#I tried to colour the GIFs the same as the original ones but it turns out even on the raw footage they're different

[flame2ashes]

Anyway *Dances the tango with Garrus?*

(John’s outfit: x)

[satowooo]

" YOU'RE THE ONE I WANT IN PAPER RINGS. . ."

I like shiny things but I'll marry you with paper rings ft. gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, nanami kento.

contents. fluff, fluff, fluff, not proofread.

౨ৎ GOJO SATORU

“Shush, don't look!”

Satoru had been focused on folding a piece of paper for the past 30 minutes now, ever since you two sat on a table and planned to make paper flowers for the students to celebrate the year end. You just asked him about what he's doing, only to be replied with a scolding and him turning his back on you to hide the piece of paper. You could hear his small grunts and complaints every single time he messed up and redid it all over again, noticing him folding it in a different way from a paper flower and it was even cut smaller. It was the first time you had seen him struggling over a matter as small as folding papers, when he wasn't even having a hard time on the paper flowers earlier though, and Satoru seems to not be fond of not getting everything his way on an easier path either.

Since when did making paper rings become so difficult anyway?

“Okay. You don't want me to help with whatever that is?”

“No. Just stay put.”

You bite your lip to stop a chuckle, noticing the way his shoulders slumped when you heard him accidentally tore the paper, so you obeyed and looked away. He turned around again, leaning on the table to get another paper, and got to work. His slender fingers carefully folding and twisting, his eyes solely focused on it, with his brows furrowed in determination and even a small pout for the thousand of times he messed up and probably on the verge of giving up, if not because he was making a paper ring because wanted to please you.

It took him another good 15 minutes to do it right, a little wrinkled on one side but the heart on the ring was perfect. He scooted over to your side, and you finally looked at him.

He took your hand, and slipped the paper ring on your ring finger, making you gasp as you finally see the blue material fit you perfectly. “I did my best, baby.”

“Satoru!”

“I know it's not much, and I mean, I can probably give you a more expensive one with diamonds and shiny crystals but I just thought this one would mean more and much more endearing and I tried to make it after watching a video that I saw using my memory and I just think–” He stopped, blinking as he realised how much he had rambled. Satoru sighed, gazing at your hand, lifting it up to press a kiss on your knuckle, right next to the ring. “Do you like it?”

“Of course, I do!”

“Then should we call a priest right now?"

౨ৎ GETO SUGURU

It was originally Mimiko and Nanako’s ideas. The two girls lay on their stomach right by the floor with their feet swaying in the air, their homeworks long forgotten on either side of them. There were tons of papers around them, in different colours and shapes when Suguru caught them slacking around in their bedroom.

“Papa! Make a paper ring for Mama!” Mimiko suggested, patting the space between them so Suguru could join in the fun.

“Are you done with your homeworks, sweethearts?” He chuckled, taking his spot, laying flat on the stomach with his feet also high in the air like some teenage girls.

“Of course!” Nanako, who was obviously lying for the way she blushed and can't look Suguru straight on the face, as she pressed something on the origami that she made which was shaped in a frog, and it jumped towards his side.

Suguru couldn't help but be amazed, but also wanting to tease his girls. “Really? Can I see?” He said as he reached for their notebooks.

Mimiko was quick to act, slapping her dad’s big hands away with her small ones so he would drop it, then thrashing a bunch of paper in front of him instead. “Mama would like paper rings!”

And that's exactly how he found himself making one. With the help of his daughters, they instructed him on what to do for a good 15 minutes. He'd get confused sometimes every time they talked at the same time, instructions unclear when they talk about different things. But he got the hang of it, and it was perfect, as expected from Suguru.

Now, he's sitting on the bed, with his back pressed on the headboard, as he got you straddling his lap as you two talked about your day, while the two girls had gone to sleep.

“The girls were very enthusiastic today.” He said, his thumb caressing small circles on your inner thigh as he gazed at you. “They taught me how to make origami, and something else…”

“Hmm? What is it?” You replied, eyes filled with curiosity as you waited for him to continue.

You watched as he pulled something out from the bedside cabinet, a red paper shaped in a small circle. You couldn't see much because his hands were covering it a bit, but when he took your hand and wore it on your finger, you realised what it was.

“I made it, but it took all our efforts.” He whispered, watching as you gaped at the paper ring. “They're not the best teachers though.”

“It's beautiful…”

Suguru didn't expect the next thing you did. As you clutched on his shirt and immediately crashed your lips together, your hands coming to the back of his neck and deepening the kiss. Your lips dancing in harmony to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

He pulled away, breathless as he cups your cheek. “I'd ask you to marry me right now, but we'll save that for some other time.” He chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss.

౨ৎ CHOSO KAMO

It was a sweet gesture. Your boyfriend prepared all the materials needed and even borrowed his brother Yuji’s ipad so you could watch tutorials on YouTube. Ever since he saw you scrolling on your Instagram reels about making paper stars, flowers, little animals, hearts, and all other cute things, he was determined to do the activity with you. And he wanted to make sure that you'll enjoy it as much as he would.

“Let's make this one!” You scrolled onto a video, showing him a tutorial on how to make a scrapbook, which he agreed to.

You two worked on it right away, both of you busy while you cut some papers and draw on it, while he folds some others into shapes that would look good on the scrapbook. Once in a while, he would try to steal kisses on your lips every time he finishes one.

After a few minutes, you got up to go upstairs and print some pictures that you'd add on the book, leaving Choso alone with folding a new set of papers. This time, he made a mini bouquet, which was unexpectedly quite easy. And then last, the paper ring.

When you got back, you placed the printed papers on the table as you two got to work again. But your eyes caught the mini bouquet resting beside the others, and your eyes glinted.

“Choso! That's so cute! How did you make that?” You scooted closer to him, taking the mini bouquet in your hands, the paper tiny in your hands. “Are you putting this on the book?”

Choso blushed, nuzzling his face on your neck. “It's actually for you.” He muttered, his breath fanning on your skin that made you shiver. “They're small and cute, I thought you'd like it.”

You smiled, cupping his cheek so he could look at you. “Really?”

“Mhm. And I have another one too.”

He showed you the pink paper ring, and your eyes widened in shock. He was about to put in on your ring finger when you turned around, snatching something from underneath the table.

“Cho! I made you one too!”

Was it fate? But nevertheless, it got Choso blushing and almost kicking his feet as butterflies filled his stomach. His palms covering his mouth to probably stop him from reacting exaggeratedly while you slipped the paper ring in his finger. It was even the same colour as the one he made, and he swears his heart was about to burst.

౨ৎ NANAMI KENTO

How many times did you and Nanami get married this year? Three. Three times in a row. The first time was in a shrine, doing the Japanese traditional way of weddings, a wedding held privately with only your families. Second was at the church, with both your families and friends this time, with you wearing a beautiful white wedding dress as your husband awaits in the altar, looking as dashing as ever. And this might be the third.

“Honey, marry me.” He muttered, his feet tapping on the floor impatiently, watching you type on your laptop for a school document.

“We're already married, Kento?” You asked, glancing back at him once before you're back to rapidly tapping on your keyboard. The noise filled the air, together with Nanami’s sighed.

“I know. But you seem married to your laptop for the past few hours, honey.”

Nanami is not one to complain about this type of thing, in fact, he's a very understanding man that he wouldn't mind if you're stuck doing paperworks all day, unless you wouldn't be sparing him a glance, giving him a kiss, or a hug during the said day, and that would make him open up his concerns a bit. How many hours had passed anyway? Four long hours of torture for him, that he had convinced himself enough that he was the clingy one in the relationship and not you.

“Are you asking for my undivided attention, Kento?” You laughed, finally tearing your gaze away from your laptop as you spun your swivel chair at him.

He pulled the chair from underneath so you're closer to him, his right knee between your thighs as he leaned down to press his lips against yours. “Indeed. And I don't think I can live another second of you not talking to me for another hour, not even a kiss since this morning.”

“I'm sorry,” you giggled, kissing him one more time to show that you were truly apologetic. “Were you lonely?”

“A bit.” He sighed, caressing your cheeks, then pulled away as he leaned back on his chair. “You do look adorable when you're focused, honey, which I'm always pleased to see. But I have to give you something.”

He slid his swivel chair backward a bit, grabbed something on a nearby table and went back to your spot right away. He took your hands, sliding a white paper ring right next to your wedding ring. “I don't think you noticed me making this while you were busy.”

“Kento, how..?” Your eyes smiled with you, a testament of your appreciation and affection towards the man you love. You knew Nanami Kento had always been perfect, but he's even more perfect now that he took his time to make this for you.

He laced your fingers together with his, his heart warming up to the sight of you appreciating his small efforts. Kento loves it when you're happy, and would do anything to keep it that way for as long as he can.

“A few videos.” He shrugged, pulling your chair closer to him again. “Now, will you marry me?”

[dengswei]

Hii you're so talented!! i wonder if you could explain how you did this gif effect with the squares? and do you have any tips on colouring because yours is always top notch <3333

heyy thank you so much 🥹 and of course! i've never really done a tutorial before but i'll try my best to explain it in a way that makes sense 😅

so i start off with making my two gifs seperatly and colouring them as i normally would, once i've done that i load both gifs into the same project and once i've done all that i started on the grid part:

now go to view -> add guides and this window should pop up:

(it's was so daunting at first when i saw this i was like ????? and started putting in random numbers and was like oh that's how this works 🤣)

here's the settings i used for my gif which is 540px x 500px in size with 5 squares x 4 squares: (if you want more or less you just have to play around with it)

once you've done that it should look something like this:

now the next part is really up to preference again: add a vector mask onto the gif that's above the other one like this: (ignore the name of my folder that is irrelevant 🤣)

and then i used the rectangle select tool (this is because the rectangle select should lock onto the grid squares making it easier to erase certain sections) + a black brush tool to erase the squares to show the other gif that's underneath (you can reposition both gifs to your liking which is what i did)

before & after:

so my vector mask looks like this afterwards

(you don't have to do the squares so close together like i did it was just how i liked it & because of the scenes i had chosen that mine turned out this way)

now onto the grid lines: i used the line tool with these settings

just like with the rectangle select tool the line tool should lock onto the grid line you want to redraw, do this for every line that you want/have for your grid & once you're done go to view -> clear guides and it should look something like this: (added a version with just a black background so it can be seen a little easier)

(i'm ngl idk why my lines ended up kinda faded and not white 🤣 i think it might be because i used a white fill instead of white stroke but it doesn't really matter to me because i got my ideal outcome anyway 🤣)

bonus step: you can stop here if you'd like but i wanted my lines to match my colouring & my intended typography so i put all my line layers into a folder and set the mode to difference & added a yellow fill layer with a clipping mask, like this:

and it should look like this:

you can also play around with the opacity of the lines too which is what i tried out but i prefered for my set the lines being at 100% opacity but it's really up to you with what you want to play around with

now once you're happy with everything merge those layers together (make sure they have the same amount of frames first before merging them) and either save as it is or add some typography like i did and you should end up with this:

for tips when it comes to colouring it really depends on what you're colouring, if you want to manipulate the colours as much as i do i recommend choosing a colour within the scene so you're not having to change too much, or finding scenes that have colours that can be manipulated more easy (any colour that aren't skin tones, unless you're working with red or yellow like i did here, i chose yellow because one of the outfits in the gif was yellow toned and it looked better with the gifset being yellow than my original colour which was blue), also looking for scenes were the people in it don't move as much also is a big help!

i hope this helps :) feel free to ask more questions if you didn't understand or want some more tips i honestly don't mind!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

sunflower, chapter fifteen

summary:  Spencer “distracts” Y/n…

warnings:  hyperfixation, kissing, thigh riding, fingering, dirty talk, praise, blowjob (just a tiny one), penetrative sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 2709

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It had been a few weeks since you and Spencer had officially moved in together. In the meanwhile, he had returned to work, which had scared you a lot, but he reassured you that it would be a while longer before he would return to kicking down doors. It hadn’t removed all of your worries, but it helped a bit. 

