#OOP IT GOT. longer than expected

[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

There is a man named Stanford Pines.

Just about anyone in the scientific community knows his name, and most know his face. It would be hard not to. It's plastered on magazines, on websites, on informational guides about the Institute of Oddology. Stanford Pines is synonymous with the word odd, peculiar, strange; it takes very little digging to find that.

Yet, when it comes to actually meeting the man? No matter who you ask, the answer is almost always no, they have not met him. Everyone knows of him, but nobody knows him. They see his face, they hear his name, they read his papers, they know his arguments. A lucky few even converse with him through email, or letters, or phone conversations. However, meeting him face to face seems to be an occurrence even rarer than the beasts he writes essays about.

Sometimes, he makes a public appearance. Sometimes, someone will see him walking about in some small, secluded space. His co-founder follows him like a shadow, never long taking his eyes away, full as they are of both care and peculiar caution.

Even more unheard of, sometimes, Stanford Pines will do something that interacts with the public. Once every few years, he will appear for an interview, or a photo, or something else to please the magazines that fill up his inbox. McGucket will be with him, every single time, and afterwards there will be whispers on the very internet he created from the people he'd spoken to. By all accounts, Stanford Pines is a very subdued, polite gentleman. Someone who is very intelligent and awkward, and attached to his co-founder at the hip. A man who is followed at all times by an army of personal security and NDAs. "For safety," McGucket will say as Pines' face goes dark. No one ever explains who's being kept safe, or from what.

To the students at the Institute of Oddology, it's even stranger. Nowhere does it say that seeing or meeting the core founder is guaranteed -- in fact, in comparison to other institutes, it's hardly even advertised that he's there -- but it's still surprising. If Stanford Pines is seen at all, it's almost always from behind a screen. Some students graduate without ever having seen him in-person. He does not attend events. He does not greet families. He does not make speeches unless he's being projected on a screen, a stark contrast to McGucket and his exaggerated mannerisms as his very real and present form hovers nearby. He holds no office on the entire campus. It is not unheard of to see him taking a walk with his co-founder, but it's rare enough to be shocking.

Rumors fly. Some are silly, absent things that would seem implausible to anyone who hasn't spent time in Gravity Falls. He's a vampire. He's a robot made by McGucket. He's a whole eldritch entity. Some rumors are more serious, whispered when his reclusive nature rings suspicious among the masses. None of them change the facts.

Perhaps it would make more sense if his co-founder was similar. However, Fiddleford McGucket is the polar opposite of Stanford Pines. He responds to interviewers asking about his computers. He makes speeches. He wanders around campus, stopping to chat with anyone who cares to listen. He's amiable and approachable as long as you can get past his rather extreme eccentricities, with an open-door policy and only one question he won't answer. If anyone builds up the guts to ask about Stanford Pines, and why he's so gosh darn reclusive, his only response is a sad, painful smile and a change of subject. In general, however, if one were to ask a given student of the institute where they could find Fiddleford McGucket, the chances are would be they'd be able to relay the information. However, like so much having to do with Stanford Pines, there is always a but.

At least three days a week, Fiddleford McGucket disappears for hours at a time. In theory, this would not be unusual. There's a section of the campus, slightly separate from the rest, dedicated to research. It takes much clearance to get to this area, for it is full of many very dangerous things. Some of the newer students fall under the misconseption that this is where he goes off to. However, there is a secretary at the entrance to this section of the campus, and when McGucket disappears, no amount of asking will get them to respond that he lies within. There is no summary of what he's there for, and there is no estimate of when he'll be back in his office. He is not there. For those hours, it's like he's vanished off the face of the planet.

There is another building seperated from the rest, barely visible through the trees. Tucked far behind the research area of the campus and heavily guarded at all times. No amount of clearance, or ID, or begging, will get anyone in. This place, most know, is where McGucket goes. No one can be certain, but there's a conviction there that this is the truth. It's the same way people know that this is where Stanford Pines resides. In those hours, McGucket disappears to the same nowhere at all that his co-founder lives.

No one tries to get there. Not anymore. There would be no point.

In order to do so, one would have to get into the research zone of campus. Already, this requires more clearance than most students could imagine. From there, one would have to go through a building only staff can open, at the very back of the campus, where only the most dangerous of research is kept. A security officer stands ever-vigilant at a back door leading to a winding pathway, intersected halfway through by a pair of guard stations. Past them lies a towering locked gate, centered in the midst of a towering electric fence. There is no guard station at the gate itself, though guards patrol the perimeter, even though the underbrush is too thick to walk through. There is no visible way to unlock the gate, but if one managed to get through regardless, they would find that the obstacles were still not over. The acre the fences encircle is thick with security, only some of which is human. It's impossible not to get caught, but if somehow, someone did, they would find themselves face to face with the sloped roof and charming wooden exterior so vaguely visible from the more well-trodden paths.

If one were to make it behind the reinforced door and yet one more pair of security guards, they would find nothing of note at all. In fact, were the windows not so thick, and the place not full of rooms with no place in a residence, and the path not so elaborate, and the whole area not so heavily reeking of isolation and uncanniness, one could almost mistake it for a normal home.

Inside, one would find Stanford Pines. Shorter than his head-and-shoulders shot makes him seem, and with a tangible air of melancholy about him that no projection could ever communicate.

Above all, Stanford Pines would appear incredibly alone, with only security, a McGucket Computer, and shelves upon shelves of books for company. If this someone who somehow managed to sneak in got lucky, they would arrive in this not-quite-a-home while McGucket had disappeared to there. They would find the two of them in deep conversation, and Stanford Pines would appear happier and more animated than most any living soul had seen him in decades, content in the company of his one connection; his shadow. Even when they had serious conversations, about the most serious topics in the world, something about him would be just that bit more lively. The visit would end, every time, with McGucket asking the same question. Every time, Pines would shake his head sadly as he responded; would the answer have been different, they both know that McGucket would have been informed long before he arrived.

Upon his co-founder's departure, one would be able to see Stanford Pines either sigh and sink right back into his melancholy, or the energy persist for another handful of hours. One would wonder why he was so reclusive, if he seemed so much brighter when he was among friends. One -- the impressive, unstoppable individual who managed to get into such a heavily monitored area -- would more than likely leave confused.

They wouldn't realize, unless they stayed within the bounds of the not-quite-home until it was far too late, what the hoards of security was designed for. Wouldn't realize that just as much as much as they are meant to keep someone out, they are also meant to keep someone in.

[bleue-flora]

AU/fanfic idea for anyone who wants it (because I don’t write Tommy) - Instead of following Dream from Las Nevadas to the prison undetected (after the Las Nevadas finale), Tommy’s invisibility potion runs out or Dream sees the particles and confronts Tommy. Some fun scenario options include: Tommy taking a good look at a very agitated, panicked, upset, and hurt Dream, maybe some pity or empathy from Tommy? OR maybe Dream kills him, accidentally swinging at air in frustration and oneshots unarmored Tommy, or just kills him more intentionally. Honestly, it could also be fun to have Tommy actually get close enough to hear the conversation between Purpled, Quackity and Dream in the casino…

Like I can’t help but think about if Tommy had heard Dream talk to Quackity about the torture or maybe like been a little bit closer to Dream on the journey home to see his hands shaking and heart pounding, would it have made a difference? Would Tommy have seen the fear or would it not have mattered? Part of me thinks even if Dream started breaking down and like ripped off his shirt and recounted each and every scar and expressed the pain within him to Tommy, it still wouldn’t have made a difference. That sooner or later, Tommy was always going to storm the prison to kill Dream, and the only way he could ever see Dream is by the powers of limbo.

[85-rend]

hi it’s me, the person who thinks completely normal thoughts about lethal company. Anyway if you have employee oc’s, what is there role in actual moon looting, and how do they treat eachother in the ship. Also do they have a fave piece of loot and least fave monster?

I have 4 employees, a whole crew, so this might get a bit long :)

Fifty-Six :

"Human" (absolutely not)

Ship captain! has the most experience of the whole crew (they've been here way longer than anyone else. longer than anyone could survive this job)

Maybe a little too happy about the job. takes it very seriously

Prefers to go alone hates taking equipment bc it takes up space they could use for something else

prides itself on efficiency . has everything down to a system

looks scary but they're actually pretty nice and soft (both figuratively and literally)

pretty secretive, mostly lying through omission . doesn't like to talk about themself

doesnt like to be seen without the suit and helmet on. it has to happen eventually but it hates it, raises too many questions. it can try to look more human but its not perfect.

has a tier list in its head of every single piece of scrap for deciding priority of what to take back to the ship. it has a second tier list for if it gets hungry

huge soft spot for cute things. likes rubber ducks and plushies and things like that . will make exceptions in it's efficiency and priorities to take them even if they're low worth

Feels like they need to be doing something with their hands constantly

really likes Zachary, they're very close. doesn't want anything to happen to it... will agree to go together with Zachary despite usually preferring to go alone

likes Elliot, she's alright, she works hard. thinks she's a bit too reckless and hard on herself

alright with Morgan. they don't entirely get along but it's not too bad so it's alright . he notices the weird looks Morgan gives him, no clue what that's about.

Zachary :

Masked picked up from Rend after it tried to hide in a ship and the autopilot left

got "hired" by The Company. it doesn't like this. but it doesn't have a choice

it promises promises PROMISES it won't infect its coworkers. but it wants to so bad. it wants to help them. but it won't.

