotion, planning consumed by memories.
Remus’ voice sounded louder when he spoke again, hands slowing, “He’d have the memories, at least.” Remus swallowed, “When it was all over, I mean.” He felt Mrs. Potter’s eyes on him and looked up too, “That’s worth something, isn’t it? He’d remember the happiness. That’s worth the risk?”
She thought for a moment, her own hands slowing as well, knife gliding smoothly, “Memories are tricky, I think. Remembering them is okay, good even. They can take us back to that time, that place. We can feel what we felt again, or almost what we felt. But living in them… it gets dangerous. I suppose it depends on the person, and how valuable they think the memories will be to them. If they would value the memories over their own present happiness.” She looked at him again, eyes slightly more serious but not alarmingly so, “That past can be a tempting thing, Remus.”
And Remus probably knew then. He could feel a ghost of what unbearable weight could eventually settle on his heart if he let this happen, if he let this happen until it…couldn’t anymore. Until it stopped. And it would stop. But he isn’t in the past yet. He’s in the present. And aren’t people always saying to ‘live in the now’?
What a dangerous expression that is, and perhaps the most tempting thing of all.
The already hot air rose about ten degrees when Sirius swung open the door to the kitchens. He probably should have noticed the pies cooling by the window first, or the sharp smell of spices and butter in the air, or the obscenely large pile of white potatoes on the island. But he zeroed in on Remus almost instantaneously, and for a moment all he could feel was him, was last night. His frostbitten skin that turned to warm cheeks and soft kisses and tangled hair-
“Oh my. Your Royal Highness.”
Sirius blinked away from the wide amber eyes and to Mrs. Potter standing next to him. And yes, he definitely should have noticed that.
He tried to shake off his surprise and gave his best yes-I-am-your-charming-prince smile, only to wince a little at remembering how that smile made Remus frown. His expression most likely turned out rather odd.
Mrs. Potter smiled kindly at him and bowed her head respectfully. Sirius glanced at Remus, whose eyes were still fixed on him, hoping desperately he wouldn’t do the same, but knowing he had too. It felt odd, wrong, to see Remus acting like a subject in front of him. Sirius straightened uncomfortably as Remus bowed too, a male’s bow, lower and one had behind his back. Sirius wanted to grip his shoulders and stop him, maybe with a kiss if he was lucky-
“My prince, what might we help you with this evening?” When Sirius just stood there after a moment, Mrs. Potter glanced at Remus, confused, “Or… Or have you come on behalf of the Queen, perhaps?”
“No.” Sirius said quickly, snapping back into himself, what he was brought up to be, “No, nothing of the sort. I’m hear on purely…” he glanced at Remus once more, “physical business.” He had to fight off the smirk at Remus’ flushed cheeks, and looked back to Mrs. Potter, “I require you to fetch Nurse Pomfrey, if you would. Quickly please. I fear my cheek is rather infected.”
Mrs. Potter squinted slightly, obviously worrying over the gash on Sirius’ upper cheek, before nodding, bowing again, and rushing out of the room.
Sirius wasted no time.
It had it perks, being tall, and he closed the distance between him and Remus in just four strides, pressing his hands to Remus’ cheeks at the same time as Remus’ went to his hair. And if Sirius had thought the last kiss had been good, he felt nearly knocked off balance by this one. Remus fingers wound tightly into his hair, pulling and knocking the crown slightly askew as he kissed him, breath hot and needing, filling Sirius to the brim with relief and he doesn’t regret this, he wants this as much as you do.
“Jesus, the one time you choose not to be alone.” Sirius sighs into his mouth, thumbs stroking over Remus’ cheeks, imagining he can feel each freckle there and keep them.
“The one time you choose to wear this bloody thing.”
Sirius laughs. He noses gently along Remus’ cheek, relishing in how fucking natural it feels, like he’d been doing it for months and years and eternity.
Remus laughs too, “Honestly, the first time I get to kiss you without being nervous and you restrict me with this.”
“Excuse you, you had James’ mum next to you. Who’s restricting whom?”
Remus smiles, leaning into the place where Sirius presses a kiss to his cheek, and straightens the crown atop Sirius’ head before letting his hands fall to his neck, “Hm. I suppose you’re right.”
Sirius just lets their foreheads rests together, already dreading having to pull away, “Did you just say you were nervous to kiss me?”