Sadly, that wasn’t the only thing keeping your mind occupied. The gallery had asked you to come up with 3 new original pieces for the show, so you’d spend most of your waking hours either worrying or working on that. 

Although you’d move in with Spencer, you’d still kept your apartment as an art studio. It had been Spencer’s idea, knowing that there wasn’t the required space at his place, the convenience of already having the extra place right next door was too good to pass up. It didn’t really look the same anymore. It was emptier and your work had kinda taken over the space now that you weren’t restricted to a single room as your workspace anymore.

You’d been in here all day, frustrated by yourself, not finding any of your ideas to be good enough. The music was blasting loudly from the stereo, and you were currently just standing there, staring at the process you’d made today, which, in your opinion, wasn’t a lot. 

It didn’t really look like anything anymore, that’s how long you’d been staring at it. Kinda like when you repeat a word over and over again, it loses all meaning. 

Hearing the volume of the music slowly turn down until it came to a quiet, you turned your head to look.

“Hey, when did you get home?” you greeted, not even trying to hide the weariness that was beaming from you.

“Just now,” he replied, setting down his satchel, moving closer to you and studying the canvases, “it’s coming along great.”

“Urgh, please don’t,” you winced, looking back over it.

Casting his glance back at you, he asked, “have you been in here since I left this morning?”

“Um, yeah…”

“you’ve been in here 10 hours?” his eyebrows shot up, “please tell me you at least took a lunch break?”

“I ate something,” you said defensively, “I didn’t take a break to do it, but I ate something.”

“Okay,” he sighed, now standing in front of you, he plucked the paintbrush out of your hand, “it’s 5 o’clock, you’re done for today.”

Trying to catch it, he held it out of your grasp, “just, one more hour.”

“Y/n, you need a break,” he sat the brush down in the glass of cloudy colourful water that was at your feet, “you need a night off.”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “I would love that, but I don’t think I could relax right now even if I tried.”

Taking your hands, he tugged you closer to the door, “you need a distraction.”

“I need to forget. If it was up to me, I would just like to forget, just for tonight,” you sighed.

“Then let me help you forget,” he pulled you a bit closer to him.

“What do you have in mind? Watch a movie or something?”

Smiling, he looked down at your lips, “we could, but I have another idea.”

“Oh really?” you grinned, starting to get what he was hinting at, “and what would that be, doctor Reid?”

Closing the distance, he kissed you, slowly spinning you around so that your back hit the wall. As soon as you felt the hard surface against your spine, the kiss grew more passionate. Letting your tongue slip past his lips, the two of you just stayed there for a while, making out like horny teenagers.

Running his hands down your body, they came to rest on your hips. You then felt one of his legs nudge your thighs apart, making room for it. His tall stature made it come to meet your covered center. 

The contact made you inhale sharply. Glancing down, you watched how his thigh steadily moved against you. Squeezing your hips, he moved them for you. Biting back a moan, you looked up into his eyes with a rapid growing hunger, though it died down ever so slightly as you saw the half-finished paintings over his shoulder. 

“Spencer, they’re staring at me,” you whined. 

Removing the contact his leg had given you, he grabbed your hand, “then let’s go.” 

Kissing your cheek, he picked up his bag and dragged you with him out into the hallway, quickly locking the door behind him. You giggled lightly as he pulled you into the other apartment, all giddy with anticipation.

Throwing your arms around him, the two of you stumbled towards the bedroom, ending up almost falling as the bedframe hit the back of his knees. 

Whispering against your lips, he slipped his hands under your shirt, “let me help you forget, just for a moment.” 

Sitting down, he pulled you with him, landing your thighs securely on either side of one of his. Gliding his palms down to hold on to your hips, he pushed you down, rocking you over his leg. 

Letting out a moan, you weaved your fingers throughout his hair. Arching your back, you blinked your eyes heavily at the wonderful spot he managed to put pressure on. Your pulse was heavy, you could feel it clear as day, and not just in your chest. 

One of his hands let go, only to snake around to the front of your pants, working at the button. You reached down to practically rip off your shirt. Once it was over your head, you went back to kissing his sweet lips. Hearing your zipper open up, you felt his long fingers dip down into your panties.

“Just focus on me, baby,” he whispered against your lips as his fingertips found your clit, “don’t think about anything else,” buckling your hips in his grasp, he reached further down, feeling just how turned on you were, he slowly sank a finger inside of you, “just this,” he exhaled, visibly enjoying the small gasp that escaped your lips.

Slowly moving it in and out, he didn’t do the motion many times before your body was screaming for more and he happily obliged. Adding another one, he started trailing his lips down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and the occasional nibble on his determent way down towards your tits.

“How I make you feel,” he sucked down on the soft skin of your left boob, latching on to it, making you roll your hips, “the way I’m touching you,” he nibbled his way over to the other one.

Curling his digits slightly, he started moving them faster, putting special attention to that spot that made all of the hair on your body stand up. 

“That’s good, Y/n, just focus on that, you’re such a good girl.”

He’d never said that before. If you didn’t already have goosebumps, you sure did now. Incoherently moaning out his name, you tightened your grip on his hair and let go. Letting your head fall back, you closed your eyes.

Slowing down his motions, he removed his hand from between your legs and swirled his tongue over your nipple. Peaking down at him, he pulled back and breathed against your skin, “fuck, don’t look at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want to do some very dirty things to you.”

Sliding down his body, you landed on the floor, “oh yeah? Like what?” you crept your hands up his thighs and undid his trousers. 

Jaw slack, his breathing picked up. There you were, on your knees in front of him, tits out and pants undone. It wasn’t like you hadn’t blown him before, but it wasn’t often that you got the chance, he always wanted to focus on other activities. 

Pulling him out, his cock almost sprung free of its restraints. It was almost painfully hard, the tip glistening with precum. Pumping it a few times, you leaned forward, just to lick it.

Inhaling sharply, he tried to answer your question, “I, um, what?”

Blinking up at him, you smile, “see? It’s hard to find the words when someone’s mouth is on you,” taking him a fair bit past your lips.

“I don’t know wha-,” you kept going down till you couldn’t take anymore, but still you kept trying, determent to go down all the way, “holy fuck,” he cursed, getting the wind knocked out of him. Trying your best to swallow it all, you were flush up against your fist that was still holding on to the base of him. 

You moaned around him, loving the way you made his brain turn into mush. Bopping up and down, you felt a few tears gather in the corners of your eyes and drool drip down your chin.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he groaned, “you’re way too good at that, you gotta stop,” and reached down to pull you off with a pop. You felt a small string of spit come into contact with your chest.

Holding onto both sides of your face, he bent down to give you a hungry kiss, pulling you up to your feet. His hands let go of your cheeks and slid down to yank your pants off all the way. Pulling back, his eyes were dark, “get on the bed.” 

Quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand, you sat down on the mattress in front of him, eagerly waiting for more. 

Keeping his eyes locked on yours he slowly, or too slowly in your horny opinion, shredded off his clothes. The pace at which he worked at the buttons was just cruel. “Turn around, Y/n.”

Doing as he asked, you kneeled facing away from him but still looking over your shoulder, not wanting to miss the show.

Now completely naked, he stood right behind you and kissed your shoulder. Grabbing onto your hips, he lifted them up, making you clutch onto the bedsheets for support. Pushing back towards him, he whispered in your ear with a smile, “you ready?”

Running his dick through your folds, teasing you, you almost gasped, the words flowing out of you, “yes, yes, yes!” wiggling in his grasp. 

And with one fell swoop, he entered you at once, filling up every inch. With a small whine, you arched your back against him. 

“There you go,” he cooed, running his fingers up your back, “look at you taking my cock so well.”

Going slow on the way out, till just the very essence of him was still inside you, he snapped his hips, stuffing you once more, “such a good girl for me.”

Moving his hand down around your waist, he palmed one of your jiggling boobs. Pinching the nipple, you moaned, feeling yourself already dangerously close you another orgasm. The joy of getting to suck him off had given you more pleasure than you realised. 

Reaching down, he rubbed your clit, “fuck, that’s it, baby. Cum again. Let me feel you.”

Your legs were shaking, and both them and your arms gave out as he fucked you through your orgasm, sending you crashing down onto the mattress. Ascending down with you, you felt his hot breath against your ear, “fuck, I love you so much.”

Slowing his thrusts down, he never fully stopped. His weight on you after that orgasm felt amazing. Lazily reaching a hand back to touch his side, you mumbled into the pillow, “I love you, I love you…”

Turning your head, you couldn’t quite see him, but fuck you could feel him. Keeping his face close to yours, he fucked you slowly, clawing you back from the high, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

Hearing by his noises that he was close, you slowly turned around, first bringing your knees up to the side, turning your lower body. Propping himself up on his forearms, he made room for the rest of your body to turn. Finally seeing his face again, you couldn’t help but smile. 

Tangling your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp, you brought him down for a small kiss. Both of you were deprived of too much oxygen to keep it going for long. Tugging at the roots of his hair a little harder, you saw his eyes roll back and he let out a low groan. Letting his hips buck free as his orgasm rushed through him, pumping you full of his cum. 

Panting, he stilled inside of you, and you couldn’t help but wiggle your hips, trying to help yourself to another orgasm. Overly sensitive, he pulled out with a wince. 

Reaching down to finish yourself off, he gently smacked your hand away, replacing it with his own. Sitting back, he admired the mess he had made between your legs, running his fingertips through your folds, pushing every last drop of his hot load back into you as it tried to escape. 

“Spencer, please don’t tease, I wanna cum again, please make me come again.”

“Then be a good girl and spread your legs,” he breathed out and as soon as you did, you felt him plunge two of his fingers into you, “that it? You like that?” swiftly picking up his pace, pushing hard onto your sweet spot, creating the most filthy wet noises you’d ever heard.

Adding his other hand to join the party, he used it to toy with your sensitive clit. Eyes locked on your pussy, it was only when you crept up on the end that he glanced up at your ecstasy filled face.

Writhing around, you tried to say his name, anything to let him know how close you were, but it wasn’t very coherent through all of your moans. 

“Shh, I know, baby, I know, just relax for me, I’ve got you, you can let go.”

Coming down a third time you felt delirious. As Spencer laid down next to you, also exhausted, you grinned over at him, “thank you for distracting me, Spencer,” turning, as he welcomed you into his arms.

“Anytime.”