TERRIFIED of The Company building. absolutely refuses to leave the ship there. Fifty let's this slide, it doesn't mind having to carry some extra scrap to the desk

absolutely refuses to wear the helmets, its uncomfortable and its worried it'll get scratched or something . its fine without it,if that was going to hurt them it would've a long time ago

needs to go with someone in the facilities, becomes very distressed if alone for too long

it'll take equipment if asked, but it often forgets to use things like walkie talkies. it also struggles using it (it has a hard time with the buttons and small things like keys are really hard for it to hold)

hates this job and wants to leave but its scared of what would happen

very touch starved and having no other maskeds around has been effecting it.. (if it does see other maskeds on the moons it'll follow them around instead of its crew)

it wants to be closer with the others, at least El and Morgan are cautious around it. they dont really trust it much

El trusts it more at least, if 56 cant go with it it'll usually goes with her instead (also because Morgan usually stays in the ship but if they do go in still Zachary will more likely go with Elliot)

Morgan doesn't trust it much, they've dealt with maskeds before

Fifty-Six on the other hand, Zachary REALLY likes him. he doesn't mind it being around and hes nice to it

Zachary is like the first of the crew to have seen 56 without his helmet after it found him with it like completely torn apart. it was really worried about him, scared it got hurt. 56 was alright though dont worry

Elliot :

ACTUALLY a human

mostly goes by El instead of Elliot

youngest of the crew, not much experience but good with a shovel

pretty confident going in the facility, will often lead or even go alone. but absolutely CANNOT deal with coil-heads or nutcrackers. all that confidence goes away when they have to

he has automatonophobia and scopophobia. terrible combination to have here if im being honest

helmet is slightly dented after she tried running from a thumper and slammed into a metal pipe (did get away from it, shes still alive obviously . but that did hurt)

his nose was like broken before, never healed the same so its kinda crooked (this was before being at The Company, probably from getting in a fight as a teenager)

he tends to be kind of hard on himself, very apologetic when he makes any sort of mistakes.

his hair feels like shit. its been like bleached to hell so its all brittle and shit

none of the crew have anything against El but they did agree that if anything happens shes dies first (they have not agreed on what "anything happens" or "dies" entails though)

respects 56 a lot, almost exclusively refers to it as 'captain' . nobody else really cares about that, its just El who does that

trusts Zachary more than Morgan does, still cautious because she knows what it can do but believes it that its not going to do that

El and Morgan are rlly cool with each other. she likes to listen to them talk about whatever, they know a lot about stuff and El thinks thats cool

Morgan :

also actually human

mostly does ship duty but does also go in the facility sometimes, pretty good at it.

also takes the job seriously, not as much as 56 though. just wants to be safe, make sure nobody gets killed

they were on a different crew before this one. it didn't end well..

very dry and kind of snippy, they do care though just arent good at showing it

they kinda rlly seem like an asshole but will open up to people sometimes it just takes a while

very interested in xenobiology, got the job to get to observe the moons wildlife more directly. theyre fine with doing the rest of it though

really good at dealing with the creatures because of that

despite not being the fighter of the group they have taken down nutcrackers before, El will not so they deal with that instead.

only one on the ship who actually has first aid training. usually is the one to have to deal with that. only ever seen Elliot and Zachary get hurt though, Fifty-Six is somehow always fine

very suspicious of Fifty-Six, knows something's up with him but doesn't say anything because they don't wanna start shit with whatever kind of alien beast it is

cautious as hell around Zachary, doesn't like to be alone with it. they've seen what maskeds do to people and they don't like it.

but they've never actually interacted with a masked for so long so it's.. an interesting experience at least. there's not much documented about them so this is the most they've gotten to know about maskeds

Elliot and Morgan are chill, Morgan will often talk to her about different things. she's a good listener.

[captainmullin]

Rackam scolding Mullin on sleeping habits?

ACTUALLY really funny you say that cause I’m pretty sure that was one of the original ideas I had for these two idiots (affectionate) immovable object vs unstoppable force … them <3 also I had full intent to answer this and then I um. passed out for three hours

"Sheesh, when was the last time you actually slept?" Rackam's voice lingered in the back of Mullin's mind, their headache starting to take on more of a searing pain than a dull ache. A reminder of the hours lost to the paperwork and organization that they had to continuously do. Their hair had started to grow out again, and with it, knots began to appear as Mullin twisted their fingers around their lavender locks - nervous habits even a haircut couldn't break.

Snapping yet another quill from holding it too hard, Mullin sighed and slumped back in their chair. Their desk was littered with black and blue ink, and the stack of papers seemed to never get smaller. They rolled their wrist, wincing at the pain. Rackam had visited, as well as Gran, but neither of them stayed for long. It was already... wait.

Mullin squinted at the candle on their desk and then looked outside. Oh, no. It's probably... four in the morning? Shit. That means... night shift changes in an hour, and the morning crew will be up. Including me.

Mullin groaned and reached for their water - only to find the cup empty. (It probably had been for awhile, but they just now noticed. When was the last time they even... nevermind). Sighing, the captain steeled their resolve to brave the kitchen, and stood up from their desk.

Ow. Ow. Ow, ow- A hiss escapes from their clenched teeth as Mullin stood, all of the pain and fatigue hitting them at once. Their wrists and knees hurt the worst, a shockwave of pain aggravating their migraine. Damn this desk. Do I even need water at this point? They sighed and stretched one last time, and then made their way into the Grandcypher’s kitchen. Hopefully no one was awake.

To Mullin’s relief, no one was in the kitchen. Unless you counted Lowain, Tomoi, and Elsam, who were in the back pantry prepping for the day’s menu - thankfully, the trio was too engrossed in conversation to hear the captain enter to refill their cup of water. Their hands shook with the effort; Mullin hadn’t noticed how bad their dizziness was until that point. The five minute walk down the hallway seemed like it took ages. Mullin, now unsteady on their feet, gripped the sink hard enough to turn their knuckles white. They grit their teeth to try and keep some semblance of control with them, but-