He practically feels Remus roll his eyes, “We were both nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous.”
Sirius feels a little pinch on his shoulder, “Yes, you were.”
He smiles, “Yeah, I was.”
Remus laughs again then lets out a long breath, nudging their faces closer together. They’re silent for a few moments, just enjoying the other being there.
Sirius feels reluctant to break the quiet. It feels like they’re in their own little bubble, protected from whatever this world would throw at them. But he has to ask before Mrs. Potter comes back with Pomfrey.
“Will you meet me? Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Remus questions, “Tonight’s the ball.”
“Tonight.” Sirius slides his hands from Remus’ cheeks, to his waist, feeling the well worn linen beneath his fingertips, “West parlor. Where we met.”
Remus smiled at the memory, “What a pompous little prick you were.”
Sirius laughed, hands tightening around Remus’ shirt and pulling their chests together. He didn’t miss the small gasp Remus let out, “I’m still a pompous little prick. Just not around you.” He tilted his head to the side, lips hovering over Remus’, “And I’m not so sure about little.”
Remus hummed, seeming more intent on closing the distance between their mouths than actually answering.
The sound of footsteps made them both jump terribly, but Sirius pulled Remus back against him, just for a moment, savoring, needing, “Say you’ll come.” He whispered.
Remus pressed his palms once against Sirius’ cheeks, lips quick to steal one more kiss, “Of course I’ll come.”
They stepped apart, Sirius moving to the other side of the table. Mrs. Potter entered, alone.
Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, “And Pomfrey?”
Mrs. Potter looked absolutely bewildered to see him still standing in the kitchen. She glanced at Remus who had turned away, pretending to tend to the fire. Sirius longed to glance too, maybe get a quick view of-
“You- Your Highness, I didn’t expect you to be here. I would have thought you would return to your chambers, I’ve sent Pomfrey there. My greatest apologies-“
Sirius rolled his eyes a little and then, with the way her face fell and mouth snapped shut, he wished he hadn’t. He was suddenly desperately glad Remus wasn’t looking.
The truth was that Remus was correct. He was a pompous prick. It seemed to go along with his inheritance. But he didn’t want to be. He had to let Remus know he was trying, he was changing.
“No matter.” He supplied, “I will seek her there.” He almost turned, then stopped himself. He had to try, “The- The food smells wonderful, by the way.” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably, then dipped his head, just slightly, “Thank you, Mrs. Potter.”
He turned on his heel and left, leaving a wide eyed Mrs. Potter in his wake.
She turned to Remus, who was still desperately stoking the fire.
“Well. That- That was rather kind of him, wasn’t it?”
Remus kept himself turned away, hiding the grin that felt like it was nearly splitting his cheeks in two.
“It was. Maybe he’s having a good day.”
Sorry it’s a bit shorter! I just felt like I got a lot across in this chapter that should be separate from what is coming in the next. I hope you enjoy! I’ll definitely try to be more regular at updating now that school is over! Thanks for sticking with me <3 <3 <3 <3
he sets a steaming mug on the coffee-table beside her, the scent of hot chocolate curling her lips up. last night, he made them rib-eyes with spinach and mashed potatoes, used that ridiculously expensive grass-fed butter and everything; she picks up the mug, takes a creamy sip, and decides that she can summarize this weekend with the word rich. though they only have two space-heaters in this little cabin, the room feels cozy nonetheless. she lounges on the couch, the secret history on her pajamaed lap, her legs up on the cushions while he sits down at her feet, lifts her toes up onto his lap. she sets the mug back down, returns to her words while he takes one of her wool socks into his hands and rubs his thumb along her arch. yes, she thinks; rich is the correct term.
though she’s unsure as to whose cabin this is, she knows it belongs to an old friend of mulder’s, some guy whose wife or daughter or other relative had been abducted, and due to mulder’s brash heroism - she stopped listening as soon as he began the story, for she figured it wouldn’t be true or that the true version would be far less exhilarating than mulder’s rendition - and she doesn’t want to question the ownership, not when it’s ever-so-softly snowing outside and not while their little space of the adirondacks is so blissfully, wonderfully quiet. according to the true locals, this is off-season, and they’re in a portion of the state that’s been owned by a specific family for years; the lake water, apparently, is safe to drink though she made sure mulder boiled it anyway. nonetheless, it’s just them and the neighboring cabin’s occupants out here for the weekend, the nearest paved road being thirty miles away, the closest gas station probably thirty-five.