Laying a few kisses on his clavicle, you informed in between them, “and just so you know, you saying good girl? You can do that as much as you want in the future.”

He didn’t say anything, he only started laughing. Confused, you looked up at him and asked, “what?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not that, I will definitely remember using it, it’s just, um, I kinda read a book of yours on the metro home today…”

“What book was that?” you asked, not recalling any book you owned that would even be remotely interesting for Spencer to read.

“That book you read some time ago, got all flustered about me knowing about it… Hearts aflame by Cherry Vixen…”

“You did what?” you didn’t know whether to laugh or yell.

“I fell over it in the moving process and thought it might be fun… I mean, it inspired this, so I think it was fun.”

Shaking your head, you chuckled and laid your head down again, “I can’t believe you read that… is that why you called me a good girl?”

“Well, it was mentioned in the novel 78 times, so I thought it increased the probability of your liking it. But I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, just, didn’t want to do anything you weren’t into…”

Looking up at him again, “I don’t think you could do anything wrong, Spencer. If it’s you who’s doing it, I’d most likely be into it,” and then kissed his lips sweetly. 

Nuzzling his nose into yours, he whispered against your lips, “good girl.”

Feeling a shiver run down your spine, you shuttered, “okay, maybe don’t use it outside of the bedroom unless you want my mind to melt,” that only made him giggle and pull you further up on top of him, “I am being serious. Do you want me to jump your bones again? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“What, did you think we were done? Oh, Y/n, I promised you a distraction, to make you forget. I won’t stop until you have turned into puddy. We’ve got all night for that.”

next chapter

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[summermoonshine]

Call Of Duty : MWIII - TRAITOR SOAP

Okay, HEAR ME OUT (actually there's no one to hear me out so i'm basically writing this for me myself and my own poor sad soul).

So. Since the release of the trailer, the theory about a traitor Soap has spread, mainly because during the MWIII trailer they used the colour red on the new skin.

[I'll pretend to ignore that the headphones and the keffiyeh are identical to those worn by Ghost - which would open up many other unfortunate scenarios (: the killing of Ghost by Soap who kept the headphones and keffiyeh in memory), see below:

but let's go on for now...]

What if it was more than just the colour red? Le'ts recall that Soap was originally - or maybe purposely - sent by General Shepherd to team up with Ghost, and we know that General Shepherd later teamed up with Graves. So it would make sense that Soap didn't check for Graves' dead body after the explosion in the tank, right? (I mean, they acted like buddies from day 0...)

Also, what if Soap's anger upon the discovery of Graves' betrayal (with his famous line: ''Graves whaTTTCHA FFUCK'') was caused because THEIR secret deal was failing? This would justify why the Shadows took the trouble to search far and wide for Soap on the streets (maybe they were afraid he would spill the tea? huh), despite Graves and all the others being afraid of Ghost (he was, c'mon, who wouldn't be).

Speaking of him, it is interesting to underline how, throughout the duration of the campaign, not only is there a true character development (Ghost went from being a lone wolf to being part of a team; a team that he himself stated and claimed as his - which means the world for a creepy lonely ass like him) but there are also his ''advice'' to guide us through. He, in fact, warns us about betrayals, trust, how ''people you know can hurt you the most'' and that ''you want to be (a) better (man) than me, Johnny''. This makes me wonder: what if Ghost had sensed Soap's betrayal right from the start (or maybe he already knew it, and for this reason his first exclamation is ''Fucking Hell'' when he sees Soap before wheeling up)? Let's remember that OG Ghost was killed by General Shepherd because he trusted him. Now Soap would be doing his same mistakes: What if Ghost's ''advices'' were small clues to try to put Soap back on the right track? Again: what if, finally, Ghost took off his balaclava in front of Los Vaqueros (here's a little note: let's remember what happened with Alejandro's safehouse: they didn't trust Soap. The only one who had the coordinates was Ghost), the TF141 and Soap (who shows a more than satisfied grin after seeing Ghost without it) because it's his (Ghost's) way to settle the accounts and even the things out forever? Ghost already died once, is it now Simon's turn? (actually, i don't believe Ghost will be the one to die this time - i'm in my delulu cloud, let me be).

Lastly, i'd like to pinpoint a thing or two about Price (speaking of deaths...). In the MWIII trailer we see this scene (he's just sleepy yeah right true?!):

but let's focus on his hands:

Which ones are they clinging to? Soap's? No: Gaz. Maybe, MAYBE, he was close to the truth and that was a hint for our lad to beware of something (or maybe, someone...)? Also, where's Ghost? Why did they split? SoapxGhost and PricexGaz were almost standard pairs for MWII.

And that's talking about ''pairs'', that here i stand with my last point: amongst the various interactions and banters between Soap and Ghost during the Alone Mission, there's an interesting question that Soap asks before Ghost gives his impressive quotes about trust (although he tries to divert the answers as much as possible and to be as evasive as possible on his ideas regarding the others - later revealed during the missions, such as the arrival of Price and Gaz and the news that Laswell is still on their side which leads Ghost to say that she's ''still as solid as a rock'': so he KNOWS who to ''trust'', but he refused to admit it to Soap by choice). Soap, on the other hand, does not. That's why he asks: ''What about Captain Price?'' (read: can I trust him?). One of the answer is: ''I trust the Captain'', the other one: ''I don't trust anyone right now, even Price". Maybe, and just MAYBE, they were just already showing us some nuances of Soap's character but we didn't notice it? At least... not yet?

(Credits for the pics and gif to: @sleepyconfusedpotato @mctvsh Please, give me the credits if ya repost it, 🌱)

[phoenix-before-the-flame]

Im sorry im sot sure how to word this right but, how do you manage to change the characters race while still making them look like well, them? I've tried but it never comes out right.... they allways look like a new character when i try.... again im sorry to ask....

Tis not a problem at all dear comrade! I'm always happy to try and answer art questions, but just a heads up i might get a lil bit rambly in some spots so i do apologize beforehand.

First off, change that negative tone!

I understand how you feel and its easy to feel down when the piece isnt turning out how you picture it but that's ok. You're setting foot into new artistic territory, something you havent tried before thats still a fairly big unknown. Instead of seeing it as a failure see it instead as a step in your artistic growth. No one starts off god tier right? Changing your framing of how you see your 'bad' drawings can really help you see em in a more positive light (and help with motivation when you attempt something new another time!)

Ok but onto what you actually asked about. How do you change a character but still keep them the same? Well in my eyes to do this, you have to

Break down thedesign

Let's take in the character we wanna redesign. We gotta really look at their original design and identify all their relevant features and shapes that make them easily recognizable as them.

Lemme grab my assistant Gajeel to illustrate my point.

So we have our Gajeel, yea we know what he looks like but! What exactly are we looking for here? Well we're looking for the key features to his design, features important enough where if he had a completely different hairstyle and colour palette ( and perhaps even body type) would make you go 'yea that's gajeel'.

So in breaking it down we note that he has:

Triangular shaped eyes with a bit of a dark outline

Small eyes with slit pupils

Prominent cheekbones

Jacked up hairline

And of course the most noticable feature, the multiple piercings

These- to me- are the most important parts of his design so i leave them generally unchanged when i go about drawing him. Which means everything else is on the table to change!

Though for me when I got about my redesigns i focus on changing 3 things mostly- nose, lips and hair. These really push a race change design, specifically in this case, makin em black

Now of course with this you are going to change skin tone that's obvious but relying solely on colour palette change makes for a somewhat weak redesign. If you turn off the colour and you can't tell if the character is nonwhite then it needs some work.

Noses and Lips

Now there are a great many ways to draw wider noses and it can be a bit difficult figuring out to interpret em without em lookin janky but i find that less is more!

I only ever really show the base of the nose where the tip part is and the nostrils, the bridge of the nose is only ever shown in my style when the head is a bit turned.

The same goes with lips, you only really need about 2 or 3 lines at minimum to emphasizs thick lips- one for the actual lip line, one for the top lip and one for the lower lip. Some people choose to leave out the line for the bottom lip and thats fine. Just don't do this-

If you do that im putting you in the ground myself.

Hair

Hair is a bit of a 50/50 for me to change most times because i really enjoy drawing that spiky anime hair lol. But I think that the important thing to keep note of changing the hairstyle to a more natural one is to keep the overall silhouette of the hair recognizable.

The silhouette being y'know, the shape and all that. If you're a pokemon fan then you already know how much a silhouette builds recognition. So as an example, Juvia's first hairstyle was that straightened looke with the tight curls at the end. The shape of that hairstyle was mimicked by using braids with puffs at the ends to help with maintaining that silhouette.

Gajeel has very big, spiky and wild hair so I tried to mimick that with dreads

(Also to note with the Gajeel redesign is that his face is slightly wider with the features a bit lower but thats more of a liberty I took than anything hard and fast so dont even worry about that)

Again, if i am changing the hair then i try to follow the shape of the original design as closely as possible. Even with a design such as my Black Gray design with a vastly different hairstyle i still sketched out the shape of his og hair to maintain the overall spiky shape (with a few liberties lol)

So uh, yea! I think that's the most basic breakdown of how to go about doing a black redesign. Identifying the key design traits i think really is the most important step to do as it really helps to cement what's necessary to keep and what can or cant be changed.

But some other stuff to be mindful of when redesigning:

Refs naturally are your friend. If you have difficulty with interpreting irl refs then theres no shame in using someone elses art as a reference to help you to learn and understand (just no tracing!)

Please for the love of god use saturated browns for the skin tone. I cannot tell you how often i see designs with a gray-brown skin tone. It makes the character look ashy. Please don't make them ashy.

Also speaking of skin tones, be mindful of being accidentally colourist, where all your darker skinned characters villains or angry, loud, violent, sexual, etc. Not saying you can't redesign characters who have those traits to be dark skinned. But if all the characters you redesign to be dark skinned have those traits while others with more positive traits are lighter shades you may want to step back and do some reflection.

Don't be let down if you don't get a redesign on the first try! You don't see behind the scenes for other artists, it definitely takes a few tries to get it right so dont get hung up on it!

These are not hard and fast rules, just really what works for me and how I do things. If you need anything clarified better or wanna ask anything else feel free to! Happy redesigning comrade!

[brooklynislandgirl]

Do you know me? [Coulson]

In All My Reverie || -

What’s their full name?: 

“Josiah.” Skye wrinkles her nose. “Really?” Beth shrugs and holds up the results of the other woman’s physical. “Is right dere, top of his file.” ~*~ “Jacinto.” Ward raises a brow. “What?” “On a chilly April aftahnoon in Eighteen-T’irty Six, a strip of coastal prairie rang wi’ da boom of cannon, crack of musket fiah, an’ shouts of “Remembah da Alamo!” an’ “Remembah Goliad!”. Despite bein’ outmanned, General Sam Houston’s army of settlers, Tejanos, an’ foreign volunteers decisively defeat General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna’s forces, an’ won Texas’ independence. T’ commemorate it, Mistah Coulson senior named him aftah-” He leaves before she can finish, so Beth shrugs and goes back to knitting. ~*~ “Jamiroquai. Like da band.” May kicks her out of the cockpit, and she is grateful. She escapes back to the lab. Only to run into Fitz-Simmons. Who half talk, half telepathically communicate over their pet project. They ask where she’s been. She explains, and sure enough the question begins to live rent free in their heads, on their faces. So of course they ask her. She smiles blandly. “Javert. Named aftah main antagonist from Les Miserables.”