“Woah, captain down!” Lowain’s voice echoed in Mullin’s ears as they swayed on their feet, and promptly passed out.

~~~

“Look, bro, all I know is that they were chilling, and then bam! Zero HP.” Lowain said, crossing his arms. Elsam nodded.

“Yeah, totes. The water was running, I think they got dehydrated.”

“Dehydrated…?” Rackam mumbled as he watched Mullin sleep. Their hair was a mess, and you didn’t have to look close to see the dark rings under their eyes. Their brow was furrowed as well - are they having a nightmare? Rackam thought to himself. Tomoi and Elsam exchanged a look. The trio had brought Mullin back to their room but had bumped into Rackam as he was waking up for the day. At seeing the captain, Rackam immediately dropped what he was doing to help them back to their room. Tomoi was about to say something, but Lowain held his hand out.

“So… uh, yeah, we should probably let them sleep. Looks like they need it,” Lowain ventured. Rackam stayed silent, having taken a seat next to Mullin’s bed a few minutes prior. “Rackam, man, I don’t think they’re-“

“Ah, it’s okay. Gran and Djeeta can tell everyone we’re stayin’ an extra day.” Rackam replied, almost brushing off Lowain. The trio exchanged looks again.

“Yeah, sure. Okay.” Lowain and the other two went back outside the room - and immediately broke into a huddle.

“Dudes.” Tomoi began. Lowain nodded.

“I know, man. Rackam’s acting weird, and Captain’s out cold. What d’you say about us making them a banging meal?”

“Hell yeah! I’m on board!” Elsam agreed, and the three put their hands together. Elsam ran off to find Gran, and Tomoi went to Djeeta. Lowain sped off back to the kitchen - hopefully Mullin would be awake around lunchtime.

Back in their room, Mullin stirred in their sleep. Blinking away tiredness, their vision focused and found Rackam staring down at them, hands in his lap.

“What… um…?” They mumbled, voice hoarse.

“You’re awake? How are you feelin’?” Rackam said, quietly. He didn’t move.

“Oh-!” Mullin suddenly sat straight up in bed, then winced as their migraine tormented them again. Rackam also moved when they did, guiding them back down.

“Hey, easy, don’t move. You fainted earlier in the kitchen. What the hell were you doing, stayin’ up that late?”

“I…” Mullin began, then glanced away from Rackam, “I was working on the finance report. Sierokarte needed it so she could pay us back.”

“And?”

They bit their lip: “I also had to finish payroll. And finish the requests for time off- it was all due by the end of the month, I had to-“

“Mullin.” Rackam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “When was the last time you ate? Or drank? Or maybe slept a full night?”

“Uhm…” Mullin trailed off, a little embarrassed that they were being scolded by their peer. “I ate yesterday, I think. I haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

“A couple of- why?” Rackam said softly. I shouldn’t pry, I should leave so they can rest, but…

“…I have nightmares.” Mullin confessed, looking back at the helmsman. “About Dad. About Gran, and Djeeta, and- and a lot of other things. But mainly Dad.”

“Ah…” Rackam nodded in sympathy. There was a distant look in Mullin’s eyes as they turned away from him again. Rackam said nothing, but reached out - he wasn’t sure why, but he just felt like he should. Rackam then noticed the knots near the end of their hair, little snags that probably should be dealt with before they got worse.

Wait. I can’t just. Can I? I shouldn’t. But their hair…

“…You don’t have to stay here. I’m fine.” Mullin mumbled, voice clearly drowsy again.

“I know. I want to stay, though. Can I- geez, this is awkward-“ Rackam said, stumbling over his words.

“What?”

“Can I- Would you let me brush your hair?”

“Oh. Um. Sure,” Mullin replied, voice even quieter. “Sure. My brush is by the nightstand.”

Flustered, Rackam quickly grabbed the brush and Mullin sat up - still facing away from him. Their migraine had subsided somewhat, but it had been replaced by a flush on their cheeks that spread to their ears. It was faint, but still visible. Rackam gently took the ends of Mullin’s hair into his hand and began to brush out the tangles - at least he could do this to help. He couldn’t do much with the nightmares, or the bouts of insomnia, or even making sure they were eating, but he could at least brush their hair.

A small laugh escapes Mullin’s lips, “Hey, that tickles.”

Even if he wasn’t the best at it.

[helldustedstories]

Okay, but I want to talk about Stolas and his relationship with touch, affection, and praise, because they're all kind of wrapped up in one another. Under a cut for length.

When he was younger, he barely saw his father. The day he received his grimoire was the first time he'd seen him all year, and Paimon didn't even tell him 'happy birthday;' he just greeted him, completely forgetting his name, and told him that it was finally time for him to 'become a true part of the Goetia family. Good for you.'

After that, he very quickly told Stolas what his duty in Hell was going to be, gave him the grimoire, and then announced that he was destined to 'sire a precautionary heir,' which meant that he was never going to have any say in how his life turned out. It was all planned for him right from the start. The picture that Paimon showed Stolas of his future wife was one where she was abusing her pets, something that was understandably upsetting on top of the news he'd just received. When Stolas starts crying in reaction, Paimon pats him on the head, the touch condescending and anything but comforting or affectionate. Stolas even flinches when he pats him, which suggests he's used to less than gentle touch, by that point.

He's used to his father not being there or being less than gentle, which sets up an expectation for other. Because if his father, who loves him (because fathers are supposed to be loving, right?) treats him that way, of course other people are going to as well, right?

And then later, when Stolas bows to Blitzo, being the polite young gentleman he is, Paimon hits him to correct him, calling him an idiot in the process. It definitely wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Paimon's simply not around as much as he could be, but Stolas almost certainly had physical correction applied whenever he did something wrong (a rap across the knuckles with a ruler, a smack upside the head, like when he bowed to Blitzo; little things that add up).

He was also very isolated, mostly only interacting with the household servants and his tutors, none of which showed him more than cursory attention, the way one does to the son of their employer. So he grew up touch-starved, isolated, and desperate for any sort of attention or affection.

Additionally, he was frequently belittled and told that he was stupid, ugly, worthless, that he wouldn't amount to anything, which very much stuck with him and he started to internalize. He's used to just kind of ducking his head and going along with it, to minimize any attention on him, because so frequently when people are paying attention to him, it's negative.

He's more likely to expect a physical blow than any sort of gentle affection, especially when it's preceded by raised voices. Stella was more likely to throw objects than to throw hands, at least at first, but he still flinches sometimes when someone is upset with him, just out of habit. Though he's gotten pretty good at keeping any physical reaction to a minimum, as a means of self-preservation.

Stolas also got very good at deflecting and defusing situations because he had to after Via was born. He showers her with love and affection, because he doesn't want her to end up like him.

Because as much as he craves touch, affection, and praise, actually receiving them is another matter. When he's comfortable with someone, he very much wants to be touching them frequently, even if it's just something simple like the brush of his hand against theirs, because it reassures him, fills part of the hollowness that he constantly feels because he wants to be held, to be cared for.

So he channels that into caring for others: usually his plants and his daughter.

But as is a theme in his life, everything changes when Blitz shows up again. Stolas tries to joke and flirt, not really expecting anything to happen, but he'd had something to drink, and the first person he'd ever called his friend had seemed to enjoy his company when they were children, maybe that hadn't changed. Maybe he really was here to see Stolas.

The two of them sit down on the nearby chaise lounge and talk a little bit, until Blitz is the one that initiates any sort of touch between them. Stolas is immediately flustered and doesn't know what to do, going so far as to back away from Blitz. Because at this point, he's never experienced any touch that is romantic or positive in a sexual nature; he's been married to Stella for quite some time, and he disassociated whenever they had physical contact. So he's understandably a bit flustered because he's experiencing attraction for the first time, too.

Blitz pursues him, putting all of the attention on Stolas, which he is not used to, especially in this sort of situation, but he doesn't push him away. It's new, it's exciting, and he finds that he actually wants what Blitz seems to be offering. He has no idea how to put that into words, and he stammers over an answer when Blitz asks him what he wants him to do to him. Which is the point that Blitz bites him, tipping that needle over from "I want this but I'm uncomfortable" to "oh my god, I want this."

When Blitz pushes him back down onto the bed, he latches onto that, immediately asking Blitz if he likes to be in charge, to command. He goes right into playing that up, going from the idea of commanding to kinky in seconds, because any of the knowledge he possesses about this sort of situation came from books. Blitz tells him to stop, and he immediately does.

It's at that point that Blitz blindfolds him and ties him to the bed, which Stolas takes to mean that more touch is coming, something he says he's craved for a very long time. Blitz could have just left him there, but he didn't. He stayed and he fulfilled that desire: he gave Stolas what he'd been craving, showed him what it was like to be touched and wanted, which also served to show him what he had been missing.

Because up until that point, he thought there was something wrong with him. I've talked about it a little bit before, but my interpretation of Stolas is that he's both gay and on the ace spectrum, specifically demiromantic and demisexual, which means he needs an emotional connection to feel more for someone than just appreciating them aesthetically. He hasn't necessarily come to terms with this sort of label yet, which was why his initial night with Blitz meant more to him than some casual fling would have, because he already had an emotional connection, which made the physical that much more intense.

Things with Stella got even worse, at that point. He was able to block her blow so easily the one time he stood up for himself because he was expecting it, because she'd done it before.

So while he craves touch, there's also part of him that expects the worst when he actually gets it.

Which is part of the reason he leans so much into the BDSM side of things with Blitz, especially in the beginning. Because if he expects pain, if it's controlled and given out as part of the touch, part of the experience, and not just a negative, then that's fine. It's something he expects and can handle, and even find pleasurable, because it's controlled and it's not coming from a place of anger, of fear. It's actually coming from a place of trust and of care, which is an entirely new experience for him.

He can handle being touched, leans into it, because he so desperately wants and needs it.

Affection, on the other hand, is harder for him to deal with because it's so foreign. He frequently feels that he's not worth the time and attention it takes to reach some level of caring for him, even if he's desperate for it.

The same sort of thing goes for genuine praise. If someone tells him he did something well or he's good at something, his first instinct is to pick apart whatever they're complimenting, because he clearly could have done better. They're not actually complimenting him; they're trying to show him how he failed.

