Entry tags:
On the mun's designs for character development
Even that ninth grade history text book you stole from your Catholic high school told you that the crusades ended badly.
I'm not doing it. Dean is unable.
So, uh. I rebel.
I'm not doing it. Dean is unable.
So, uh. I rebel.
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Okay.
[ It's good. He's good. It's possible, you and him, somewhere, somehow. When you're willing and able. He meets your eyes, tilting his head to the side. ]
You know. [ That he loves you. You find it acceptable. ]
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I know that you care about me. [Is that what you meant? That's what you meant, isn't it. But he didn't put it the right way, did he. He shifts his feet and twitches up his eyebrows.] Love me. [A shrug, and a slightly awkward smile.] Even if it took us a while to work out the technical details.
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That okay, Dean? You going to freak out on him? For some reason this fact seems to be surprisingly damaging, either to you or to him, and so they've never successfully had a conversation about it.
But you're not freaking out. You're smiling, a little. So he swallows. Tries to smile back a little; relax. ]
You're better at details. [ Than he is. ] Uh, mostly. [ So that wasn't like a compliment or anything. Your plans almost always suck. ]