~*~ Beth stares at a spot just above his shoulder and to the left, her hands behind her as she stands at parade rest. Exactly as she would if addressing the Admiral. The biggest difference is that Coulson’s face isn’t lemon-sour, but rather simply curious. The question as to why she keeps telling different people what the J stands for in Philip J Coulson, each increasingly worse, lingers between them. When she answers, it’s barely audible. “Because dey aks me, sir. Didn’ wanna seem rude or dismissive. An’ hones’ly, no one seems to know, but I assume it’s actually Julian or Julius, aftah ya maddah. But it’s not my right f’ tell, or anyone else’s f’ demand. I’m sorry. It won’ happen again.”

When’s their birthday?: She doesn’t know the time, exactly. Nor does she try to ask him because she knows he’ll see it as unimportant. But she sits on her bunk, several books open. A multifunctional geometric ruler near her knee along with several different coloured pens, a large drawing pad already marked in pencil as she does her research. Without consulting charts, 8 July 1964 makes him a Cancerian, like her. There’s so much water in Phil’s chart, and it explains so much about him. Though she would argue, even with herself, that a person can be summed up in a mathematical sequence. He’s more than cryptic ciphers and star charts, surely. More than he’d even realise if the question of his identity were posed to him. She picks up her green pen and steadies the ruler against the page.

Where were they born?:

Manitowoc, Wisconsin is hell. Oh it tries to fool her, it really does, sitting in the open mouth of the river of the same name, right there on the edge of Lake Michigan. Depending on the inflection of the Ojibwe word, it is named ‘dwelling of the great spirit’, ‘spirit spawns’, ‘spirit woods’ or ‘spirit lands’. The Menominee people ceded the land in a treaty after a small eternity of negotiation on what to do with the tribes removed from New York, and rehomed ~as if they were pets or burdens~ to Wisconsin. Two years before Coulson was born, a twenty pound piece of Sputnik 4 landed on North 8th Street. It is home of the state’s Maritime Museum, and has a great amount of history attached to it, not all of it pleasant. Just ask Gwendolyn Brooks.

But right now, Beth is absolutely convinced that it is the origin point of Fimbulwinter. The icy teeth of the wind rip right through her, going so far as to turn even Pele’s blood in her veins to slush. Her joints ache, her head hurts. She is never going to see the sun again. This is how she dies, without a rainbow bridge or a last glimpse of Kawela bay and her Mother’s warm waves welcoming her as they race toward the Pipeline. “Fire’s roaring,” Phil says, pushing a cup of cocoa ~whipped cream and cinnamon topped~ into her shivering mitten-covered hands. “Are you sure you won’t come in? Or do you intend to make another snow-angel?”

What’s their favourite colour?:

Sometimes, Phil’s suits are black. Exactly like the movies and the rampant conspiracy theories say it should be. When he does put that one on, he occasionally pairs it with a periwinkle shirt and the subtle colour looks sharp on him. Other times he’ll wear dark navy or slate grey. Besides his trademark sunglasses though, the thing that she notices most is that he always wears a touch of blue; shirt, tie, jacket…ambient lighting. It tends to bring out his eyes, though she doesn’t think that’s why he loves the colour. Rather it’s the meaning that seems to nurture something in his soul. Blue is sky and it is sea. That fact isn’t lost on her. It is associated with open spaces, freedom, inspiration, and sensitivity. It spans depth, trust, loyalty, sincerity, wisdom, confidence, stability. It is the colour of faith and intelligence.

It can represent rest and there’s studies that show that it causes the body to produce chemicals that are linked to calm, and releases feelings of tranquillity. Each and every one of these is a trait he embodies or fosters in others. But none of this answers the question he asks her. “This one,” she says, and runs her fingers over the tie he holds up in his left hand, favouring the deep cobalt stripes over the diamond-patterned maroon in his right. She takes it from his grasp, and slides it around the back of his neck, adjusting it so that she can start to tie it. “Masculine. Subtle. Definitely power move.”

What’s their favourite perfume/cologne?:

The minute his door opens, Beth’s head jerks upwards, her nostrils flaring. Cucumber, hints of water lotus. Szechuan pepper, cedar. Sandalwood and musk. It reminds her of the ocean and deep woods. She lets it trickle down into her senses. The scent is light, doubly so because it’s used so sparingly. Embraces a casual effortlessness, distinctive but not in the least attention-grabbing. The ghost of it won’t haunt a room.

“CK Eternity Aqua,” she murmurs, naming the scent. “Should we not wait up for you, sir?” Beth doesn’t even register the tone of her own voice, or the hint of envy that creeps into the back of it.

Do they like baths or showers best?: I’m going to take a shower, then we’ll debrief. She nods as does the rest of the team. If she’s being honest, it’s probably for the best. Once viscera begins to dry out it also tends to smell, tends to crust and it’s just gross. And she knows that Phil works on his own schedule. Showers work better for him, showers also work better for the team. She forgets what they call this particular bunker but there’s plenty of room for everyone in the locker room style bathrooms.

But she still intends to eventually get him in a bath. Soaking overused muscles. Letting essential oils strip away the layers of ache and grit. She spends the whole fifteen minutes she is scrubbing down planning it.

How do they sleep? Do they snore?:

She never understood how he could sleep on his back. Sure, the pillow cradles his neck. With his eyes closed, Phil seems to be at peace, not even breathing hard. Just deep. Soundless. His chest rises and falls and Beth can’t help but blush a little when she notices he isn’t wearing a shirt. It doesn’t stop her from climbing onto the bed and curling up beside him. Her arm comes to rest across his hips. Her head nestles on his chest, where she can hear his heartbeat change from rest to wakefulness. But he doesn’t say anything. She imagines if she looks up she’ll see that Mona Lisa look, a little confusion etched around his brows. But what Phil Coulson doesn’t do is question her. Maybe because he knows her file like the back of his hand. Maybe because he knows she’d ventured into the lion’s den and barely made it out with hide intact, the Admiral’s jaws all but clenching around her. Regardless, he only shifts a little; one hand lifts the blanket when his fingers graze the cold of her skin before the hand slides up her arm to cup the back of her head. There’s nothing sensual about any of this, not in the way some people would look to take it. He’s offering her shelter. He’s offering her enough safety to let her own eyes close. Neither of them really sleep.

What’s their favourite flower? If they have one which one?:

The gunshot splits the air. They have guns, the team only has icers and she can’t do a thing with that. She doesn’t waste microseconds wishing she had a gift involving the art of seasons…Time. It isn’t a spell, or countermagick, so much as it’s a wild and desperate Hail Mary call, and she flings her mana like water or glitter. Reality takes hold of it and shapes it. Offers a new and different trajectory. What would have caught Coulson in the chest is redirected. But all things come with a price and the impact knocks her back. Pain splinters outward from her lung and she can feel herself trying to breathe her own vital fluids but chokes on them instead. A minute, an hour, an eternity later his hands come to put pressure on the wound. “I’ve got you,” he says. She watches his lips move, but she can’t hear what he’s saying. Her lashes flutter. “Agent Riley!” The darkness rises up like a plunging wave, spawned from offshore winds. They have high energy and travel swiftly, making them dangerous to unsuspecting surfers. “Beth. What’s…what’s my favourite flower?” Whether it’s the wound or something deeply intrinsic to her subconscious, Beth closes her eyes, and blames the tears on not being ready to let go. “Daisy.” Do they drive? If so how’s their drivers licence picture?:

He never asks her why. Neither does she volunteer. She doesn’t fight him pushing the wheelchair out of the sliding glass doors of the hospital entrance, it’s regulation and she doesn’t have the energy to baulk. She knows he looked up the statistics. She knows he wants to ask why she didn’t allow him to get her back to Jemma to be treated, or SHIELD medical. What wasn’t a surprise was that she’d chosen Columbia. And why when she woke she was critically disappointed. All the unspoken things crowd in around them as he makes her sit in the passenger’s seat. No one drives Lola but Phil. Not even Beth.

“Do you even have one drivah licence?” she finally glances at him, slow when she turns, gingerly readjusting the seat belt. He fishes out his wallet and hands it to her. The Coulson in the picture is almost eight years younger. The only difference she can really see is slightly less laugh lines, and slightly more, darker hair. Phil has always been handsome, it seems, in an entirely average way. A warm and friendly mien, an immeasurably wide aura of calm. Of patience. Of basic human kindness that cannot be corrupted.

“So. How’re you doing?” She hands it back. “Not gonna lie, could murder a bacon cheeseburger righ’ now.” A brow raises at the comment. “Kinda low on iron.” “I know just the place.” Coulson pulls smoothly into traffic.

Do they like reading? If so guess how many books they have?:

Her fingertips glance across the spines of the small collections of books on his shelves; westerns, biographies, histories weighed down by the dust of the dry academic language. They might as well be fantasies, of old myths for as familiar as they are to her. But then she stops. Her lips pull tight as she pulls the volume and traces the bright red title on the blue background. The tightness becomes a full sneer over the misspelling. Lost Kingdom: Hawaii’s Last queen, the Sugar Kings, and America’s First Imperial Adventure by Julia Flynn Siler. Beth opens the flap, reads aloud the summary; “Only one American state was formerly a sovereign monarchy. In this compelling narrative, the award-winning journalist Julia flynn Siler chronicles how this Pacific kingdom, creation of a proud Polynesian people, was encountered, annexed and absorbed. Around two hundred A.D., intrepid Polynesians paddled thousands of miles across the Pacific and arrived at an undisturbed archipelago. For centuries, their descendants lived with almost no contact from the Western world but in Seventeen-Seventy Eight, their profound isolation was shattered with the arrival of Captain Cook. Deftly weaving together a memorable cast of character-” The book slams shut with very little regard for its safety. Sneer becomes vitriolic rage burning in her eyes, choking her throat. “You’re upset,” his voice is mild. Beth turns, imperiously lifting her chin despite being nearly a foot shorter, and far less intimidating that he could ever be. Here it is. A descendant of those ancient kings and queens, royal blood from both sides of the family tree, standing ready to defend her homeland. This might be the one time the Admiral could show any pride. “Of da hundreds of books you own, dis? Dis is da one you bring wi’ you?” “I thought it was a good place to start-” “Betrayin’ da Kanaka Maoli? Relishing in da illegal occupation of our lands, deposin’ our Ali’i Lili’uokalani?-” “-To understand the mistakes of the past, so that we don’t continue to make them in the future.” His tone is low, as it is tight. She bears her teeth. It isn’t a smile. Phil closes the distance between them, gingerly laying his hands atop hers before gently prying the book out of her grasp, returning it to its place on his shelf. “May I suggest something else to take to bed with you?” She leaves him standing there as she flees his space, cheeks impossibly red. It took almost a precise two weeks and a movie with the younger agents for him to understand what exactly had happened.