It's even worse when someone tells him he's pretty. He wears nice clothes and does what he can, but he's been told from a very young age that he's ugly and disgusting, which is definitely taking some time to unlearn.

But the more he spreads his wings (so to speak) and experiences more and comes to terms with the fact that his treatment wasn't okay and wasn't his fault, the more he unlearns the things he was told. It's been a long road to get to where he is, and he definitely still has days where he doesn't feel like he's worth anyone's time or attention, but he is definitely trying.

[fruitybashir]

bit of a different kind of bonus content but as mentioned in the last chapter, here's some of the songs i have in my holidate playlist:

Careless Whisper - George Michael very obviously for That Scene, but also bc the song in general just fucking slaps and their voices would go sooooo well together on it, and there's also another reason it's in here that i will maybe mention later

Andromeda - Weyes Blood this one is a bit vague but to me it fits kris in this story so well, especially these bits: - running from my own life now - left the heart from the depths its fallen through - love is calling, its time to let it through, find a love that will make you, i dare you try - im ready to try - let me in if i break, and be quiet if i shatter - love is calling, its time to give to you, something you can hold on to basically how he shut himself off after his breakup and isolated himself, reluctant to go out or do anything than the bare basics, he was just acting on autopilot for a while. and then he meets bojan and the guys and gets involved in their friend group etc and opens up more and more and more. and with bojan (even though he refuses to acknowledge it) he opens up his heart again both in a platonic way but also obviously more than that also romantically

One Of Your Girls - Troye Sivan tbh this one is just bc they're doing the f+ thing and i think its a little funny lol theres no deeper meaning its just that the vibe is fitting to write to "give me a call if you ever get lonely" oh they do that a LOT

June - Florence + the Machine this one's for the kris/jan dynamic, to ME at least lol. "you were broken hearted and the world was too / and i was beginning to lose my grip [...] and i would come to you / to watch the television screen in your hotel room / im always down to hide with you" they have a very tight and intimate bond, they are each others safe space, no matter what happens; they will seek the other out first and comfort each other in ways they wouldn't get from anyone else. they can show up at each others place unannounced and the other will cancel all plans and they can talk it out or just sit in silence, whatever the situation calls for. no questions asked.

Just A Little Bit - Kids of 88 Afterglow - Scandroid both with no extra meaning but they're mainly what i was playing when i was imagining the new years party and what they might've danced to

[jade-efflorescence]

☕️

Photo card collecting, or buying albums in bulk (I literally have no ideas 🥲).

LOVE LOVE LOVE your theme by the way!

(thank youuu that means so much! i spent like an hour just trying to piece it all together lol)

ooo this is a great topic! unfortunately, i don't have a lot of experience but i'll do my best to answer :)

i am unfortunately a college student (who is mainly online at the moment due to Tuition Being Expensive :(( ) so when i first got into kpop i knew collecting was completely out of the picture for me. despite that i have gotten my hands on several albums and have gotten to experience some of the fun of photocards/album freebies!

most of my albums so far have been secondhand, which has been nice since i still have a cd player and can use the discs long term. it's kind of been like a treasure hunt as most of the inclusions are gone and i've gotten my hands on a few albums that are not being released anymore. from that i have the escape version of txt's the chaos chapter: fight or escape, the ive summer version of ive's after like, and the arcadia version of txt's the dream chapter: magic! i snagged a group poster, leeseo postcard, and liz circle card from the after like album, and the multicolored confetti from the tdc: magic album.

i also recently pre-ordered ive's ive switch album as an early birthday gift for myself! everything came packaged well and i got yujin! so that's all i have concerning photocards (for now, haha). i want to use the keychain and stickers but am not sure where yet.

thank you for the ask!

[lactoset0lerant]

ok so like i had a stupid idea in which instead of a first dance at a wedding, i would sword fight my (fictional in this case) partner. thoughts? (ur literally the only person i know w any experience in this)

OH MY GOD that sounds like the best idea. I mean if you're both very experienced fencers you can do this with metal swords with nothing but a mask, and determines how one can win. So for example in my fencing school we have a standard 4 point system, bot of you have 4 points, and the person who loses them all first loded the duel. If one of your limbs get hit you lose 1, if your torso gets hit you lose 2, if your head gets hit you lose 3 points, and if your neck get hit thats an instant kill. Of course to fence without protection, and make it safe, you have to be experts, who have done fencing for years. But there's always the option to use practice swords for which you dont need any protection, but they look less cool for sure. They're covered in a soft material so you wont hurt the other person. I mean idk anything about olympic fencing, i do historical, but i guess you could also go that route if you want! But they also use protective wear, but in their case idk if people fence without it. SO YEAH i went on for a little too long i think, but if the two people in question are very careful and have been fencing for years, and are expert, you could fence with nothin but a mask so you dont have to change before and after lol but i really fuckin love this idea, i hope this answered your question

[epitomees]

16 and 17

Munday Meme

16. Favorite trope?

MMMMMMMMMM THERE'S TOO MANY!!! I can list off a few just in case I get sent the same number ask.

First off, DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE!! It can be a lovers situation, a platonic situation, whatever the relationship they have I will FEAST on it!! It's even better when the two characters whom are destined/fated to go through with this ordeal are a human and a monster/supernatural being/eternal force/non-human lifeform. It breaks my heart when you have a human who is going to die, no matter the situation, no matter the outcome, it cannot be prevented in any way, and when the non-human being has developed this strong bond with them to a point they can't BARE to see the human leave. But what's done is done. And what makes it even BETTER AFTER THAT is if that non-human being cannot die. No matter if they try, if they ask someone else to try killing them, it won't happen. They are stuck to live for...potentially all eternity, never to be reunited with that human they are fond of so dearly. And then you get a nice resolve, or a 'coming to terms with' outcome where the non-human being has more of an appreciation towards human life, the beauty of humanity, and realizing how fragile and fleeting it is. They start to learn and love their life, trying to make the most of their eternal life while keeping the memories of that special human inside their heart.

See this is why I'm so drawn to Persona 3 so much, I get a lot of this due to Ryoji's nature and character importance along with Aigis being a robotic creation with the capacity of experiencing human emotions but never being a human herself, and the outcome of the protags it's so so sooooo goooooooood...

Another one is the classic Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers/Childhood Friends to Lovers. I love a slow buildup, I love the back and forth, the tugging and pulling, the natural development of something romantic between two characters whom have a lot of background together. And I will draw out these pining feelings for AS LONG as I can!!! Believe me, you wanna know how much I will commit to a ship and for making it a slow burn?! I wrote a 'enemies to acquaintances to friends to enemies to friends to close friends to lovers' ship with one of my best friends ever over a SEVEN YEAR TIMESPAN. And that's in IRL years, not in worldbuilding years! The collective shout of everyone following our story going "FINALLY IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME" was literally one of the best payoffs ever. So when you commit to any kind of ship with me, you are in for a LONG HAUL if you desire that.

17. Least favorite trope?

Hmmm...there's not many I can think of that I don't favor so much? I guess one could be that kind of "OP Protag" who can get hit over and over again but they'll always one-up the enemy by unlocking some new power that was never used or never mentioned before. It's just a mood killer, and it could have more of an effect on the situation if you provide a good buildup to this power. Showing glimpses of a new phenomenon they never experience, a brief moment of unnatural strength that leaves them more drained after a battle, you know...giving a hint of premonition and something that will eventually happen. You can't just pull out some newfound power out of your pocket during a fight, that's only reserved for the Rubberhose characters (and even then, you need to mention to your writing partner what all your cartoon character can pull out of their subspace).

I'm also not one for the End of Human Race/Dystopian Apocalypse kind of writing either. Like sure, you can have something catastrophic happening to the world, it wipes a good portion of humanity off the earth, and it leaves the world an absolute barren mess. But humans are resilient, we're stubborn and it's hard to keep us down. So we will rebuild, and we'll struggle during it as well. I don't like it when it's some dreary, all life is hopeless, why keep living anymore kind of situation. It's too much, too bleak and just...not really enjoyable to write or read. Give some pizzazz! Like I love Megaman X, and what I love about it is how humans are recovering from the catastrophic event, living alongside these humanoid robots who were built to aid in human progression, and the world has the potential to come back to what it once was! Give me some of that hope, you know?

[dokeomin]

when no one’s watching..

dokyeom found himself on the road late at night, the quiet streets passing by like a blur. he hadn’t even realized he was driving until he turned a corner and found himself heading out of the city. the hum of the engine was a quiet, rhythmic comfort against the chaos in his head. after the gym, where he worked his frustrations out on autopilot, he went home, barely eating the quick dinner he made, not tasting a thing. the food didn’t matter; the thoughts in his mind had been too loud. he'd washed up, trying to clear his head, but nothing worked.

maybe if i’d done things differently back then, she wouldn’t be feeling like this now, he thought, gripping the steering wheel. the guilt was suffocating, lingering in the quiet of the car as the world outside felt so still. her words from earlier echoed in his mind- how she apologized for wanting to be close, for not wanting to be “clingy''... it hurt him to know that she was still holding herself back, trying to protect him from her own needs, when all he wanted was to be there for her.

he knew she was trying so hard not to be too much, but it made him ache. she deserves everything, and more. he couldn’t stand the thought of her feeling like she was asking for too much, when all she wanted was to be with him, to feel close. and somewhere in the middle of all that, of the guilt, of the ache, of the desire to do better... came the thought he couldn't dare to say out loud. is now the proper time to take that step and make things official? not just in the way they were now, quietly orbiting each other, healing in baby steps. but properly. officially. the way she deserved. it had been living quietly inside him for weeks or even months now. the desire to hold her hand again without hesitation, to claim her not out of fear, but because he couldn’t imagine being without her.