“are we staying in today?” he asks as he rubs her feet, still tired from their past week of nonstop paperwork. to skinner on friday, mulder claimed that he would have a twenty-four hour virus starting on that coming monday, a lie that skinner grinned and bore; as for her excuse to spend the weekend away, she was registered to attend a conference in alexandria that she’d intended to attend though mulder’s mentioned it hundreds of times that, technically speaking, they’re both playing hooky. yesterday, they spent the morning snowshoeing the property and hiking the short path down to the frozen-over lake, but today, life sounds best when her book, a blanket, and mulder are involved.
glancing out the window, she watches as an evergreen folds heavily beneath the falling snow; outside, the world is silent but full of change, the gravity shifting as it does with every storm. to herself, she wonders if they might end up snowed in and finds she doesn’t mind that prospect.
“i’d like to,” she says as he switches to her other foot.
of course, she’d been resistant at his first mention of a weekend like this, one planned out and researched and intended for - she nearly cringes at the word - romance.
“just wait for a holiday weekend instead,” she insisted as they sat together in the basement office, as she flicked through some new file, as she remained friendly but indifferent toward him in the way she’d mastered at work over the years. though their relationship had changed drastically - in a good way, in the best of ways - since he kissed her on the first, she still needed to be professional. “i’d rather not take time off.”
“but it is a holiday weekend,” he gave softly, his eyes puppying and his gaze silently hurt.
“mulder, martin luther king day is in january, not february.”
“yeah, i know that.”
“then what holiday are you talking about?”
and though she knew that their territory since he kissed her on the first was uncharted, and though she knew that her priorities didn’t tend toward hallmark holidays, and though she knew better than to think he would overlook such a thing, she stared incredulously at him, couldn’t remember any february holiday other than her birthday though even that one was hardly worth celebrating.
“that’s the weekend of valentine’s day,” he explained, his eyes downcast, his ribs still as he waited for the inevitable rejection. “the fourteenth’s that monday.”
and now, she’s playing hooky for the first time in her career, and she’s wearing his thermal shirt, and he made her belgian waffles for breakfast, the world beyond them is a mess of bright white, and work is the last thing on her mind.
“i think there’s a scrabble board on the bookshelf,” he says, glancing back at the dusty, faded stack of almanacs; this place, all gas-powered and wooden, looks exactly the way a cabin should look, the decor straight out of the 1960s, the mugs in the cabinet all fading shades of green and yellow, all of the furniture holding the scent of pine. if there’s a box of scrabble in here, it’ll be an old version, the rulebook fading and three or four of the pieces missing. looking to him, she smiles softly, figures that everything’s more alluring when it has a quirk or two.
“yeah,” she offers, folding her pages over her bookmark, setting the novel down on the coffee-table. then, she shimmies down against the couch, her knees falling over his lap, and motions for him to come closer. though the word of the weekend is rich, she figures contact would also suffice.
“we’re not going to fit,” he warns but leans down alongside her anyway; with his folded legs draping across her hips and his arm steadying himself around her stomach, she exhales, her mind blanking meditatively, her heartbeat slow and soft.
“i’m sorry that there’s not much to do around here,” he whispers against her skin, his lips ghosting against her collarbone. “i should’ve planned something else. though i know you like quiet places, this might be a little too quiet.”
“no, no,” she says, shaking her head as she twines his fingers through his hair. then, she quirks a lip, says, “a calm, quiet weekend with you is a rare treat.”
“we could’ve gone to san jose,” he muses; though she’s not entirely sure, she thinks he’s joking. “i heard that there have been sightings there. we could’ve stayed up until four in the morning, looked for flying saucers, and eaten junk food all weekend.”
“how romantic,” she deadpans.
