at ts

why b.a.p deserves love, support & respect

*note: english is not my first language so i’m probably going to make a lot of mistakes + this is going to be a mess sorry*

(first of all i’m really sorry if this is going to bring back bad and depressing memories to my fellow BABYz)

I’m mainly doing this for those who do not stan b.a.p and don’t know what happened with TS in 2014. I feel like everyone needs to know it at least.

I want to do this to spread awareness and i want people to realize and never forget what b.a.p has gone through because of TS. I really want more people to support them in the future because they are extremely talented and deserve so much better and i hope that by understanding all that they’ve been through, everyone can gain a better appreciation for them.

anyways let’s get started!

Daehyun’s vocal teacher exposing TS:

(he literally talked about all the awful things TS did to the members and we should never forget this)

- His tweets:

‘’I didn’t say a word to not cause damage to the team, but now I have to speak up. B.A.P received an official break for the first time this year. Before that, all they did was get 1 or 2 days about 2 times when they were let out of the agency by the head of department and manager. What is really a shame about that official break itself is that when it was all about to fall apart with a clash with the parents this year, the agency stopped taking proper care of B.A.P to the point that one can only think that the agency was trying to get them to slip up so that it would be advantageous to them if a lawsuit were to occur and waiting for them to get involved in a mishap that would be a violation of the kids’ contract by canceling their schedules and quickly grabbing [schedules] again… The same people who kept a close eye on them even when they were going to the convenience store in front of the agency headquarters sure have gotten nicer [sarcasm].

Even if they contact [others] through KakaoTalk or FaceTime on their iPads, just in case they might get caught during an inspection [of their devices], they would always delete their entries. They are kids who’ve memorized their friends, teachers, and parents’ numbers.

The agency didn’t allow them to meet up with their parents at first, but later when they were in a meeting with the CEO, the CEO cursed out and yelled. But isn’t it only natural that the parents, who trusted the CEO and put their kids under his care, would be worried if the CEO is acting like that to their kids who they can’t see often?

For 3 years, the agency took away their cellphones to sever ties with the outside world. Even when they came to their hometowns for a fan meeting, they weren’t allowed to see their parents for more than 10 minutes even when it was obvious that they didn’t have any other schedules. But still, they wouldn’t allow them to see their parents who came from far away. And without not even one official break, they lived under the manager’s control.

The agency pressured Daehyun, who went to a hospital to receive treatment due to physical and mental exhaustion, to carry out his schedule.

Here is an exemple of when daehyun was forced to perform even though he was supposed to be in a hospital:

this was one of their last performances before filling a lawsuit againt TS (i dare you to watch it without feeling concerned and worried about them)  

Himchan was so sick that he couldn’t even attend and perform, all of them were exhausted, daehyun looked like he was going to faint, you can see the anger and frustration in yongguk’s eyes, they did their best to cover it up so that we wouldn’t notice… but everything seemed off… this is just an evidence and a proof of ts’ mistreatments.

[Daehyun] told me and his parents that the manager would coerce him, saying that if he runs away to his parents, they’ll file a damage suit. I read that the parents covered the hospital fees in an article. Not only did the parents cover the hospital fees, but since they don’t have an income, all of the expenses involving their personal things from their trainee period up until now were covered by the parents’ [credit] cards. Even when the parents said let’s talk to the agency multiple times, the members said to trust [the agency] and that they only need to work hard in doing music and stopped their parents, never complaining once and consistently carrying out their activities.“

"I actually wish that this spreads so that many people may know. I am determined to fight for and alongside Daehyun,” “I can’t get in contact with the members currently, but I showed this to their parents first and posted it after receiving their permission”

AM 4:44 : (you can check it here)

Yongguk released this song on april 2015, he made this song to show how he was feelingduring that time.  The lyrics are so powerful, deep, emotional…

please support b.a.p… you really won’t regret it.

just another coffee shop AU

So this was part of a not!fic challenge but it ended up as more of a fic than a not!fic, so I’m posting it here. The challenge was to put a trope in my inbox and I’d tell you about the story I’d write. (Honestly, I’m tempted to adapt this and try to do it as orig fic, haha) So enjoy.