but then came the weight. the fear.

what if i fail her again? what if i’m not enough this time either? because asking her meant admitting they were really in it again. no more in-between. no more hiding behind slow mornings and tentative texts. and maybe that scared him- not because he doubted his feelings, but because he was terrified of hurting her all over again. the wind outside was crisp as it cut through the slightly cracked window. he let it pull at his thoughts, trying to clear his mind, but the uncertainty lingered. it’s one of those moments where the heart wants to leap, but the mind’s pulling it back, asking: can i really give her what she deserves this time?

he wanted to. he truly did. he was already trying, being more careful, trying to be more present, showing up for her in all the small, quiet ways he could possibly do. but maybe he still wasn’t confident enough to say, “this time, i won’t let you down''. and if he asked her now, would it change things for the better? or would it add pressure, expectations, more weight to something that was already so fragile? but then again… maybe naming it wouldn’t change the dynamic. maybe it would just give them something real to hold onto before he left to the army. maybe it would be enough to say: i’m yours, even if i don’t know what tomorrow brings.

but still, part of him felt like he hadn’t earned that yet. not until he could prove- first to himself- that he could stay steady. that he wouldn’t fall into the same patterns again. the memories of their past crept in, the distance, the silence, the nights he’d been too tired to call. he wished he could turn back time and rewrite all of it, make sure she never felt like she had to make herself smaller to be loved... but there was no going back. only forward.

we can figure this out together, he reminded himself, though the words still felt like a fragile promise. he wanted to be the one who made her feel safe. who reminded her that she didn’t have to hold back or apologize for needing love. but even now, with the best of intentions in his chest, he still didn’t know if he was ready. and then her message came- soft, brave, and heavier than anything else that had filled his chest tonight.

“do you ever see us being together again?”

the words didn’t just echo in his mind, they carved into him, gentle but piercing. he could hear her voice as if she was right there in the passenger seat, saying it with that quiet vulnerability that always made his heart ache in the best and worst ways. he gripped the steering wheel tighter. how could she even wonder? of course he saw it. not just being together, but a life where they could fall asleep next to each other without the weight of uncertainty, where their time wasn’t rationed between conflicting schedules and goodbyes. but she had every reason to doubt it. he was the one who walked away before, and even now- still here, still loving her so dearly- he was holding her at arm’s length, too scared to promise her a future when his own felt like a countdown. her fear of being blindsided… it broke something in him. she doesn’t deserve that. she never did.

and yet, she was still willing to give him her truth, to be open, to trust him with the parts of herself that felt fragile. she was still here. loving him for who he was- even in his worst moments. it made him want to do better. to be better. to fight harder for the future he wanted with her. even if he didn’t have all the answers yet. he just hoped she could still see his heart through the doubt, through the silence, through all the uncertainty he didn’t yet know how to fix.

the headlights cut through the darkness, and the road stretched on ahead, quiet and endless. he didn’t feel better, not exactly. the weight was still there: heavy, familiar- but a few knots inside him started to loosen. just a little. like breathing through a fog and finally seeing the faint outline of where the road might lead. he still didn’t have all the answers. he still didn’t know if he was ready, but the thoughts that had once crashed over him in waves now came slower, like the tide pulling back just enough for him to stand.

we’ll figure it out together, he whispered again, and this time, it felt less like a question and more like a quiet vow. he gripped the wheel tighter, not with panic, but with purpose.

day by day. step by step. baby steps, but always towards her.

even if the road was long, even if the future still felt uncertain. he just had to keep moving forward.

[dragongirl-casca]

If you call your girlfriend "dude," then it won't bother me when you call me dude.

There's a cultural aspect to it. If you call your friends "dude" and unironically call your bros "broski," then that's just the way you talk and I'm happy to be one of your girldudes.

In practice, however, I've not met any surfer dudes or skater dudes who do this, because I live in the Midwest. Who I have met, is men who don't have any close female friends. When they say they call all their friends "dude," they're telling the truth! It's their default mode of addressing their friends! But all of their friends are men, and so the fact that they use "dude" for everyone they enjoy interacting with doesn't make it gender-neutral, it means that up until now they have only had to find a cozy friend word for half the population.

I feel for them, too, because when you encounter someone from a new category (woman), who acts and talks like someone from a large category you already have social scripts for (other gamers), it is very tempting to just keep using the exact same social scripts that already work for you. Even if it might be wiser to modify them a little. It's not even a calculated choice, it's a subconscious human quirk to go "new category looks like old category? Treat the same, hope no problems."

If you're a cis woman, being treated like one of the dudes might be ok; but when you've consistently been grouped with men despite your best efforts to the contrary, a simple slip of the tongue becomes another one of the many straws waiting to break the camel's back. Another hit to your self-esteem, another jab at that nebulous internal compass called gender, and another difficult conversation you're going to have to navigate with someone who really really doesn't want to have a difficult conversation with you when they're just hanging out with the dudes.

If you're gay, male, and my age or older, you probably experienced something similar interacting with gamers; namely, everything that sucks or is annoying or lame is "gay."

I have good news, though, and that is that gamers can be trained. When I thought I was cis and male, but already knew I was bi, I had an easy two-step process for training gamers to stop calling things gay. And that was, whenever I heard a gamer say "ugh, this move/map/champion is so gay!" I would call out "that move's not gay, I'm gay!"

Context specific of course, I'm too shy to do that in a big auditorium or mainstage, but in a sweaty basement? In a little university lounge? Hell yes. And it works. Everyone laughs, the guy who made the remark blushes a little. Phrasing it as a joke defused defensiveness, and usually elicited a "oh shit, you right, my bad!" from whoever made the remark. Usually it was Michael. Some gamers just take longer to train than others.

Now, this is new technology to me, so I haven't tested a phrase for transmisogyny yet. But I have to imagine an over-exasperated "Michael, I can't be a dude, I have tits." would be a hit with the gamers.

Do you view the word "dude" as gendered?

[kukinkrim]

okay but here’s a fun thought

Saha boys x Siren reader

Comedy story of both parties trying to pretend to be human

and imagine they have a sit down to talk because they have to tell the other the truth (both completely expecting this to go so far south because what would their darling human companion think!)

and it comes down to “I have a secret I can no longer keep. I’m not human” the other just laughs a bit too hard dropping their own illusion like “BRO ME TOO. Oh that’s so much better than what I thought, I thought we were breaking up or somthing!”

I just think it be really neat

oops, what's a human?

saja boys x siren!reader

themes: polyamory (?), fluff, romcom

the dorm you shared with the boys were unusually quiet for the night. too quiet that it made the tension in the air all the more unbearable.

you gulped down the lump in your throat, pretending not to hear your own heart racing harshly against your sensitive ears.

your five boys sat infront of you, sitting on the couch; eyeing each other as they quietly signalled one another to start talking and ask you what the meeting was all about.

you stirred your drink slowly, nervously, trying to act normal. but it was hard when all five pairs of eyes were watching you like a hawk right now.

you’d been holding it in for weeks.

the truth of it throbbed under your skin like a second pulse—an ache that twisted every time one of them called you their favorite human. you'd laughed along, of course. nodding and telling them that they were your favorites too; which isn't a lie.

but the guilt of letting them call you a race that wasn't your own was eating you alive.

you felt like you were betraying them for keeping it to yourself for this long.

you weren't a human. you were born out of seafoam and lived in the sea, yet you suddenly found yourself on land with legs that did not quite fit you. you were a siren. a real one, even if you have no tail to show for anymore. you still had your voice. dangerous and alluring—the kind that lured people into the sea centuries ago with sweet songs and sharp teeth.

you weren’t proud of it, but you didn’t have much choice in the matter either. you sang for survival. it was in your nature.

but then, you became human. with no actual human skills to show for other than your voice, you were scouted. you managed to debut under a no-name label. a poor company that couldn't afford fancy music videos or world tours or even just a dance crew of your own.

yet you still managed to garner the love of the people. your voice reached so many and over time, you had built a loyal fanbase of your own.

the saja boys were one of them.

a couple of variety shows and collaborations later, you became close with the five. the next thing you knew, you're visitting their dorms three times a week and cuddling with them on the couch.

but the truth is still there, ever so present and persistent: you weren’t human.

and every second you spent smiling with them, joking around in practice rooms, stealing fries from jinu’s plate and letting baby mess with your vocal warmups—you felt like a fraud.

they trusted you.

that’s what made it worse.

so here you were, after putting it off so many times and crying over it at night, you sat infront of them ready to open your heart and accept the worst.

what if they hated you? that’s what haunted you the most. not being found out, but for being pushed out.

because they were your everything now. your safe space in a cruel, unpredictable industry. in this world that, no matter how many years had passed, you still couldn't get used to.

ah. this is so stressful.

you fiddled with your cup and cleared your throat. "okay. so... uh, i have something to tell you guys. and like… no interrupting until i finish. got it?”

five demon idols blinked at you, unusually solemn. their shoulders slumped and it looked like they were about to burst into tears. before you could even utter the next words, your confession, abby was the first to break their silence.

"this sounds like a breakup," he says as he looks at you with a pout. he has his arms folded across his chest.

“are you dying?” romance asked, sniffling as he clasps his hands together.

“is it cancer? it’s always cancer in dramas,” baby added, glaring at the floor. it looks like he's mutterimg something along the lines of 'fuck cancer' 'i hate cancer' or something.

your eyebrow twitched as they all started muttering amongst themselves, clearly invested in their own little theories. even jinu, the most levelheaded among the five, seemed to be convinced you were sick. it looks like mystery was about to cry once he hears the word cancer one more time so you sighed, putting the cup down before you accidentally smash it on the wall.