“this hasn’t been romantic at all,” he grumbles, the statement self-deprecating, his words intended for himself only.
on the drive from some tiny rural airport in vermont to this cabin, he brought out his blues brothers cd to keep them entertained while the radio stations went in and out; he imitated the guys on npr for a certain stretch of miles, each quip being met with a smile from her. though they arrived too late on friday night to see much of the property, he offered her a ski mask and sat on the cabin’s porch with her, pointed out the seven sisters constellation and labeled it the smudge in the sky. that night, she took his sleep-shirt out of his duffel, put it on before he could, and the incredulous but deeply satisfied look he gave her for that - and the mild-mannered but insistent way he managed to get it back, or at least to let it reside on the bedroom’s floor for the remainder of the evening - was worth any backroad boredom they could’ve had. though she always knew he was loving, could discern his intelligent passion from the moment she first met him, she’s still shocked with every extraneous touch, with every unnecessary caress, with the way he’ll stop stirring risotto just so he can bring her into his arms, and she’s far more shocked with how at ease she feels with him. when he makes her dinner, when he borrows her chapstick though she insists that he shouldn’t, when he spoons up against her in bed as though he could read her mind and sense that she felt cold, she feels her mind soften, her muscles relax; simultaneously, they’re honeymooners and best friends, and as she turns her head, kisses his forehead, she whispers, “it’s been romantic.”
“but has it been a valentine’s day kind of romantic?” he asks.
“of course it has,” she laughs.
“you’re asking someone who forgot about the holiday altogether.”
“so i should’ve made this year so memorable that you would never forget it.”
she closes her eyes, breathes him in, thinks of how many hours they have to themselves, just the two of them in the middle of nowhere on a snowy day, books and scrabble keeping them company, this cabin making them feel as though they’re the only people left on earth.
“i’ll never forget it,” she whispers to him. “i promise.”
Summary: Ian stops by Mickey’s work, and everyone finds out that he’s gay.
Word Count: 1036
Notes: Thanks so much for almost 400 followers :) I’m so sorry I meant to post this so long ago and I forgot it was in my drafts
Mickey’s been working at a mechanic shop for the past two months, and he liked the environment, he just prefered to keep to himself. No one really knew anything about him. His coworkers were very friendly and often made small talk with him, but that was the extent of it.
When people did start asking about his personal life, he got anxious and paranoid as usual. “So how come your girlfriend don’t ever come around?” Rich raised his eyebrows at Mickey.
Mickey snorts uncomfortably. “Because I don’t fuckin’ got a girlfriend,” he snapped.
All of the other workers shared the same confused expression. “Then how come you walk in with hickies every week?” Rich asked blatantly.
“And you– who never smiles– walk in with a big grin on your face every morning. That has to be from someone,” his manager, Lydia, presses. Why the fuck are they so nosey?
“Didn’t say I don’t got someone. I do have someone,” Mickey informed them and their eyebrows seemed to raise even higher. They aren’t the brightest bunch so none of them would assume he’s gay.
Rich opens his mouth again. “Well can we meet the girl some day?” He seems over interested which lays weird with Mickey.
Mickey rolls his eyes at their stupidity and gets back to work. He has plan of having Ian drop his lunch off at work one day during the week so people know– because who wouldn’t want to show off the beautiful Ian Gallagher. Anyone who has a problem with it will have to face the two of them.
* * *
Two days later, Mickey walks into work with a genuine smile on his face. Ian gave him the best hummer before he left for work. “That a smile on your face, Milkovich?” Lydia asked with wonderment.
Mickey chucked the middle finger at his manager, but maintained the grin. “Fuck off,” he said with no threat or meanness in his voice.
“Must be that girl you guys were talkin’ about the other day,” Isaac chimed in. He was a nosey little fucker just like the other two.
Lydia shook her head. “He says he don’t got a girl,” she says to Isaac who a baffled tone. “Clearly he does though– I mean c’mon, Mickey, you’re not fooling us.”
“I don’t,” Mickey chuckles and starts working.
The next couple hours go by extremely quickly. When Mickey checks the time he knows that Ian’s going to be here any minute, so as everyone started to eat, he busied himself.
Suddenly the door opened and in came a tall redhead with shining green eyes. “Damn,” Lydia breathlessly whispered which propelled Mickey to make it known that Ian was his.
“Hey, Mick,” Ian started. “I got your–” He gets cut off by a long and welcoming kiss. When they separate there’s a big smile on both of their faces. After all their time together they never really got used to public signs of affection.
Mickey grabs the lunch bag from Ian’s hand. “Thanks for the lunch.” Ian nods.