It’s harder than you think to get a job in a little podunk town that’s mostly home to fishermen. Dex takes what he can get, and what he can get is a job dishing out lattes and scones at the little pretentious coffee house that vacationing yuppies love to frequent on their way to Maine’s outlet malls. It’s barely a living, but Dex doesn’t need much.

He serves coffee one day to the preppiest of the prep – a luxuriously coiffed writer who tells him that the coffee shop has the perfect atmosphere for inspiration. Dex snorts. This is a guy who wears his stubble purposely rough, to achieve some kind of effect. He probably wears “pre-distressed” clothing (although right now his outfit’s actually really sharp, with this vest over a fuzzy, tight-fitting sweater.)

The writer challenges him. “Come on, you have to have a little poetry in your soul?”

“I sold my soul for a three-dollar latte,” Dex replies.

The man laughs, and goddamn, even his teeth are perfect.

Keep reading

Here’s that fic I wrote that I don’t like.  It’s untitled, but it’s inspired by the song Unanswered Prayers by Garth Brooks.


Even though the sun hasn’t quite reached halfway to its zenith, the day is already hot enough that Dean is eyeing the pond on the far side of the park with serious consideration.  The fact that it’s brown and muddy, and the surrounding land is torn up by ducks and geese and stinks of bird shit is only slightly off putting.  Which means he’s either suffering from heat stroke, because gross, or it’s time to head over to the lemonade stand for some cold liquid refreshment.

“Hey, babe?”  He calls over his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“I’m going to get a lemonade.  Want one?”

“Get me one with raspberries?”

Dean smiles.  “You bet.  Back in a few.”

Before he leaves the shade under the awning, he presses a kiss to a warm cheek.  He gets a distracted smile in response, but doesn’t stick around for more.  He’s caught in the siren song coming from the stand at the other end of the Farmer’s Market that sells fresh squeezed lemonade.  His mouth is already watering at the thought.

It’s even hotter outside the shade, and he can feel the sun’s heat sinking into his shoulders and arms, making him glad he remembered sunscreen this week.  He’ll probably still end up with a slew of new freckles, though.  At least there’s a slight breeze cooling his skin where it’s bared by his shorts and tank top.  He plucks at his shirt, encouraging a little air circulation under the sweat-damp material.  

The line at the lemonade stand isn’t too long, at least.  He steps up behind the others waiting their turn, and hums under his breath, letting his mind wander over the latest notes he’d received from his editor.  It’s a little frustrating that he’s going to have to cut a scene he’d been planning for so long, but also a relief that Charlie agrees with his decision.  As usual he’d gotten caught up in writer’s block due to being stubborn about the direction of the story, but after talking it out with her, his mind is already racing ahead to the next five scenes.

He’s almost to the front of the line when a voice he hasn’t heard in years breaks him from his musings.

“Dean?”

“Lisa?”  Dean grins as he turns to greet her.  “Holy shit, hi!”

It’s as natural as breathing to accept the hug she offers him with outstretched arms.  Although there’s the slightest twinge of oddness when he realizes she’s not quite as tiny as he remembers her to be.

The hug is tight, but short and she steps back to look up at him, her dark eyes alight with happiness.  “Wow.  Dean Winchester.  I wasn’t sure sure it was you at first.  How long has it been?”

He purses his lips as he digs through old memories.  The last one he can vaguely recall is a lazy Sunday spent fishing on a summer day just like this one.  “Man… I think it was the summer after graduation?  So seventeen… eighteen years?”

Lisa rolls her eyes with a groan.  “Oh god, has it really been that long?  Now I feel old.”

He chuckles at her distress.  “Well if it makes you feel better, you look great.”