forget being guilty at this point.

“i— NO, shut up! i said no interuptions!” you shouted, holding your hands up. “let me say it first!”

you inhaled slowly once everyone'a eyes were all on you, "i have a secret I can no longer keep.”

the five of them leaned forward.

“i’m not human.”

pause.

the room fell quiet for a hot minute you almost wanted to throw up.

“BROOOOOO—” it was romance who broke the silence with an uncharacteristic scream, as he exhales dramatically in relief, clutching his shirt. "i thought you were going to break up with us or something. THANK GOD."

jinu choked on his drink and slapped baby in the chest, who was, somehow, already laughing like he found all of these amusing. to his credit though, it probably is.

"so what are you, then?" mystery was the ome who asked what they were all thinking. "a demon like us?" he pointed to himself as he stares you at you eagerly. for some reason, you could tell he was rather excited to hear your answer-

wait.

demons? like us?

"wha-i'm a siren. wait. demons? excuse me?" you stumbled on your words, not sure if you heard it right.

“dude,” baby gasped between coughs of laughter. “we're demons."

the four nodded as if it was not the most surprising thing in the world. well, you suppose, it means you're not the only one keeping a secret this whole time; afraid to be judged and hated on by your own lover.

"i knew you were too good during karaoke nights!" romance pointed an accusing finger at you and you chuckled, rubbing your nape sheepishly.

"so, you're all demons. all five of you."

jinu laughs, nodding. "we were actually coming up with a plan on how to tell you but it seems you made a move first. i didn't really take into account that you'd be a siren, though."

"i thought sirens were a myth!" abby was now looking at you with awe in his eyes and you could tell he had so many questions about your origin. it was kind of cute to see him so excited?

“this is so much better than what i initially thought." mystery hummed as he slumps against the couch, tension rolling off his shoulders now that everything was known.

“wait,” you frowned. “what did you think?”

“we thought you were going to say you were leaving us,” jinu replied with his eyes wide. "or worse!"

abby chirped in, "like cancer!"

there was a brief silence before you all broke into laughter again—relieved and a little hysterical. it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders now that you've told them the secret you've been keeping for so long.

you exhaled, dragging a hand down your face. “oh my god. i actually thought i was gonna confess i was a monster and then cry, maybe scream, and lose you all forever."

"nah, you're stuck with us now. you eat souls too, right?" baby asks as he relaxed on the sofa, propping his feet up the coffee table on the center of the living room.

you raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway. "yes. i eat souls. before i became human, i usually ate lost sailors across the sea. now i just eat pathetic humans. they actually taste a bit disgusting.”

“see?” romance gestured with a grin. “you’re one of us. you’re like… demon-adjacent. an honorary hellspawn.”

“more like a morally flexible ocean cryptid.”

“that too.”

"for our next collab, you have to do the bridge." baby chirps, smiling smugly at his own idea. "your riffs actually make humans cry and cough up mild trauma. it was pretty funny to watch."

"i thought you were just a super talented human that can make grown men lose their minds," abby laughs loudly.

ah, thinking about your next comeback.

it would be a ride.

the industry better watch out. these six hellspawns were looking at a #1 billboard award.

and honestly?

you were going to look damn good on that red carpet—with your demons matching themed outfits. you can't wait.

[tommysversion]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 1] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

Warnings & Contents: age difference (unspecified, can be as large or small as you'd like) | unsafe sex | Vaguely misogynistic language (not from Joel) | past Reader x Tommy mention | dirty talk | praise | pet names | size difference implied IE Joel's hands are larger than Reader's | unprotected PIV | Enthusiastic consent | Fluffier than expected | creampies oops | guaranteed happy ending

Note: I got this out before episode two dropped. There are no spoilers here, just old man Joel being loved.

Word Count: 3.8k. || Part Two Here

- x. -

Joel knows that deep down, he's not the good guy that he tries to be in Jackson. That no amount of hard work and somewhat begrudging neighbourly behaviour will truly ever mask what he really is. 

He does a damn good job hiding it, though. Looks almost unassuming with his greying curls, the crows feet forming round his eyes, the glasses he wears more often than not. 

Then there's you. God knows how much younger than him - does it really matter, when he's pushing sixty and you're clearly not - and full of life. 

He sees you around and just one look at you gets him half hard; you don't even have to fucking do anything, just be wandering past and give him a friendly wave, a half smile. 

He finds his eyes glued to your ass more often than not, given your standard attire of a pastel plaid shirt and jeans does nothing to hide your figure. He feels like a dirty old man each and every fucking time, but he can't help it. Especially when you wander past to get ready for a patrol, an honest to god cowboy hat perched on your head, a lasso and a gun on your hip. 

It makes some deep buried dark and depraved part of him wish he was still the cocky, confident bastard he once was. The kind who would have no problem whatsoever with talking to you and getting exactly what he wanted. Age has made him hesitate, though, and so he sort of just contends himself with trying to be as subtle as possible with his stares. 

He'd be lying if he said he thought of anything else when he fucked his own hand each night, though. 

Imagining you. How you might look spread out beneath him. On top of him. How you might sound with his name on your stupidly pouty lips, which he absolutely hasn't made note of or anything. 

Joel likes to think he's completely subtle in his interest in you, thinks he might just be burning up inside with his own desires and need, until Tommy calls him the fuck out for it one night. 

They're in the bar long after closing time, just the two of them, perks of Tommy being on the governing council, Joel guesses, and two or three glasses of whiskey deep. 

"Don't know why you don't just go after her, y'know." Tommy takes a long sip of his drink. Gives Joel a smirk that he never thought he'd see again, given his younger brother is all settled down now, married with a kid and whatnot. 

"You know damn well why not." Joel snipes back, refills his glass with a narrowed gaze. "'M too old and I'm too fuckin' dangerous. She'd probably break or something." 

Tommy just laughs. But it's more like his old laugh. The slightly dark sound that Joel hasn't heard in years that makes him goddamn certain his brother knows something he doesn't. 

"What?"

"Nothin'," Tommy says, tossing another cube of ice into his glass, swirls it around. "Don't blame you for lookin'. Girl's got a sweet ass, and damn, she can ride, too."

There's that tone again, the one that says he definitely knows something. More than knows something. So Joel gives him that look he does that always inevitably has Tommy spilling the beans. 

"And how d'you know the girl can ride, huh?"

Tommy snorts, drags a hand through his messy black curls. 

"Wasn't always with Maria, ya know. Back when I first came to Jackson... girl can handle her way around a saddle. Ain't half as cocky when she was gushin' all over my cock in a hay bale. Tell y'somethin, never seen a prettier sight than a cockdrunk woman." 

He downs the rest of his drink before he shoots Joel a crooked grin. 

"And trust me on this one too - she loves her an older man."

Joel doesn't want details. Doesn't care much about something that happened six or so years ago. 

What he does take from the conversation stays worked into his head over the next few days. He's just thinking he might make some excuse to leave his office early, to go home so he can either drink himself senseless or fuck his own fist until he has some semblance of self control again. 

He's still debating which it'll be when someone knocks on his office door; he looks up, about to tell whoever it is to fuck off, and instead stops. Because there you fucking are, your hair pulled off your face, still windswept. Dressed in a pastel purple and blue plaid shirt, another pair of jeans that should be fucking outlawed and worn cowboy boots. 

“Hey, Joel.”

Vaguely, he wonders if this is the first time he’s actually registered you saying his name; he likes the way it sounds in your voice.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He can’t help but sense some sort of mischief, wonders whether Tommy has decided to interfere, again, in something he has no business in.

“Oh, uh, Tommy said you were the one to go to if the barn door got caught again?”

Joel registers what you’re saying, can’t help but listen to the way his brother’s name sounds in your mouth, as if he’s looking to see if there’s any hint of any sort of affection in it, but he finds none.

He also thinks his goddamn brother is full of shit, because he knows damn well that Tommy is just as capable of fixing the stupid barn door. But Joel is nothing if not an opportunist, and he sees exactly what’s being offered here – an opportunity.

So he gets up out of his chair, pockets his glasses, and gives you a nod.

“Sure. Let’s go get that fixed up before dark.”

-            X     -

You’re aware of the sheer size of the man beside you as you help him lift the barn door back onto the track it usually slides in. He must be at least sixty, and yet he’s so big and broad that it doesn’t quite show. That doesn’t mean you’re oblivious to the greying curls, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You’re not blind. Maybe you’re just fucked up, because you’ve always preferred older men, at least, since the outbreak.

Maybe it’s some convoluted thought that someone older might be able to keep you safe. As if you aren’t a damn good shot yourself. As if you aren’t entirely capable of keeping yourself safe.

You haven’t been as oblivious to his stares as he thinks. No, Joel Miller is not a subtle man, not anymore. Never has been.

That, and you’ve seen a similar look on his brother’s face, once upon a time. The kind of look that says they want to devour you. To do things to you that’ll make your toes curl.

Like you haven’t been watching Joel since he first set foot in Jackson. Figured maybe you were too young, too out of range of his usual type, whatever the fuck that was.

And then you’d noticed him watching you, dared to perhaps hope, but never make the first move. Until now.

“Thanks for the help,” you say as you test the door, pull it open and closed to make sure it isn’t stuck again.

“’S fine,” Joel answers, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Walk you home?” You offer, and the hint of a smile curves his mouth.

“Don’t know that I’m the one who needs a chaperone to walk round after dark.”

You laugh lightly as he falls into step with you regardless.

“Ah, Joel, nobody would be stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

You don’t entirely believe that, but confidence is certainly part of it, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re someone weak and scared.

“Why, you got some scary ass husband or somethin’ I don’t know about?” Joel asks, and you can hear the hint of jealousy in his tone, even if he thinks you won’t; it lights up something in your belly that trails all the way down to your core.

“Pff, no. No husband. No boyfriend. Just me, and apparently I’m scary enough.”

You give him time to take all that in, but that means you arrive at his house far too soon with very little progression in conversation. You’re almost feeling disappointed when he speaks again.

“Comin’ in for a drink?”