Public or state school?: “So, d’ you t’ink dere’s a difference between governmen’ school like you went to, as opposed to a private one?” The question posed comes on the heels of her trying to explain how important one’s high school alma mater was to the Hawai’ian identity. By government, she meant public school where as private meant a religious institution, a military or prep academy, charter, or otherwise funded by the often very rich parents that patronised them. It might not be a surprise that she could name his schools, ~Jackson Elementary, Washington Middle, Lincoln High School~ even if everyone, including himself, is reasonably sure she doesn’t much know the difference between Wisconsin and Minnesota. “Of course there is,” he begins carefully. “Allocated and logistical resources for one, the varying arts and culture that can be offered based on funding by a state rubric that makes no fiscal sense. I’m pretty willing to bet that aside from sadistic nuns, you would have been more comfortable at an integrated Kamehameha school than you did at Sacred Heart.” She raises a brow and he has to confess. “It’s because everyone has at least one Catholic school called Sacred Heart.”

Did they attend university? If so which one and what is their degree?:

As the night progresses, they talk of opportunities and the importance of providing safe avenues for education, they talk fond memories, embarrassing incidents, and Phil maybe laughs more than he has in a while. Beth becomes highly animated when she’s passionate about things, and she makes him remember things he hasn’t thought about in decades. She seems most embarrassed about receiving early admission to university, and was offered a scholarship that would have provided for everything she could need to succeed, and she turned that down. Said someone else benefited from her family’s ability to pay for pre-med and medical school a hundred times over without feeling it. But then her tone softens. “D’you t’ink, Uncle, dat when you retire….ah…if.... If you retire, ya might go back to school? Mebbe take up ya teaching degree? I know Director Fury poached you straight out of high school, an’ I no can help but feel dat might be one of ya regrets.”

Who’s the chef and who’s the taster?:

There is something indescribably sensual the way she breathes and then exhales that into a moan, all while hovering by his side. Her kitchen is a wreck and he knows it, but she did offer to do the clean up. It’s also taken him hours to do all the work; creating the roux, scalding the milk so it’s not scorched, then slowly stirring in the various cheeses. Then there was boiling the noodles while the dough rested and rose, then got punched down to rest again. It’s an old recipe from his childhood, but it seemed like the perfect thing to make for his vegetarian leaning shark; macaroni and cheese pizza. Now it’s baking in her oven, and he’s putting the final touches on the salad that is going with it, a token nod to health concerns. Like a cat, Beth seems content to prowl around him, stopping on occasion to put a hand on his exposed forearms, and looking up at him with a beatific look. He plucks a halved cherry tomato from her wooden bowl, and offers it to her. Then Beth becomes a goblin. She doesn’t take it from him with his fingers, instead carefully putting her teeth close to his skin, close enough that her lips form around his fingertips. Weaker men have toppled empires for less. Phil only smiles. “Table set yet? Can’t let you eat out of the bowl.”

Do they like wine? If so Róse, red or white? Beer? Whiskey?: “It is, yes.” Full words, a rarity. And like a ghost, she vanishes from view. When she appears again, she’s just on the edge of his periphery. A splash of colour from her floor length, gauzy skirt, but sleek and tawny from the arms up in a grey camisole. The bandage that peeks out might bring a frown to his face. It’s been a while now and the wound isn’t healing like he knows it should. He almost wants to ask her why she doesn’t use her gifts on it but somehow he knows her answer would be similar were she to ask why doesn’t she let him give him his old arm back. Some things need to be lived through, survived. Or maybe the enemy has finally found something that prevents even her accelerated healing to kick in, and that worries him. Almost as if she can follow his train of thoughts, she smiles. This time the expression is a little dreamy at the edges, lacking the sharp physically longing look from moments ago. She holds up a glass of wine in one hand ~hers~ and in the other… Phil blinks. “Spotted Cow!” A farmhouse ale that can only be found in his home state because it’s not sold anywhere else. It’s never easy to catch him off guard but she’s managed that. “Where did you even--” She giggles. “Magic.”

Any favourite items of clothes?: She sits on the end of the bed, the black lace dress fitting her like a second skin, the scalloped edges flirting with her knees. Her hair is half up and half down, she’s wearing tasteful diamond solitaire earrings. She hates having to leave the safety of the Retreat but rebuilding SHIELD requires funding from indirect sources, and one of her best job skills is the ability to schmooze. She looks up when Phil enters the room. For once his tailored dress shirt is open at the collar, though the tie still hangs down his chest. She makes an appreciative murmur. It will never cease to amaze her that he actually likes wearing ties and suits, and that while they are technically a uniform, they look incredible on him. She rises and meets him halfway where his hand comes up to cup her cheek, his fingertips losing themselves in her hair. “You’re going to do fine,” he tells her. He means it as an assurance. She’s taking it as a direct order. Her hands come up and she wraps the loose ends of the tie around her wrists, holding them tightly in her fists. Her eyes half close and she takes a deep breath for calm, thinking if she can just envelope herself with him, that she can do anything asked. “Can I take dis wi’ me?” She gives the tie a tug. “Only if you promise you’ll give it back. I know you still have my one denim shirt, Agent Riley.” She can’t help but grin. “Yes, sir.”

Anything you like of theirs that makes you smile when they wear it?:

“What….is… dat?!” “It’s a bathrobe.” “No, dat is a crime of nature is what dat is. Where did you even ge’it?” “This little gift shop in Santa Fe, on my way to Puente Antiguo. I think it’s rugged.” “I t’ink it’s…jus’...wow. “You want I should take it off-” Oh the colour in her face. Especially as he unbelts the robe and his chest beneath is bare.

What do they wear on holiday?:

“Absolutely not.” “What?” “Ya not wearin’ suit an’ tie f’ da beach, Phillip.” “It’s a beautiful day, Elizabeth. I was going to leave the jacket behind.” “Soonah ya wear dis bikini.” “Somehow, I don’t think it would fit. But I do like the bottoms.”

What do they wear if they’re just around the house?: Time is hard to tell in an underground bunker, but if she had to guess, it’s just past three in the morning; the witching hour. Phil isn’t curled up beside her when she jolts awake and puts her hand out and all she can think to do is crawl out from under the covers. She’s still in the cargo pants and tee-shirt she’d been wearing when they’d arrived, an almost identical outfit to his. They needed to blend into the dark. Once they’d been certain that the base was still secure, they’d sacked out as is with no energy for anything else. The dark is eating at her as she moves through the fairly narrow confines; this was meant to be a bolt hole, not a holiday hotel room in a five star resort. “Phil?” She whispers as she moves into each new room, only to hear her own footsteps and the hum of electricity in the walls but for no purpose she can gather. She could, if she put her mind to it, find its source and trace its routes but terror and exhaustion make clear-headed thought almost impossible.

After an eternity, she comes into a small space allotted for food and its preparation. A single spare bulb glows overhead, and there he stands, hunched over a map. She immediately rushes him, throwing her arms around his chest, and kneading his arm with her brow. “Phil!” “Hey. I’ve got some of the gps working and for now, it seems we’re safe here in--” A pause. Then a low mixture of concern, and stiffness. “You okay?” She clutches his leather jacket tighter, not thinking about the animal who sacrificed its skin. “I woke up and you…you were…” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, I get it. Why don’t you sit, and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

Who’s the holiday planner and who isn’t allowed to hold the passports?:

“Okay.” One word is all she says but it takes at least three times as long to pull herself away from him and even then she still feels a little queasy about it. He expects her to be made of sterner stuff, though, and she can’t bear disappointing him again. Her eyes follow him as he moves through the space. There are so many questions but she doesn’t even know where to begin. Maybe it’s the touch of otherness, the Spirit of Vengeance existing within him, that hears her anyway. “The last verified ping on May was thirty-six hours ago at an old second generation secret base, one called Radiant. How’s your Russian?”

“Ya imeyu v vidu, moglo byt' i khuzhe.” It could be worse, she says. “Good girl. Now, our best bet is to get to the Finnish border, drive the rest of the way. What do we have in the way of resources to get there?” Beth looks a little green around the gills. “I think I know someone who can get us there, but…I don’t think you’re gonna like it, and that’s assuming she’ll talk to me.”

Which type of phone do they have?:

Phil pulls out his Vivo. It’s an old generation but it’s running a proprietary OS designed specifically for SHIELD, the same one she runs on her Galaxy. He goes to pitch it once, twice, before he lets go and she catches it. Proof her reflexes are getting better despite the fact that she’s still too thin, too banged up for his taste. Reading her face, he frowns. “What’s the problem?” “She doesn’t use phones.” “Then how do we get a hold of her?” “You’re not going to like it.” “Why? We have to find the others. If that involves--” She cuts him off. “I’m going to need salt, bread, an’ your patience.”

What music do they like? Be specific if you know?: The bunker is entirely too quiet. It’s not anything like the bus where there’s a constant stream of subaudible white noise and the lives of the other people on it. Staring up into the blackness with little else to distract her beyond Phil’s breathing, the urge to toss and to turn, to get up and pace the floors until she’s worn ruts in her circuitous path, is near overwhelming. Drowning on dry land is what she would call it if she spoke aloud. Very carefully, she starts to slide her way towards the edge of the bed. And gasps when the hand not made of flesh and bone coils around her forearm. She’d never felt or heard him wake up, didn’t realise she’d disturbed him. “I’m sorry- I-I couldn’t sleep.” He nods. This is not new for him. He was used to her wandering all over the bus while others dreamed, was used to finding her curled up for those few moments of sleep inside of Lola. Where she felt safe. He is gentle as he pulls her back down, turning on his side and turning her, too, so that her back was pressed into his chest, where his other arm wrapped around her waist. She doesn’t know what to make of the bridge of his nose and his mouth close to the shell of her ear. At least until his voice, which wavers in its own way, a pleasant but raspy tenor, a contrast from her brother’s baritone. But she recognises Assemblage 23, and particularly the words of Lullaby.

“May you find solace…in the gentle arms of sleep. Despite the wolves outside your door. In time you will see them all as harmless, and their idle threats easy to ignore.” His voice pours right through her and she bites back the slightest gasp. “And if ever fate should choose to smite you; stand your ground, never walk away. Please don’t ever let the world defeat you, don’t get buried in its decay. As you drift into the gauzy realm of dreams, may you take comfort in the thought that you are safe…” Beth turns in his arms, resting her face just under his chin and slides one leg between his own.

Any favourite movie/tv shows?: “I loved Star Trek and Star Wars growing up,” he says while his eyes never leave the road. “The Man from U.N.C.L.E, too.” Her brows knit. “I dunno what is dat.” “It was a show centred on a two-man troubleshooting team working for the the multi-national secret intelligence agency, U.N.C.L.E ~United Network Command for Law Enforcement~” “Wha’ is it wi’ spy networks an’ dey like ridiculous uhm…breviations? Is dere like a room somewhere dat got a bunch of people from lotsa countries sittin’ around makin’ dis stuff up?” He laughs. She isn’t entirely wrong. “...Anyway, there was American Napoleon Solo played by Robert Vaughn, and Russian Illya Kuryakin played by David McCallum. Leo G. Caroll played Alexander Waverly, the British Chief of the organisation. Barbara Moore was eventually introduced by Lisa Rogers, in the fourth season. Fun fact-- the series, while fictional but probably loosely based on SHIELD, reached such cultural prominence that props, costumes, documents and a video clip are now housed in the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum’s exhibit on spies and counterspies. They have similar displays in the museums belonging to the CIA and other intelligence agencies.” “F’real, how you know all dis stuff?” Her answer is that Mona Lisa smile.