And she does.  A quick glance reveals that she’s still fit and trim.  Her hair is still glossy and thick, and her skin smooth.  Only the faint laugh lines around her eyes and the sharper edge of her cheekbones show her age at all.  When he was a kid, his eyes would have lingered on her body or her mouth, but while he still finds her beautiful, she no longer makes his heart race the way it did when he was in high school.

Her cheeks flush under the compliment.  “Well thank you.  You’re looking good too.”  She circles her fingers in the direction of his eyes.  “The glasses are cute.”

Striking a dignified pose, he reaches up and pushes them up higher on the bridge of his nose.  “I’ve been told they make me look distinguished.”

Lisa laughs, light and melodious.  “I guess that’s better than ‘nerdy’.”

He waves a dismissive hand.  “I’d take that as a compliment these days.”

She blinks at him, and he can tell she’s surprised.  But before she can respond, the last person in line ahead of him leaves with their lemonade, and the young man running the stand calls for the next customer.

“You want something?” Dean asks Lisa, hooking a thumb towards the menu hanging next to the stall.  She nods, then immediately tries to talk him out of paying, but he won’t hear it.  “It’s just a lemonade, Lis’.”  The old nickname rolls of his tongue.  “It’s not like I’m buying a fancy dinner.”

After a moment she relents, and Dean orders two large lemonades and a large raspberry lemonade.  When Lisa lifts a questioning brow at the third order, he grins.  “That one is for the ol’ ball and chain.”

Her eyebrows go up.  “You’re married?”

“Yeah, going on ten years now.”  He accepts the first drink from the kid making them, and passes it over to Lisa.  She looks so flabbergasted that he laughs.  “What?  Didn’t think anyone would want me?”

She accepts the cup, but gives him a stern look.  “It’s not that.  I’m just surprised you finally settled down.”

With a wince and a nod, he accepts her explanation.  “Fair point.”  He accepts the other two drinks, and steps away from the stand to give the next customer room to order.  “Want to meet ‘em?  We have a booth over that way-” he gestures with his own drink, “-selling honey.”

She smiles brightly.  “I’d love to.”

He tilts his head in a motion to follow him and sets off across the market, weaving through the empty spots in the crowds.  Despite the heat, he’s not in a hurry.  The ice in his lemonade chills it enough that he’s worried about brain freeze if he sucks it down too fast, and now he’s able to actually enjoy the day.  As well as the company.

“So you sell honey now?” Lisa asks in between sips of her own drink.

“Yeah, we have a bunch of hives.  Although that’s just fun money.  I pay the bills with my books.”

Lisa almost misses a step, and she looks up at him with wide eyes.  “Your books?  Are you saying you’re a writer?”

“Published and everything.”  Okay, so he may be bragging a little bit, but he is kinda famous now.  

“What do you write?”

“Horror mostly.”  He grins down at her.  “It’s cathartic to turn all the noise in my head into bloody death and destruction on the pages.”

She pales slightly.  “Really?”

“Most of my stories have a happy ending.”  Not his first few books.  It took finding his his own happy ending - and beyond - to learn how to write them for his characters.  

“Huh.  Maybe I’ll have to check them out.”

He can tell from her tone that she’s not really interested.  It’s a little bit of a bummer, but he knows the horror genre isn’t for everyone.  Especially for someone as optimistic as Lisa.  So he decides to change the subject.  “What about you?  What’s been going on in your life and what brings you back to Lawrence?”

She visibly brightens.  “I’m moving back here to be closer to my family.  Plus I’m opening a yoga studio.”

“Oh yeah?  That’s pretty awesome.”  The crowds part and he can see the honey stand not too far away.  There’s a young couple sorting through the jars, pointing out different flavors to each other as they try to decide which one they want.  Dean always suggests the blackberry.  It’s his favorite.

“I’m excited for it,” she says.  Then her voice turns shy.  “I also… have a son.”

That grabs Dean’s attention, and he turns his head so he can focus on her again.  “Wow, really?  Tell me about him.”