Joel isn’t sure where that confidence came from. Maybe the way you’ve confirmed there’s no significant other in your life. The almost flirty way you’ve spoken to him. The way you had seemingly no issue getting up in his space as you fixed the barn door.

He notices, too, the way your eyes flicker with something like triumph at the offer, before you just nod, follow him up the steps and into the house.

-            X     -

Joel watches the way your lips curve around the glass tumbler, and he really thinks he should be more focused on his own liquor consumption at his age more than the way it looks, but he can’t help it.

Unbidden, his mind gives him a picture of your lips wrapped around something else entirely, and for the first time since Tommy shared his little bit of “wisdom” about you the other night, he resents his brother for it. Because of fucking course his goddamn brother would have had the balls to just make a move. So why doesn’t he?

As he’s pondering this, he’s oblivious to your gaze, focused on him over the rim of your glass. They’re so alike, and yet so different, the Miller brothers. You haven’t quite worked out what makes Joel tick yet, can sense a sort of brooding, shut off darkness in him that you aren’t entirely certain you’d like to see unleashed.

What you do know, though, is that you’ve caught his eyes on you more than once. That you want him, even if it’s only for one night, that you don’t care if he shreds your heart to pieces after, so long as you get one single night where you can see what it’s like to be his.

And so while he’s still lost in thought, you down the rest of your drink and cross from your chair to his, straddle his lap and tap him lightly on the cheek.

“Hey, still with me?”

Not a lot takes Joel by surprise; he wasn’t sure what to expect when you moved, but to find you in his lap is definitely unexpected. He puts his half-finished drink to the side and just looks at you for a second, tries to will his cock into behaving, but it’s too late, he’s already hard as fuck, uncomfortable in his jeans with you pressed against him, and you both know it.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” He manages to get out, because he’s got to be sure you’re not just fucking with him, or making some poor decision fuelled by liquor, even though he doubts the single drink has even touched the sides.

“What’s it look like?” You can feel how hard he is, can’t help but rock into him slightly, taunting, teasing, because God forbid you actually want this.

“Makin’ a real poor decision?” Joel regrets saying it as soon as he does so, and it shows on his face; luckily you ignore him.

“You want me to stop?” you ask instead, your hands at the buttons of the flannel shirt he always wears, a well loved dark green thing that you think sets off the olive tones to his skin perfectly.

He shakes his head so fast he almost feels dizzy, because there’s no way in hell he wants you to stop, but he wants you to understand what you might be getting yourself into.

“Fuck, no,” he almost growls it out, leans in to press a kiss to your bare collarbone where your shirt has fallen. “More just… I'm an old man, darlin', but I've never been good at bein' gentle."

You just laugh, because you don’t want gentle. You don’t want young and sweet and inexperienced. You want whatever the hell is lurking behind his tired gaze.

Still, he doesn’t move until you lean in first, press those pouting lips against his, part them so he can taste liquor and strawberries on your tongue. It’s not until you grind down against him again and moan into his mouth that he reacts.

Then whatever control he has left (which isn’t much) snaps, his hands pushing up your shirt; glad he had the foresight to build a fire when you got in, because the last thing he wants is you shivering for any reason that isn't good, isn't at his hands. 

You figure he isn't moving fast enough, help him shed your layers of clothing one by one until you're in his lap in just your emerald green panties, and fuck if Joel doesn't think the colour looks good on you.

His hands are wandering, up from your hips, slowly, cupping your tits and rubbing his roughened thumbs across your peaked nipples. You almost wish you could get him naked, but the most he'll allow is a few buttons of his shirt undone. Not that you're about to complain, so full of want for him that you'll take whatever he gives you.

You can feel the fabric of your panties getting damper with every hungry, open mouthed kiss, your little moans muffled as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs around your nipples, humming when he feels you react.

"Sensitive, huh?" His dark eyes stay fixed on yours as he pinches your nipples gently, making your back arch slightly. "Yeah you are, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, grinding yourself down against the thick length of him, your hands finding his belt buckle.

He doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with playing with your tits, the way you lean into his touch. Your hand unzips his jeans, frees his cock from the too tight confines, and slowly strokes, drawing a low groan from his chest.

Fuck, but you know what you're doing, slow practised strokes from base to tip, gentle twists of your wrist when you reach the thick head of him, spreading the precum that drips heavily along his length.

"Fuck, sweetheart, don't make me cum before I've got you there-" he warns, and you laugh, not at him, but because you're so fucking pleased that you're having that much of an effect on him.

He shuts you up effectively though, slides one rough hand into your panties and almost immediately finds your swollen clit, rubs circles on it with his thumb, smirking at how soaked he finds you.

"Christ. Don't even need t'get you ready for me, do I?"

You shake your head, but he does it anyway; nobody can say he isn't merciful, Joel thinks, as he slides his index and middle finger into your wet heat, drawing a filthy sound from you as he curls them deep.

He kisses you again, rough and needy, thinks about how if he was five, ten years younger he'd pick you up, carry you to the nearest horizontal surface and fuck you into it. The thought makes his cock throb painfully, but even this is enough, having you in his lap, writhing on his fingers...

You're aware of his mouth on you; on your throat, your collarbones, your nipples, then he moves his fingers a little more and you're aware of nothing beyond your own pleasure, your cunt weeping onto the thick digits as he continues to move them, not stopping until he's absolutely certain you're through it.

"So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. You want to come sit on my cock now?"

Slowly, slowly, he slides his fingers out, enjoys the dazed look on your face as you nod; your ruined panties are dragged down, tossed aside, then you're there, intimately close as he lines himself up, catches the tip of his cock at your soaked entrance.

He lets you sink down onto him with little to no guidance; groans when your hips meet far sooner than he expected. 

"Fuck, there's a good girl-"

You make a sound of assent, wriggle in his lap to get comfortable, only serving to make his cock twitch inside you and drag another pretty little sound out.

"You like how it feels?" He knows you do, can tell by the way your pussy tightens around him, trying to pull him in deeper, but he wants to hear you say it, almost needs the ego boost.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, then, "Joel-"

His name is drawn out, a half plea for something that he isn't quite sure about.

"What d'you need, honey?"

"Need you to move," your voice is almost demanding, somewhere between pleading and insistent, but you'll get what you want regardless.

Joel keeps his hands on your hips, giving you some semblance of control still, but he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips up as you rest your forehead against his.

So maybe it's not what he first pictured, not what he'd have done to you ten years ago, but it doesn't quite matter to him, not when he can feel how wet and tight you are around him, hear every single pathetic little noise you make for him.

Your fingers drag through greying curls, tugging lightly; you're rewarded with another low groan, more like a growl, as his hips snap upwards sharply against yours. You don't get to savour that victory, too preoccupied by the suddenly rougher pace.

"Fuck, Joel-" You gasp and he laughs, tightens his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock just that little bit harder, faster, hitting all the right places inside.

"That's it, good girl," he presses greedy, open mouthed kisses to your throat, keeping up the pace, feeling you tightening around him and knowing without a doubt that you're close already, so worked up for him that tipping you over the edge will be almost easy.

"Such a tight, sweet little cunt, baby, made to take my cock, weren't you?" The filthy words pour out before he can stop them, but you're responsive to those, too, clinging to him, moaning as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again,  getting you closer; you try to hold it off, don't want this to be over yet. But God if it isn't difficult.

Joel can feel you trying not to cum, can feel you holding yourself back.

"C'mon, sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.  Y'really think this is gonna be the only time I give you my cock, sweet girl? Fuck, gonna keep this pretty pussy full of me til you get sick of it."

You gasp a moan, because there's no way in hell you could ever get tired of this, of the hint of roughness and the burning passion with which he handles you. 

Regardless, once he gives you that permission, even though you didn't need it, your resolve breaks; he presses in deep, grinds his hips against yours so the coarse curls at the base of him brush your over-sensitive clit, and then you're gone, spots in your vision as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering and throbbing around the thick cock splitting you open as your release drips down him, soaking his lap. 

Joel groans, almost cums right there, because he can count on both hands and feet how long it's been since he made a woman cum so hard, felt a pussy spasm around his cock and gush fluids into his lap.  Fuck, if he doesn't love it.

"Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," he warns, voice low and rough as he rubs circles on your back, trying to get you through it whilst holding back his own release.

"Please-" Your voice is hoarse, eyes wide and pleading as you look at him, not bothering to finish your sentence and instead leaning in to kiss him.

It's the kiss that pushes him over the edge; years of rough, emotionless encounters, against walls. Bent over surfaces. And here you are, younger than him, softer somehow, kissing him like he's someone good and deserving.

He knows he should pull out of you but it's too late, his cock aches and twitches inside you as his release fills your still fluttering cunt, breaking the kiss only so he can rest his head on your shoulder and try to breathe.

Then your hands are in his hair again, stroking through the soft curls, getting him through the aftermath of his climax with the same gentle touch he gave you.

"Joel," you whisper his name and this time it's not a plea, not an impassioned moan, just your voice being gentle as you continue to stroke his hair.

"Hm?" He's content to just stay like this, actually, even if his joints are starting to protest. He'll deal with that later for another five, ten, fifteen minutes of this with you.

"You don't fuck like an old man." Your voice is soft. Sleepy. Like he's fucked any fire inside you out of you, lulled you into a sense of safety.

Joel can't help it. He laughs, a proper laugh that barely anyone gets out of him these days.

"Guess not, huh."

He feels his softening cock slip out of you, wraps his arms around you and tucks you against his chest.

"Can we do this again?" You dare to ask, because you're feeling sleepy and stupid and high on him, on the feeling of his seed slowly dripping down your thighs as he presses little kisses to your head.

Joel looks down at you for a moment, understands you don't mean right now, but in a sort of ambiguous future way.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you want. You want a blanket or something?"