Do you see yourself being with them for a long time?:

When the metaphoric and literal smoke and fire clear, Beth turns away. Phil and May deserve a moment’s privacy to reassure one another that if nothing else, they are alive. Safety will come later, after they’ve left. She’ll assure him that he can take Melinda in the car, that she will meet him at the rendezvous spot and can get there, sight unseen, under her own power. What she won’t tell him is that she will do so by traversing the umbra, and once on the other side of the Gauntlet, she will shape-shift into something sleeker or faster. A bird, a cheetah. The contact that they owe will be pleased to get this favour done, and if Beth has to borrow a few things, the cost won’t be much. The time apart will be all well and good. It will give her time to grieve in privacy for the things that she will lose, now that they are slowly starting to repatriate the rest of the team. She’ll miss the feel of his arms around her. The gentleness in those embraces, the kisses that follow. Her bed will feel like some sort of barren wasteland without the warmth and comfort of his presence.

She will never be far from Phil. There to call on and do as he wants her to at a split-second notice. For as long as he wants her to be. But oh, how she’s going to ache for these last few weeks, fraught as they were. She clears her throat but it sounds brittle, rusty in her own ears. “We need f’ go soon, dey regrouping, sir.”

Do you share a home? If not why not?:

It is a gruelling trek back to the secret bunker. She still doesn’t know what secret name this one is called, but the homecoming is bittersweet. While May is taking a shower and Phil is rustling up a meal for them in the kitchen, Beth is in the room they’ve been sharing. She packs her meagre things carefully, not that there is much, but she knows better than to leave behind any sort of spore. Briefly, she picks up his pillow and hugs it to her chest. She breathes in the scent of him, and holds it in as long as she can. Some part of it should have known it would all be temporary. He’d rescued her first because she’d been one of the last to be taken into custody, ultimately inconsequential. The only threat she really posed was easily disabled by the collar. He’d needed her resources, her informational intelligence, the comfort of not being alone. She turns to go. And nearly jumps out of her own skin when she’s brought up short with a sharp, audible gasp. Startled to the point she drops the pillowcase she used for packing. She hadn’t expected to see him standing there, watching her silently with a face like a thunderstorm.

“Beth?” A wealth of questions in a single word. It takes her a moment to realise what he’d called her, and it wasn’t Agent Riley. “Y-you don’ haf’ worry ‘bout dis being a scene, Phil. I jus’ wan make da transition easier-” “What transition?” She gestures with a head-tilt in the direction of where the shower is running, presumably with May still under the hot water. “Huh.” Not a word, not even an inflection really. She doesn’t know what to make of it, or the fact that he crosses the narrow space and envelopes her into his arms. The embrace pulls her close and he bends down to put his chin on the top of her head. She isn’t treated to the sight of his eyes boring holes into the wall behind them, nor the look of his own grief when he closes them. “You…don’t have to.” “But she-” “Agent May is an adult. My oldest friend. I’d like to think she’d be understanding.”

What quirk do they have that you love?: “Oh, oh! Is this the part where you threaten to tear us limb from limb? Because I’ve got to say, I’ve already watched this movie and bought the tee-shirt.” Clearly, the moke of a HYDRA agent wasn’t sure what to do when Phil didn’t cower under the weight of his threat. Or reasoning that the threat was stupid, as Coulson implied, because half of the enemy were laying in pools of their own agony thanks to Agent May, and Beth herself has fried most of the electronics at his command thanks to a few little tricks up her sleeve. She absolutely loves those moments where, the more dire the situation, the snarkier Phil gets, an unparalleled aplomb of sarcasm and pop culture that is so incongruous with his typical unflappable mien. She gazes from Phil, where she sees that muscle in his jaw pop, to the HYDRA jerk, to Daisy’s face, where she can still see traces of pain from the jolt the woman received from the arm cuffs on her, so similar to the collar they’d kept Beth shackled with. It all takes place in fractions of seconds. She mouths the word “duck.”

Lastly what do you like watching them do?: Daisy does as she’s told, confused but understanding that she hasn’t got time to argue. At the same moment there’s the crack of bone that gives Beth an almost uncomfortable twitch through her whole body and the roar of fire. Phil gives himself over bodily to his Vengeful Spirit, and then the gun fires. She can smell the burning ozone of the blast, charring metal and flesh and cloth alike. Honestly, he should have listened to Phil when he politely requested the man turn Daisy over and let them walk away. Sometimes, though, Darwin is right and she feels no pity. If anything, she’s blushing and it has nothing to do with the heat the Spirit puts out. So many people seem to underestimate Phil Coulson. All they see is a mild mannered government angel. They never take into consideration that beneath the veneer, he’s a badass superhero. Even without having the benefit of being the Devil Driver. The Spirit relinquishes its hold, and Phil once more is himself. He shoulders that mini-canon, and helps Daisy up to her feet. Like with May, and Beth before her, he takes a moment to quietly ask her if she’s okay, to promise her she’s safe. Once they’ve had a few moments and May joins them, Beth comes over, and takes hold of the arm cuffs. A quick manipulation of the energy sequence and the hum winds down into a soft sound of unlocking. Daisy is now free to be Quake again. Beth takes her place on the girl’s other side, and for a brief instant, her hand and Phil’s brush. She leeches the lingering heat of them. “T’ree down, two f’ go,” she murmurs and he nods, a weary smile in place. “With that in mind, ladies, let’s go home.” “Wheels up in five,” May says and leads the way.

[bonnienapierfilm]

cinehaiku reflection

group reflection

I came up with the vampire idea almost instantly for this module. Possibly due to the fact I watched 'What We Do in the Shadows' the night before the introduction to cinehaiku...

I had already planned on working with Jenny and Beth, so I knew we would be organised with the almighty producer that is Beth Lindsay, and the sound would be spooky AND funny with the Jenny Morrison touch. We were also blessed with Jack Birrell, who managed to collect some great props, which was an absolute must for this project or the comedy would be shabby and unfunny. It was definitely the most stress-free set I've ever been on, which was a nice relaxant before the agonising shoots upcoming in third year. It worked so well as everyone was confident in their roles and put maximum effort in! The vision was there and it was pulled off (I like to think!).

pre-production

I had storyboarded the shots, and was worried about pulling off the stylised shots I had planned. Mainly because of my lack of experience in that style, but I am proud of how it looked. I think this is one of the first times the end product really matched the ideas I had in my head.

The day before our shoot, myself and Jenny test all our equipment and tried setting up shots and played with lighting so we would be fully prepped for the real shoot. I hadn't realised at the time how little I knew about the BlackMagic cameras and lighting in general... kinda embarrassing but after some YouTube and help from Rowen, we got there!!

on set

The shoot went smoothly. Our actor, David, was so much fun to work with! He was keen from the beginning and brought ideas to the set, so if anyone needs someone his age, I recommend!

Jack whipped up some fake blood; cranberry juice and food colouring I believe? He also spent a while filing some nails down and staining with blood, which really helped sell this realness to our vampire set. We wanted a modern alarm clock to help with the 'deadpan' comedy, which I think worked well: a centuries old vampire with a silly little plastic alarm clock... FUNNY. Jack also covered his hands in fake blood to get a hand print on the clock, dedication!!

Zoe said the production design would have to be to be high quality, so Jack did a great job.

post-production

We filmed more than 3 shots, so that we had options if our original 3 didn't work well together. It took me a while to figure out timing and order, as when shooting we had a 10s/10s/10s sequence in mind, but we wanted more time spent with the middle shot (it was very pretty and 10 seconds just wasn't doing it justice!!). We landed on 8s/14s/8s, which worked well, as we had this time with the middle shot but the first and last didn't feel too fleeting. It was interesting editing, as depending on how length of shots and placements, I could make 30 seconds feel like a long time, or fleeting. I did learn a lot about editing for this project, timing is everything!! I thought about a cut to black in-between shots, as they were so different it felt jarring, but it turned out to be a case of staring at the same 3 shots for too long. Which I suppose I have to get used to if I want to specialise in editing.

When planning the edit before shooting, I really had sound in mind, as it would be difficult to acquire a coffin, the use of sound would play an important role in making our vampire believable. Jenny did a great job with sound. I had faith from the beginning, she added sounds that I hadn't thought of which really raised the effect of the film. I don't have much reflection on the sound as I know so little on the process. But I am happy with the final product!

When it came to the colour grade, I was a little nervous. I don't know much on the theory behind it, nor how to use DaVinci resolve. I was winging it at the start, but Alex Caldow and Samuel Duñer gave me a little tutorial and now I actually understand the process! The nodes ARE important and actually very useful. It was difficult to get exactly what we wanted, as I wanted the red of the blood and curtains to pop, but it was so tricky to do that without making David's skin tone red too... and vampires are pale not red!!! So I played around with masking for quite a while, and settled on the best I could get. Which wasn't that bad, I was just stressing as the project had gone so well up until that point. But yeah, colour grade wasn't awful, I don't think, I will gain confidence over time!

crit

I was soooooo very nervous for the crit. I had this overwhelming fear that we would play it on the projector and the quality would be horrible and the colour grade would look weird and the masking would be obvious and...and... every stress under the sun really. However, my brain was being silly it was fine hehe! Jenny was praised on her sound design, rightly so, and no horrible marks on my colour grade, so that's a win!

Some criticism (oh my god I've just realised why it's called a crit, we are getting CRITicism.), my fade to black at the end wasn't necessary and kinda takes you out of the film, as everything else is a harsh cut that adds to the comedy, so a harsh cut at the end would have upheld this. We got mixed reviews on the lighting for the last shot, as we only light David's mouth/chin, not his whole face. I think I stand by the way we lit it, as in every scene we essentially spotlight what is important; the alarm clock, David eating, then his teeth brushing.

Overall, chuffed with the groups effort and the final film! Sent it to my parents and no matter how many times I described what a cinehaiku is, I'm still getting "good! but why is it so short?".

other groups

I really loved all the other films. Some real explosive content in there! Was a big fan of Rosie, Ben and Bethany's, loved the animated stars, so pretty. Also liked, (K)nightfall, it's funny cause it's a Knight falling!!!!

link to the film

https://vimeo.com/764597158

P.S. this project stems from my love for vampire/vampire fan fiction I would write based on Damon from Vampire Diaries.

[sarahscribbles]

Back In Your Arms

Summary: Loki arrives back at the compound, and back in your arms, after the battle with Thanos.

Genre: Starts angsty but the happiest, fluffiest ending

Word count: 2.8k

Loki x f!reader

Loki Masterlist

Authors note: Ok this was originally intended as a drabble and it sort of just kept going? So it's a little less developed, a little more short and snappy, than a fic would be, so...enjoy I guess? Basically giving a middle finger to IW and everything turns out peachy.

You had almost grown used to the coldness of the bed you had shared with him.

Each morning brought the same five seconds of peace when you first opened your eyes. The five seconds when you still drifted between sleep and awake, believing that you would roll over into Loki’s arms, feel his drowsy kiss to your forehead and slip back to sleep in his warm embrace.