“His name is Ben, and he’s thirteen.”  Lisa goes on to tell him about how Ben is a little flirt with the girls, and loves classic rock.  She laughs and points out how it’s funny that her son is turning out so much like the bad boy type that she’s always been into.  “His dad’s not around,” she says with a shrug and a grin, “So apparently I’m the bad influence.”

Dean scoffs.  “Sounds to me like you’re the best influence.”

She laughs.  “Thanks, I guess.”

They’re stopped just outside the stand now, and the couple picking through the honey has made their decision and are walking away with their purchase.  Dean leads Lisa into the empty space they leave behind.  He meets curious blue eyes over the table still half full of honey jars.  Ten years, and those eyes still make his pulse race as if he’s looking at his crush instead of his spouse.  “Hey, babe, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

With a nod, Castiel stashes the money he just made in the cash box and gently closes the lid.  As if it’s a delicate piece of crystal and not a clunky metal box.  Dean’s eyes follow the movements of his long, delicate fingers before turning to Lisa to gauge her reaction to his husband.  

She looks slightly confused, her smile not quite as full as it was before, and he bites his bottom lip to suppress a grin.  It used to be hard to come out to people.  But now, he enjoys the shock factor.  It’s almost as good as hearing fans talk about how scared shitless they are when they read his books.  And Lisa hadn’t been a part of his life for several years by the time he came to terms with his bisexuality, so she had no clue about the secret he’d been keeping from the world when they were in high school.

Castiel comes around the table and stands next to Dean.  He accepts the raspberry lemonade Dean hands him with a grateful smile, and then turns his attention to Lisa.  “Hello.”

“Lisa, this is my husband Castiel.”  Dean snakes an arm around Castiel’s waist and pulls him close.  The back of his shirt is even more damp than Dean’s despite the fact that he’s stayed in the shade the whole time they’ve been at the Market.  “Cas, this is Lisa.  We were a thing way back in highschool.”

Lisa looks back and forth between them for a moment, disbelief clear in her eyes.  But it fades quickly when she realizes Dean is serious.  “Hello, Cas.  It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you as well,” Castiel says, all formality, because heaven forbid he shed his private schooled, silver-spoon-in-the-mouth, upbringing.  Not that Dean minds.  He thinks it’s sexy.  “Dean has talked about you, and I’m happy to put a face with the name.”

“Oh no!” Lisa laughs.  “That doesn’t sound good.”

Castiel’s smile is gentle, but his eyes shine with good humor.  “I’ve only heard good things, I promise.”

Lisa laughs again and expresses her disbelief, but Castiel is insistent.  Eventually their conversation turns to the honey sold at the stand, and Dean stands back and watches them interact while sipping his lemonade.  

It’s odd, seeing his past and his present standing side by side, talking about the pollination habits of bees.  Lisa had been his everything when they were kids.  Eighteen had seemed so grown up at the time, but looking back on it now from the comfort of his mid-thirties, he can only shake his head at how young they’d truly been.  It’s no wonder their relationship hadn’t worked out.  Despite wanting the apple pie dream of a marriage, kids, and little house with the white picket fence, Dean had the heart of a wanderer and hesitated to promise to plant roots.  Not to mention the fact that he still had a lot of growing up to do, although he hadn’t realized it at the time.  Lisa was ready to settle down, and kept turning Dean down when he asked her to hop in the car and go adventuring with him.  When they both realized that things between them weren’t going to go past a promise ring, they’d drifted apart.  

Dean had prayed every night for a long time that she’d change her mind.  But when he came back to Lawrence after a year on the road, he’d learned that she’d moved away.  With no way to find her he’d finally given up hope that they’d get back together and give life together a go.  And he’d gone back out on the road, looking for the happiness he longed for.