When the two boys turn their gaze to the other three workers, they have extremely wide eyes.The workers seem to be at loss for words until Rich opens his mouth. “You have a boyfriend?” He asked in shock.
Mickey nods. “I got a fuckin’ boyfriend, and if any of you assholes got an issue with it, say it to my face.” His voice is threatening, and Ian can’t help but smirk from behind him.
“No! We don’t have a problem with it! Just shocked is all,” Lydia comes to her own and her workers defense. “What’s your name, hot thing?” Lydia smiles at the redhead.
He chuckles. “I’m Ian,” he waves at everyone.
Lydia nods and introduces herself and the other workers. “So how long have you been together?”
“Twelve years,” Mickey told them. He was oddly okay with telling them about this private part of his life.
Everyone shocked expressions turn to amusement and even more confusion. “How’s the even possible? You’re still young,” Isaac says in disbelief.
Ian chuckles. “I was fifteen when we got together.” His voice is proud.
“Oh, shit! So you two are like in it for good now,” Rich says. Mickey and Ian both nod, sharing a pleased look. “Who the hell would of thought the scariest and rudest guy in this shop has a soft spot?”
Once again, Mickey chucks the finger at his coworker. He can’t deny the statement though. Ian fondly smiles at the interaction between Mickey and the other workers. “No one ever gets to see that side of him but me,” Ian informed them.
“Wait, wait. I got a real question,” Isaac started with a grin that Mickey immediately rolled his eyes at. The couple knew what question was coming for them. “Who tops?”
Lydia and Rich burst out in laughter at their friends question. “It’s gotta be Mickey!” Rich says.
“Fuck no! It’s definitely Ian. Mickey’s probably a bossy bottom though,” Lydia says in a convincing tone.
The three other workers then stay in an argument about who tops and who bottoms, which Mickey normally gets angry at but he knows it’s all jokes. He turns his head to Ian who is looking at him in an unexplainable way. “The fuck you lookin’ at?”
“Just proud of you. I know you still worry about coming out and all,” he responds. “And it’s nice seeing you interact with people other than our family,” Ian says jokingly, but Mickey knows he means it.
“It’s nice being safe for once,” Mickey says with a dry chuckle before Ian kissed his forehead. He didn’t realize the other three workers ended their pointless argument to watch and listen to them until they heard the sound of Lydia’s joyful shriek.
“Awe,” Lydia dragged out. “My husband doesn’t kiss my forehead like that anymore and we’ve only been together for four years,” she wiped away fake tears to emphasize how cute she thought it was. “So fucking adorable!”
Ian laughed happily and Mickey blushed. Thankful was short of the correct feeling for Mickey right now. Though he wouldn’t outright show it, he was ecstatic that his coworkers accepting him as the person he was.
A little Jeller + Rich ficlet set after 2.19 and for the sake of this being fun and fluffy, let’s pretend that the Tasha situation has been resolved and we don’t need to worry about her because her fam got her out almost immediately, m’kay?
“Are you up for a field trip?” Kurt asked as he approached her workstation.
After an exhausting morning, their afternoon had slowed down significantly. He’d gotten the call from Tasha just as he was getting ready to leave the bar with Jane last night, and they’d worked all night and all morning on getting her out. And now that that had been settled, he finally got to the stack of papers on his desk, the one Brianna had been reminding him of endlessly. One specific file had caught his attention, and sent him straight to Jane’s workspace.
They hadn’t had the chance to really talk about what had happened, or almost happened, but luckily things had not been awkward, probably because they’d been too busy with Tasha’s case. And he was hoping an afternoon spent together would help them get back to where they’d gotten last night.
The Bible is not a book for the faint of heart—it is a book full of all the greed and glory and violence and tenderness and sex and betrayal that benefits mankind. It is not the collection of pretty little anecdotes mouthed by pious little church mice—it does not so much nibble at our shoe leather as it cuts to the heart and splits the marrow from the bone. It does not give us answers fitted to our small-minded questions, but truth that goes beyond what we even know to ask.
Today, 50 years ago on May 22, 1967, Langston Hughes passed into poetic immortality. His rich words will live forever in the pantheon on mankind for Langston Hughes spoke overwhelming truth to blinding power. For those who listened he captivated their minds and awakened their dreams. It was Langston Hughes who awoke Martin’s famous dream as well as many other dreamers. To we remember his power in the voicing of his words.