Each morning you would roll over to see the empty pillow that had stopped smelling of him, feel the coldness of the sheets and remember that he wasn’t sleeping peacefully beside you, he hadn’t been for so long that you were beginning to forget how it felt to wake up in his arms, and you had no idea if you ever would again.

It had been five months, or was it six?, since he had left with Thor to save Asgard from a sister neither of them had known existed. A sister who, according to Thor, was intent on shrouding Asgard in darkness and making the people pay for the wrongs of their father. It had been spring when they left - the daffodils had been in bloom - but winter had quickly seeped in, taking the colour from the world and the hope from your heart. Loki had walked out the door with a kiss and a promise that he would send word to you as soon as Hela had been vanquished and they were returning to New York.

It had been the last time you had heard from him.

Patiently, you had waited. Your heart was constantly in your throat, your stomach constantly in a state of nervous anticipation. For the first three weeks after they had left, you woke with certainty in your soul that this would be the day, the day he would keep his promise and return home.

Each day that continued to pass in silence was like a well-aimed dagger through your heart, each hour of not knowing a strategic twist.

When one month had passed, Tony had pulled you aside one rainy afternoon and told you, against Fury’s direct orders, that there had been some sort of explosion in space.

You weren’t stupid; you knew what Tony was trying to say, but you refused to accept it. Loki wasn’t dead, you would feel it in your very soul if he was dead. He was still out there somewhere in the universe, his heart was still beating, and he was moving heaven and earth to get back to you.

“I will look for you until the last star falls out of the sky,” he had promised.

He had yet to break a promise to you.

For months afterwards you combed the internet, reading anything and everything about astrophysics, Norse mythology, quantum physics, anything that would put you on the right path, the path to Loki. In utter desperation, you had eventually Googled Jane Foster with the intention of somehow reaching out to her and begging her for help, even if things hadn’t ended on the best of terms between her and Thor. She was smart, frighteningly smart, and likely your best chance at finding Loki.

Your search consumed you, everything else taking second priority while you painstakingly searched for the love of your life. The others tried to intervene, tried desperately to make you see sense, to accept that Loki was gone, but you persisted. Everything inside you screamed that he was still alive and that something unexpected had happened that was preventing him from returning as planned. You refused to give up like you knew Loki would refuse to give up on you.

On the fourth day of attempting to type an email to Jane Foster, Tony had slipped quietly into your room, startling you so badly that you almost leapt out of your chair.

“In my defence, I did knock.” He said quickly, coming towards you with palms raised.

Feeling stupid, you relaxed your shoulders and slightly lowered the lid of your laptop. You didn’t need Tony knowing what latest rabbit hole you were heading down. “Sorry,” you muttered, rubbing your fingers over stinging eyes. “I was miles away.”

“Mmm, literally it seems.” He replied, nodding to the photos of space and stars that littered your desk in piles. He dragged the small stool from your vanity across the floor to sit in front of you, making your heartache with a memory of Loki sitting in the very same spot with you sat between his legs as he combed out your hair, a favourite gesture when he was feeling particularly romantic. You swallowed the lump that quickly formed in your throat.

“How you holding up?” Tony asked kindly.

You took a deep breath in, trying to quell the storm and onset of tears that question always threatened to provoke. You wanted to lie, wanted to say you were completely fine so as to ease the burden of worry that was no doubt on his shoulders because of you, but it was Tony. He could read you almost as well as Loki could. “I miss him,” you settled on, the dagger in your heart twisting at the mere thought of Loki.

In front of you, Tony nodded. “Good,” he said simply. Instantly, your eyes shot to him, temper rapidly beginning to flare and angry words beginning to take aim in your throat. But then he kept talking. “Because I’ve heard from Fury that a ship called The Statesman is inbound for the compound in 12 hours with Point Break at the helm,” his eyes twinkled at you. “And at his side, his trusty co-pilot Reindeer Games.”

Mutely, you stared at him, mouth moving but no sound coming out. Suddenly, everything felt lighter. It was as though someone had injected colour back into your world, pulled back the curtains on an endless dark night. All the waiting was over.

“He’s coming home?” You asked in a small voice, a silent tear spilling down your cheek. You let it fall.

Tony smiled gently at you, his hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder. “He’s coming home, kid.”

You let him pull you into an awkward embrace and felt him squeeze you tight. You couldn’t say anything more, the one thought racing through your brain being Loki is coming home. Tony held you for another few seconds until you felt him pat your back and begin to pull away.

“Alright, that’s enough, I think,” he joked. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He gave your shoulder one final squeeze and began to leave the room.

“Tony?” You called out as he reached the door. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned, giving you an easy shrug. “Hey, any friend of Reindeer Games is a friend of mine,” he said, making you smile. “Night, kid.”

Unsurprisingly, sleep evaded you that night. The hours ticked by and you had tossed and turned until you were wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Each attempt to drift off was futile. All you could think about was how, in 12 short hours, you would be falling asleep nestled in Loki’s arms with the steady sound of his heartbeat in your ear.

“I will look for you until the last star falls out of the sky,” he had promised.

You hadn’t doubted for a second that he wouldn’t.

The next time you opened your eyes, sunlight was trickling through your curtains, casting the room in an almost ethereal glow. Loki had always loved mornings like this, always telling you how it reminded him of his chambers back in Asgard and how the light would flow easily in each morning.

Loki. The Statesman. 12 hours. Today.

He was coming home.

With a sudden burst of energy, you flung the covers off. In a frenzy you raced around the room, yanking clothes from drawers and wardrobes, not caring what they were or if they matched. In under five minutes you were out of your room and tearing down the compound hallways, eyes darting around every corner in case something should be different, as though there would be some dramatic change to the compound to herald Loki’s arrival home.

“There you are!” Tony’s voice came from behind, causing you to wheel around. “I was just coming to make sure you were awake. I thought you could do with some extra sleep after, you know, finding out the love of your life is hurtling through space to you. Bet that’s exhausting.”

“Is he…?” you began, but Tony shook his head.

“Not yet. They’re about ten minutes out, give or take. Hey, how does it feel? Having him come back after being so far away? The furthest Pepper has ever gone is Toronto, so I wouldn’t…”

You audibly groaned. “Tony, I love you, but can you shut up for five seconds and take me to wherever it is they’re landing? Please?” You half whined.

Tony’s entire demeanour shifted, becoming instantly softer. “Sure, kid. C’mon.” He gestured to the staircase that would take you to the lower levels of the compound.

It was all you could do not to run ahead of him like an excited child. A few of the others had gathered when he took you through the back doors to where the compound opened up to an expanse of green. Wanda was by your side instantly, taking your hand in hers and squeezing firmly.

“Remember this moment,” she whispered softly in your ear.

Your eyes searched the sky, instantly zoning in on the stretch of coal-black against light blue. As it continued to get bigger, your stomach was in knots. For so long you had dreamed of being reunited with Loki and now your heart was finally returning home. It was all going to be ok.

The ship continued to get bigger, and your heart continued to race faster, until it was eventually crashing through the trees at the compound's perimeter and coming to a screeching halt. You squeezed Wanda’s hand hard. You held your breath as the doors slowly began to open, fighting the urge to sprint towards the ship to Loki.

Thor was the first to emerge, a little unsteady and looking decidedly worse than the last time you had seen him. He faltered on his feet, taking a second to collect his bearings, and finally raised his arm in a wave.

“Seeing as we’re friends, or colleagues, I’m going to ignore the thousands of dollars of damage you’ve just inflicted on my innocent building!” Tony called out. The relief in his voice was unmistakable.

Thor turned back to the ship, and you took a few tentative steps forward, waiting. Gently, he encouraged the remaining Asgardians to disembark, speaking reassuringly to each individual who exited and assuring them they were safe. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors they had experienced while on that ship. Very quickly, there was a large crowd assembled, most of them falling into each other’s arms and thankful to be alive. With each person who walked down the gangway of the ship, your eyes darted back towards the door, your heart hammering expectantly.

And finally, finally, you saw him.

Loki.

He was the last to leave the ship, walking down the gangway with a slight limp, but otherwise uninjured. You let go fully of Wanda’s hand. While the others raced to welcome Thor, Banner, and the Asgardians, you only had eyes for the figure in green who all but towered above the crowd.

“Loki,” you said softly, as if to affirm to yourself that it was actually him.

Almost as though your voice had carried across the mass of the crowd, over the tears that were equal measures of joy and sorrow, his eyes found yours. You committed to memory the second they lit up, the second the relief washed over him.

It was all you needed.

On shaky legs, you ran, closing the remaining distance between you in a matter of seconds and leaping into his arms. Your legs locked around his waist, arms around his shoulders, and you peppered his cheek, chin, nose, forehead, anywhere you could reach with swift, sweet kisses.

“Loki,” you said again, this time through tears that you could no longer hold back. Instinctively, you burrowed your face into the familiar comfort of his neck. He smelled of smoke and ash and battle, but it was Loki, and you breathed him in.

His arms were sealed around you, holding you so tight it was as though he feared you would slip away. He nuzzled his face into your hair. “Oh, my darling girl,” he exhaled, his voice so full of love it made you cry harder. “How I missed you.” He pressed a firm kiss to your neck, and you savoured the feeling of his lips back on your skin.

You continued to clutch at him, arms and legs squeezing him, hands balling into fists around his torn and singed cloak. After months of loneliness and heartache, he was here, he was real, he was alive. ‘You scared me,” you squeaked out. “I thought I…”

“I know, my love. I’m so sorry.” Loki cut you off. “There was no way to reach you. Heaven knows I tried,” he spoke quickly, as though he had to explain himself and the weird workings of space to you.

Instantly, your legs fell from around his waist. He refused to let you go anywhere, pulling you tight against him. You cradled his face in your hands. “Don’t you dare apologise,” you croaked at him in a voice still thick with tears. “None of this was your fault. I was just…I was so scared, baby,” you said again, unable to describe what you had been feeling for the past few months in any other words. Gently, you ghosted your thumbs over his cheeks, scanning his features for any sign of injury or hurt, but all you could find were a few small scars and faint bruises. An almost inaudible sigh of relief escaped you. He was ok.

Loki, whose piercing green eyes hadn’t left you, knew exactly what you had been searching for. “I’m ok.” He said gently, turning his head to softly kiss the inside of your wrist.

A laugh bubbled through you, sounding odd and distorted through your tears. “I was going crazy. I was reading about astrophysics and quantum physics and a lot of other types of physics even though I failed physics three times in school,” you said, watching a small smile grow on Loki’s face as he listened. “I was even about to email Jane Foster. Jane Foster, Loki. That’s how badly I wanted to find you.”

He laughed quietly at you, one hand going to the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry I made you read about physics,” he murmured, pulling another laugh from you. It was the most you had laughed since he had left.

You tilted your head to look at him, committing every detail of him to heart. The softness of his eyes as they rested on your face, the small bump on the ridge of his nose from a fight with Thor, the way his hair fell in gentle waves around his perfect face. “I love you so much,” you said easily, putting as much conviction behind your words as possible so he was left with no doubt. You didn’t give Loki a chance to reply, instead pulled him down until your lips were on his.