Eight years, thousands more miles on the Impala, and a couple published books later, Dean met Castiel.  He’d been out trolling for a one night stand, but he’d been hooked by Castiel’s dark messy hair, passionate blue eyes instead.  And he discovered a man to love under the thick layer of sexy.  One night turned into two, which turned into a week, and somehow it spread into the last ten years.  And hopefully their whole lives to come.

They had the marriage part of Dean’s childhood dreams, but instead of a house in a nice neighborhood they had a little farmhouse with a small orchard on the edge of town Dean had grown up in.  They weren’t sure yet if they wanted to expand their family past their siblings and nieces and nephews, but it wasn’t off the table yet.  In the meantime Dean had his books, Castiel had his bees, and most of all, they had each other.  Maybe it wasn’t “apple pie”, but since pecan is his favorite anyway, it worked out perfectly.

At eighteen he hadn’t known this kind of happiness could exist.

He wonders if he could have found it with Lisa.  Perhaps.  He’d definitely loved her.  But with almost two decades between their time together and now, he certainly can’t imagine what his life would have been like if he’d gotten what he’d prayed for back then.  He doesn’t even want to try.

“Well, I’d better get out of here,” Lisa says.  “It’s almost time for me to pick Ben up from baseball practice.”

Dean shakes away his thoughts, and focuses on her.  “You should bring him around some time.  I’d love to meet him.”

“I’d like that.”  And she looks like she genuinely means it.  Which is great.  Dean would love to rekindle their friendship.

Castiel and Lisa exchange goodbyes, and then Castiel leans into Dean’s side while they both watch her disappear into the crowd.  

“She seems very nice,” Castiel murmurs.

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

He feels Castiel’s eyes on the side of his face.  “Just cool?  Wasn’t she the girl you prayed to God you’d get to keep forever?”

Dean chuckles and turns to meet Castiel’s eyes.  His husband’s lips are just barely turned up at the corner, a sure tell that he’s teasing.  “I can’t believe you remember that.  We were both wasted when I told you about her.”

“You were wasted,” Castiel counters.  “My tolerance for alcohol is higher than yours.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t brag.”  Dean leans in and presses a kiss to Castiel’s lips.  

When they pull apart, Dean sighs.  He’s not sure it’s possible for him to ever get tired of Castiel’s kisses.

“I’m pretty thankfully actually,” Dean murmurs.  He traces shapes against Castiel’s chest through the soft fabric of his t-shirt.  His finger brushes over the little golden cross hidden under the shirt’s collar.  Castiel has rarely taken it off since Dean gave it to him on their five year anniversary.  Dean’s firmly settled into being an atheist, but Castiel still has his faith, yet it’s not something that’s ever come between them.  “For not getting an answer to that prayer.”

“Hmm… yes, I’m rather grateful to Him for that myself.”  Castiel pecks him on the lips again, and then pulls away.  His fingers curl in the hem of Dean’s shirt, and he pulls him around the table and back under the shade of their booth.  

They don’t have more than a minute to sip at their drinks together before another customer comes up to the stand.  Castiel sets his lemonade aside so that he can assist them, and Dean watches him fondly.

His relationship with God had always been tenuous, even before he decided he didn’t believe at all.  But right then and there, he sends up a prayer of thanks for all the good things in his life.  You know, just in case someone is listening.  He may not have gotten what he asked for, not exactly.  But he wouldn’t trade what he has now for anything else in the world.

maybe it’s only because it’s sunday night and i’m feeling slightly mushy, but i’m thinking about the sheer amount of creation that goes on in every fandom i have ever been part of, and just???

we have as fangirls created an entire dialect (anyone who’s spent any time on tumblr can speak it/recognize it, and it’s very distinctive and expressive and the way it compensates for being a text-based medium without inflections/facial expressions and the other things that usually go into a language are endlessly fascinating for me). we come up with off the cuff headcanons. we write vast volumes of insightful and sophisticated media critiques/meta pieces/theories and speculations (and sometimes put more thought and care into it than the actual writers, alas). we get so much meaning out of every look/line/scene. it’s astonishing. we liveblog, we flail, we cry, we enjoy (and bewail) the experience without holding back, and spend so much genuine energy on the Very Real Need for Those Idiots to Just Kiss, and i love it.