Because inexplicably he's worried that you might be cold, as if he's only been watching you to think with his cock and doesn't actually, possibly, maybe care.

You shake your head and nuzzle back into his chest.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" You ask instead, and Joel nods, because he really does need to catch his breath, and even if his knees are protesting, he doesn't give a damn, because you're nice and warm in his lap and you fit there just right, like you were made to fit there.

"Yeah, baby. As long as you want."

It won't occur to him until maybe a week or so later, when you're picking strawberries in the greenhouse, that that should have been the moment he realised he was a total, utter goner.

[alexanderwilliamg]

We all make funny faces, especially when we're focused on doing something we've never done before. It's hilarious to watch, but it's also very normal I'd say. Oh I do, I'm actually a pretty decent cook. I usually settle for things like homemade pasta or pizza but I also try new fancy things all the time. Do you want to be impressed? I can make a neat Deconstructed Lobster Pot Pie. Fanciest, most impressive thing I learned to make I think. Cooking's so much fun though, I enjoy moving 'round the kitchen preparing all the food. It's especially fun with the dogs sitting right in the way constantly in hopes of getting some of the food. No! We totally missed out on collaborating, which is crazy now that you mention it. I'm gonna have to give Jon a call and whine about it so next album is gonna be our time to blow people's minds. Ah, you're really putting me on the spot here. Hold on. I wanna go way back to one of your first songs mainly because those should've been more rock to begin with, but then also didn't you write a song or two for DEMI with Andrew Goldstein? He's one of the best so taking one of those songs would be so cool, and I'd constantly tease him about making his song better, ha.

You get it, honestly. Not at all, maybe just a funny face here and there when something smells funny, but that's about it. Do you not cook often? Jutes loved when I did, so I spent a lot of time doing it, now that I'm alone, it's mostly just for the show or when I'm actually feeling it. Oh, no. It's been pretty asked about, I just avoid the question. Sometimes, I'm really subtle though! He's insanely talented too. You've NEVER done a collab? Get on it. We need it in the world. .......What are you going to pick?

[f1ora1f1owerswrites]

the way he loves you

Summary: The Dagger Squad starts to notice the subtle ways Jake Seresin shows his love for you, from quiet moments at home to stolen glances at the Hard Deck. As each of them pieces it together, they realize Jake isn’t just Hangman—he’s yours.

Warnings: use of Y/N, she/her, fluff.

Word count: 1121 (oops i got a bit carried away)

A/N: someone reposted my last “curious gazes” and requested one with all the daggers, and i’ve been thinking about it ever since. i finally got time to write it so i hope you enjoy, i’ve been loving these!!

***

Jake “Hangman” Seresin had a reputation for being bold and larger than life. To most, nothing more than a cocky, overconfident pilot, the kind of guy who never seemed to take life too seriously. But when the Daggers met you, they began to see a side of Jake they’d never expected—a side that made them realize there was far more to him than they ever realized.

And it happened in little moments, each one chipping away at the image of Hangman and revealing Jake.

***

Phoenix

Natasha had always been sharp. She could read people easily, and Jake was no exception. She’d noticed the changes in him before anyone else: how he wasn’t as quick to boast, how he lingered on his phone more often, smiling at something no one else could see.

Still, it wasn’t until that night at the Hard Deck that she put the pieces together.

Jake walked in with you by his side, and Natasha immediately noticed the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the casual charm he used on everyone else—it was softer, almost reverent.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jake said, his voice filled with a kind of pride that made Natasha blink in surprise.

You smiled and waved, introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend, though you didn’t need to. Natasha had already figured it out.

She watched as Jake stayed close to you all night, not in his usual attention-seeking way, but quietly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. When you laughed, he leaned in just a little closer. When you spoke, he listened like your words were the most important thing in the world.

Later, as Jake brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek and a soft smile, Natasha smirked and leaned over to Bob. “He’s gone.”

Bob

Bob Floyd noticed it in the details, in the quiet moments that others might overlook.

When Jake and you invited the squad over for dinner, Bob didn’t know what to expect. He’d never pictured Jake as the hosting type, but as he stepped into your cozy home, he could tell this was different.

“Make yourself at home,” you said warmly, handing Bob a glass of sweet tea.

Jake was in the kitchen, wearing an apron—an apron, of all things—as he stirred something on the stove. Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.

“You’re domesticated, Seresin,” Rooster teased, leaning against the counter.

Jake smirked without looking up. “Happy wife, happy life,” he said easily, earning a laugh from you.

“Not your wife yet,” you teased.

“Yet,” Jake said, glancing at you with a grin and tossing you a wink that made Bob’s chest ache with secondhand fondness.

Bob noticed the way you moved around each other, wordlessly passing utensils and dishes, finishing each other’s sentences. There was a quiet rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken understanding that came from deep love and trust.

When dessert came out, Jake set the plate in front of you first, brushing a kiss to your temple. Bob caught the way you smiled, the way Jake’s hand lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

Bob glanced at Phoenix, who raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s love,” she whispered, and Bob couldn’t agree more.

Rooster

Bradley Bradshaw noticed it during a pool game at the Hard Deck.

Jake had always been competitive, but tonight, he wasn’t playing to win against the squad—he was playing to impress you.

Every shot he made, he’d glance over at you, his grin widening when you clapped or cheered. But it wasn’t just the showmanship that caught Bradley’s attention. It was the way Jake handed you the pool cue, guiding you through your shots with a patience Bradley hadn’t thought him capable of.

“Am I doing this right?” you asked, laughing as you tried to line up your shot.

“You’re perfect,” Jake said softly, his voice so low that only you and Bradley heard.

Bradley rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re whipped, Seresin.”

“And happy about it,” Jake shot back, winking.

Bradley couldn’t argue with that.

Payback & Fanboy

Fanboy and Payback noticed it on the beach.

It was a rare day off, and the squad had decided to hit the sand for some football and relaxation. You’d tagged along, sitting under an umbrella with a book in hand while the others played.

Jake kept sneaking glances at you between plays, his grin growing every time you looked up and smiled.

When the game ended, Jake jogged over to you, dropping to his knees in the sand beside your chair. “Having fun?” he asked, brushing sand off his hands.

You smiled, closing your book. “Always, when I’m with you.”

Mickey nudged Reuben, jerking his chin toward the two of you. “Look at him. That’s not the Hangman we know.”

“Nope,” Reuben said with a grin. “That’s Jake. Big difference.”

Coyote

Javy had known from the beginning.

He’d been there when Jake first mentioned you, his voice tinged with something Javy hadn’t heard before: vulnerability. He’d watched as Jake navigated the early days of your relationship, unsure of himself in a way that was both endearing and rare.

At a barbecue one weekend, Javy pulled Jake aside, nodding toward you as you chatted with Phoenix and Bob.

“She’s good for you, man,” Javy said.

Jake nodded, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah. She is.”

“You ever gonna tell her how whipped you are?” Javy teased.

Jake smirked. “She already knows, no need to say it.”

The Moment They All Realized

The squad’s collective realization came during another gathering at your house.

It was late, and the group was sprawled across the living room, laughing and swapping stories. You were in the kitchen, tidying up, when Jake disappeared without a word.

A few minutes later, he returned with a dish towel over his shoulder, carefully carrying a handful of freshly washed glasses.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he asked, walking straight to you.

The room went silent as the squad watched him press a kiss to your temple before helping you dry the dishes.

Phoenix broke the silence first. “Holy shit. He’s a househusband.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Jake looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Natasha said, grinning.

As the laughter died down, Javy raised his beer. “To Y/N,” he said.

You looked up, surprised. “To me?”

Javy nodded. “Yeah. You turned Hangman into Jake. And we love you for it.”

The squad cheered, and as Jake’s hand found yours, you squeezed it, your heart full.

Because while Jake might not have always been the loudest about his love, the people who mattered most could see it clear as day.

[ofengineers]

With deliberate care, his fingers gently tucked loose strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear, momentarily lifting the golden tendrils that cascaded over her face. Once they moved aside, it revealed her sparkly green eyes, coming into full view, all for him to have an unobstructed and intimate gaze at her beautiful face.

"You see, my love, I care about you because you've shown me the depth of vulnerability, that there’s beauty in weakness. With you, I don't need to be revered as the Phoenix—I don't have to be on a pedestal. I can just be me… be Joshua, flawed and imperfect, yet still worthy of love..."

Mid smiles softly at the second she feels Joshua's gentle fingers on her. He has this way to captivate her attention and to make her feel loved just by his reassuring, comforting presence. She locks her eyes within his. That's just another thing no one else can make her do, locking eyes with them. Because through someone's eyes, it's easier to read them, to see their soul. And Mid doesn't like when people can read her; she rarely lets people get a real access to her feelings. But with Joshua, she knows she can let her guard down, the same way he does with her.

It always makes her feel sad when she thinks about how he has pressured himself to be the Phoenix, always. He still does, of course, but not with her. With her, he's just Joshua, and it only makes her love him even more. Because the truth is that the man standing in front of her is beautiful as he is. Him being the Phoenix is basically the least interesting thing about because he's so much more. He doesn't have to be perfect. He just can be who he is, and it still makes him the perfect match for her.

But the way he speaks... it warms her heart so much. Because Joshua Rosfield deserves this more than anyone else, and she's the one who's had the privilege help him embrace this vulnerability.

Mid isn't as good as Joshua is with words. She feels like it's never strong enough for the dept of her feelings for him. She presses a soft kiss to his lips before she lets her forehead rest against his. "There's no one else I could love the way I love you, Joshua. You're amazing. The way you keep choosing kindness even through the many hardships you've faced. The way you just care so much for everyone around you. Everything you've been through made you the man you are now, the man I keep falling in love with more and more every day." She takes his hands within hers. "I feel so lucky... so lucky we met, so lucky we are this close now." And she wants things to be this way forever.

TELL MY MUSE WHY YOU CARE ABOUT THEM | ACCEPTING