we spontaneously and easily create full-length stories that are often better than many published books, or just a snippet to support or flesh out a single piece of narrative/spoilers. we interact and encourage and inspire each other in constantly flexible and fun ways in doing it. we eagerly and happily consume these stories and create more from them in turn.

we spend hours on edits, or gifsets, or drawings or sketches or digital paintings, or other beautiful pieces of art, and the talent is just amazing. simply because we love something and want to make something pretty. after all, all this creation is happening for free, in ordinary people’s off-hours. nobody’s an expert, nobody’s getting paid for it. everyone can participate. yes, there’s the whole question of fandom culture and its problems/issues, but that’s beside the point in terms of what fandom itself is.

see, this is why i am suspicious of any author/creator who proclaims to hate and/or dislike/not encourage fanworks. yes, some of it is creepy and strange and that goes with the territory. but honestly i think that ignoring or discounting the sheer amount of passion with which people love stories, and want to be part of their creation in imaginative mediums, is a mistake.

and because of all this creation, we talk to each other. we become friends. i have people i met here who i text all day every day about my life, regular things, non-fandom stuff (although there is certainly lots of that as well). i count on those people to be there and to support me and to turn to when i need someone to talk to (and try in return to be the same for them).

the world is stupid, the world is dumb, the world is scary. we need more creation. we need more connection. we need more of whatever this energy is that drives us to question and explore and care and make shit and enjoy it together and to tell a new and better story as a result. we need to move it beyond tumblr, sure – but i also think it’s a hell of a start.

so yes. this isn’t anything that hasn’t been said before, obviously, but it struck me tonight for some reason, and i wanted to say something.

i love you guys. keep being awesome.

anonymous asked:

I usually find that with Bryan and Hugh (not so much with Mads) words differ from actions quite a lot. Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, based on the interviews after S2, could prepare me for S3. I had about 0 hope of them actually making the characters say "love" out loud, i didn't expect Will to give up everything for Hannibal in the end, i didn't expect Hannibal to go to prison for Will. At all. But they did all those things, and more. They always do MORE and RIGHT, when it actually comes to it.

I absolutely agree nonny. Also there’s the fact that things tend to evolve naturally as they’re being written AND performed. And we all know Bryan is very open to allowing his story to go where it wants… and to allowing Mads “giddy giddy giddy about homoeroticism” Mikkelsen and Hugh “there’s no point pretending otherwise” Dancy to do what they feel in the moment. I mean just look at Will and Hannibal’s final scene in TWotL as originally scripted:

Will lunging at Hannibal was transformed into homoerotic murder cuddling by the magic of THIS JUST FEELS RIGHT. And this is just one example of something in the script being totally changed on screen. And all of that doesn’t even account for all the actual narrative changes made to accommodate where the story wanted to go. Which is why I try to not fixate too much on any one thing said about the future of the show. As long as Will and Hannibal’s relationship remains central (and I feel very confident that it will) I’m perfectly content with whatever form that may take in the future.

anonymous asked:

can you write the first time daryl called jesus paul

“Fuck.”

Paul couldn’t help but laugh, a small thing, coming from him.  It was almost breathless as it fell out of his mouth. He was too tired to give anything more to it. 

Currently, he lay underneath Daryl  Dixon, who was struggling to hover over Paul as he rode out the last few seconds of his climax. Presumably, Daryl didn’t want to crush Paul and collapse. Paul’s legs were shaking with exhilaration, wrapped tightly around Daryl’s hips, and it was quite the effort for both of them to undo themselves from the other. 

Daryl turned over and lay on his back, not touching Paul. That was pretty routine. It was how these things went. Daryl would come into Paul’s trailer at night, capture his lips in a kiss, and everything that had happened during the day would fall away. Daryl was always on top.  Daryl never took his shirt off. Daryl barely spoke. They usually exchanged good-natured conversation afterward–they would talk about the days to come, or sometimes, if Paul really worked Daryl enough in bed, and the archer was feeling a little more at ease, Paul would get Daryl to talk about anything really. It came and went, their conversations, but Paul realized he could get a lot more out of Daryl in the day than at night after something so intimate. 

Paul didn’t really know what they were to each other. They spent nearly every day together, going on runs, taking watch, eating dinner with Rick and Michonne. When they were alone in the woods or in the car, Paul would test Daryl’s patience with him, but Daryl kept surprising him. Daryl allowed Paul to give him casual touches alone, a hand on a knee, a bump of shoulders, a hand ghosting over another. Once even, Paul had kissed him on the cheek. Daryl had called him an asshole, but it was said while he was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to hide a grin. 

Paul really, really liked him. 

This was the seventh time they had slept together, and he was not sure as to whether or not he should put a stop to this. He was falling, falling deep, and he was losing himself to this man. Every time they kissed, Paul felt pieces of himself come undone, and soon there would be nothing left of him. 

Paul breathed in, nerves fluttering in his chest. He was staring hard at his ceiling. “Daryl, I–”

“Paul.”

Paul?

Paul snapped his gaze over to Daryl, turning on his side so he could look at Daryl. Daryl wasn’t looking at him. One arm was on his chest, and his expression, from his profile at least, looking a little concerning. He was contemplative, like he had tasted the word in his mouth and wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“You never called me Paul before.” he whispered. 

Daryl sighed softly. “Yeah. I know.” he closed his eyes, and Paul didn’t say a word. He was desperate for so much more, so, so much more, but this was a line he was scared to cross. It had always been Daryl and Jesus, Jesus and  Daryl, two comrades, two people who just worked well together. 

Daryl and Paul was something different. 

Daryl opened his eyes slowly, and now he was decisive. “I…I don’t like what this is,” his voice was struggling–Daryl was trying to change his tone from his normal growl to something softer. Meanwhile, Paul was trying to pre-mend his upcoming broken heart. This was not the start of a sentence that he wanted to hear. 

“Daryl, it’s fine, I can-”

“Ya know,” Daryl snapped, and then he shook his head. “For once would you just shut up?” but he struggled once more, trying to keep his tone light. Daryl seemed to resolve something and turned on his profile, Paul trying to steady his heartbeat. They were both lying on their sides now, blue eyes staring into blue eyes. 

Daryl moved closer, and their noses bumped. Paul couldn’t help but grin. Daryl tentatively, grabbed Paul’s’ hand in his, as though it was a new and foreign concept to him and raised it to his face, settling it there. Daryl’s eyes closed, the tension in his shoulders was gone, and he exhaled, like Paul’s touch was curing him. 

Paul’s heart broke. The moonlight came in from the windows and stretched across Daryl, highlighting his features. He looked so serene, so innocent, like he bore no scars and committed no sins. 

“I want…” Daryl paused to open his eyes. He kept his hand over Paul’s. “I want somethin’ different now, with you. Not just this.” 

Paul was shocked. He knew he looked it too, he couldn’t help himself. “You want to be boyfriends?” he blurted out, his voice coming out high and breaking the tension in the room. 

Daryl flicked Paul on the forehead for nearly yelling in his face. “Yeah, ya shithead.” he said adoringly, and Paul would not forget the way Daryl’s lips curled into a smile, or how he moved their hands down to his lips so he could kiss them. Paul wanted to cry. 

“I…” Paul smiled. “I would like that.” he moved closer, crushing their hands together and kissing each of Daryl’s cheeks. “Jesus, I would love that.”

You’re Jesus.” Daryl whispered, correcting him. 

“No.” Paul whispered back, closing his eyes and brushing his lips over Daryl’s. A happiness that he never thought he could have again filled him. “I’m Paul.”