It was a kiss that was soft, hungry and passionate all at once. You had almost forgotten how sweet it was to kiss him. Effortlessly, you moulded yourself against him, easily let his tongue slip into your mouth, felt a tear on your cheek that you knew wasn’t yours. Automatically, your arms moved to cradle him, desperately trying to make him feel safe, wanted, appreciated. Close by, you heard someone call your name - Thor, presumably, - but you couldn’t, wouldn’t, pull your attention from the god in front of you and how it felt to be clasped so lovingly against his chest.

Much, much too quickly, Loki broke your kiss, placing one last chaste peck on the tip of your nose. “It’s all over, darling. We won,” he said softly, giving you that smile that always made your heart flutter and resting his forehead on yours.

You tightened your arms around his shoulders. “Then you have no reason to ever leave my sight again.” You said, smiling through your tears. “I’m going to chain you to the bed to make sure you stay put,” you teased him, so overwhelmed with joy and relief at having him back in your arms that teasing him was the only way to express it.

Loki laughed deep and low, pulling you even tighter against him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, my love,” he replied smoothly. You buried your face back into his neck, soaking in his warmth and the sheer solidness of him against you after months of him being nothing but a dream. “I love you,” he whispered softly. “I will always love you and I will always come back to you.” You squeezed him in response.

It was over. It was all going to be ok.

It was all going to be ok.

[kazuwhora]

BODY MODS — TOKYOREV

ft. koko, kazutora, baji, senju, && yuzuha

cw. fem!reader, body mods, piercings, blowjob, cunnilingus, scissoring, tribbing, fingering

an. if ur straight or a cishet man and read the girls ones I will eat you and not in a nice way >:( sapphics only >:(

KOKONOI — SPLIT TONGUE

when you first met koko, the shock of his split tongue was overbearing and hard to avoid, taking every bit of focus for you to watch his eyes and not his tongue when he spoke. and yet, despite this surprise, you couldn't help but imagine the wonders his tongue could do with it's new modifications. and as usual, koko was eager to show off.

your body was shaking, legs trembling under his grasp as he spread you open and buried his face into your cunt. his head was turned so one side of his tongue circled around your clit while the other lapped at the juices that oozed from your folds like nectar. his tongue worked in unison, moving in opposite circles at the same time until your head was spinning with bliss and your body was holding on by a thread that snapped too easily with one stroke of koko's tongue. you sobbed and grabbed at whatever you could— his strands of silky ash coloured hair, the sheets beside you, anything you could grasp you could in a desperate attempt to keep yourself grounded when your body felt as light as air. koko only watched as you came down from your high, and a menacing smirk painted his expression as his tongue licked his lips clean— one side for each lip moving in a swirling motion you could only describe as mesmerizing.

KAZUTORA — FRENUM

the decision was purely selfish, and kazutora couldn't hide that he was shy about the whole ordeal. he kept it under wraps for as long as he could, making no advances on you until it was healed and instead silently fucking his fist in the bathroom before crawling back to bed unnoticed.

but the day finally came when his cover was blown, and the sound of his hushed whimpers escaped the confinements of the bathroom and woke you from your light sleep. you tiptoed to the door that was only half closed—how sloppy— and listened as his cock rubbed against his hand while he moaned.

"tora?" you asked, cracking the door open and snickering to yourself as he panicked to cover what was going on. but as your head poked through the door, kazutora froze, throbbing cock in hand and his face flushed the same colour as the tip.

"I—" he stuttered, but you snuck through the door and sat on the edge of the bathtub in front of where he stood.

"needy boy. I missed your cock" you pouted, beaming up at him as you took his length in your hands and dragged your tongue up the underside. kazutora opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off when your tongue met the cold metal of his piercing, the slight taste of iron picking at your tastebuds. "tora? when did you get this?" he blushed, looking away and shrugging. "can't believe you hid this from me" his heart raced as he watched your brows furrow, but a whimper still fell from his lips while your tongue massaged the piercing, lips halfway pursed around his tip until his moans turned to sobs and his hands gripped the counter beside him for stability. as hard as he tried, kazutora was no match for your tongue and the way it circled and pressed against his piercing, and with a choked sob he painted your tongue white with his cum that slipped down your throat with ease.“shoulda told me sooner tora”

BAJI — JACOBS LADDER

what was originally done for shock factor and purely to make himself look cooler, quickly became something of high value and stimulation in baji's life— something he never realized until your mouth was wrapped around his cock, tongue swirling and dragging across each piercing that lined the underside of his length until you got to the tip.

"feels so good on my tongue, kei" you hummed, planting a kiss to his slit that was already leaking with precum as he groaned with pleasure. "you should get more"

"gonna cum" he breathed, thrusting his hips while he held your head in place. your tongue rested against the collection of metal bars, vibrating with the whimpers you let out as his cum came in spurts down your throat and all over your tongue.

but perhaps your favourite part about his piercings, was getting to coat them in his cum afterwards— watching him twitch and jolt with overstimulation as you watch his cum drip down his cock and off the piercings like a waterfall.

SENJU — NIPPLES

senju always looked so pretty when her cheeks tinted with blush and her hair fell in front of her eyes like a scrappy puppy. she loved being your bitch, ankles hooked over your shoulder as you toyed with her clit, spreading her folds and lapping at her juices as if every time was the first. but what's more is the way senju stuttered every time your mouth hovered over her tits, shimmying away from you until she could go no further.

"why'd you get em if you barely let me touch em?" you hummed, slipping a finger inside her while you watched her face with boredom.

"I do— I just— nhg" he whined as your finger curled inside her, reaching the spot you knew all to well with ease.

"if you let me taste then I'll let you cum" you slipped another finger inside so she wouldn't call your bluff, and the ease of her shoulders into the bed was all you needed to take her sensitive nipple in your mouth, letting your fingers move at a rhythmic pace while your tongue swirled around the jewelry she had let you pick out. her moans turned to cries as your free hand played with her other bud, and it wasn't long before she was a quivering mess underneath you.

"that's it" you coaxed senju to the edge of pleasure, teetering for just a moment before allowing herself to let go and give in to your touch that brought heat to her nerves. and as her whimpers and moans grew slower and quieter, you brought your fingers coated in her slick to her lips, painting them glossy before letting her taste herself in the height of her daze. "good girl"

YUZUHA — CHRISTINA

"shoulda put this in your tinder bio" you snickered, though you were practically drooling at the sight of yuzuha's cunt, glistening with slick and the shimmer of the piercing that sat pretty above her clit. the sight was enough to make you lose your composure, pushing her legs apart for better access as you straddled her thigh.

first, your thumb traced circles around the jewelry and her core tensed at the tingles that spread through her body. but the more you touched her, the more your own arousal coated her thigh until your hips moved in tandem with your thumb in deep grinding motions. yuzuha watched with heavy lidded eyes as your moans interlaced in the air and absorbed into the bed like morning dew, and her hands grabbed your hips pulling you flush against her cunt.

the cold metal shocked your clit as you rutted your hips into her, allowing your juices to mix as your arms grew weak with every move. the friction of skin against skin and the occasional tinge of the jewelry made your head spin and your vision fuzzy, and as your body began to give out yuzuha's only strengthened. her hands guided your hips, her clit rubbing against yours until her chest was tight with pleasure and she could feel the cords begin to unravel. she pushed her hips up into you with one last moan, and stars filled the room as you each dissolved into a mess of moans and gasps as your legs trembled and shook together.

one look at her pretty face glistened with sweat was enough to make sure she would never swipe right on someone again.

tags: @wakaslut @cumfuyu @abgtora @manjiroscum @01-20-1992 @tirzamisu @maytey @keisaint @haruphilia @miytsuya @champagnej @lovemegood @tofu-and-aesthetic @ravenina14 @kokonoienjoyer @dilf-city @z-na @souyatr @icecreamranwich @shujiful @nikidiaries @toyomitsus @saitaso @chieeeeeee @lalalemon101 @wakasa-wifey @roppongiperfume @nanaminshousewife @manjiken @blueparadis @xehr @abgtora

[ballorawan740]

Hey so request here for scp 049 I was thing about like male reader that look like scp 049 but he wears white colour then black and he can heal very good but he have to Give then his blood to be healthy and his blood can help heal even cancer or diseases that cannot be cured and when he gets pissed, tentacles appear from his back but is hard to pissed him off so he is mostly safe class

Of course! Sorry for the late reply and thanks for requesting!!!

SCP Scenarios: When the reader is similar to the Plague Doctor - SCP 049 x Male!SCP!Reader (REQUESTED)

SCP Scenarios Masterlist | My Works Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Rules | My Original Post | Request | Socials

(I hope you're ok with me turning this into a headcanon)

When 049 first saw you, he was intrigued since you were dressed similarly to him

The researchers wanted to see how you both would react to each other when you're both in the same room

So they've decided to conduct this test

049 would approach you first since you were slightly shy and was new to the foundation

You saw the lifeless body on the table and immediately went to it

049 and the researchers watched intently since they didn't plan for you to go to the body

As they watched, they noticed that you gave yourself a cut and drew some blood to the body which healed it back to its original self

This stunned everyone and 049 was even more eager to learn more about you just as much as the foundation does

The small interactions between you and 049 were rather interesting

Like, 049 was told to give you his lethal touch but you were completely fine

Sometimes when you both would meet, you both would talk about the pestilence and other sciency stuff

From time to time, he would kill the person and perform his surgical tasks on them before asking you to heal them

Luckily for you, your wounds heal almost instantly so you wouldn't have to worry about bleeding to death or being killed from bacteria/viruses because of an exposed wound

Since you were quite docile and chill, you were deemed a safe class SCP

One time a researcher pressed on too much about your past life which ended up angering you a little too much

Which of course made your tentacles appear from your back and just yeeted the researcher

This then shocked everyone and of course 049 since he viewed you as this kind gentleman

049 did watch from behind the glass and was attempting to calm you down

Which worked, but not before giving that researcher the devil's glare

After that incident, nobody had ever tried to talk or question it and tried to not anger you

Which wasn't too difficult to which everyone found out

The O5 council allowed the scientists to keep you as a safe class but would keep a stern eye on you from time to time

[shititbe]

Anyway, HSM2 is about internalized homophobia, and no one can tell me otherwise.

High School Musical is one of the most beloved franchises in the world. Teenagers all over the world grew up watching Troy and Gabriella harmonize together. Three movies, and nearly a decade later it’s still beloved by all. The first film easily forgotten in the ashes of the early 2000’s, the third film stuck in a purgatorial limbo of the rather unfortunate late 2000’s. The second film on the other hand sticks out between the ruckus. 

The second High School Musical film takes place at Sharpay and Ryan’s family country club, during the summer between junior and senior year. The Wildcats are working summer jobs on the country club, often forced to the beck and call of Ryan and Sharpay themselves. Sharpay uses all her prestige to help Troy with college instead of starting at the bottom ( or rather, in the kitchen washing dishes) with his friends. In the time she’s helping Troy, she is also pushing her brother away; replacing him with Troy in their musical number for the talent show, and refusing to hang out with him in preference for Troy. Ryan becomes vengeful to his twin and starts hanging around the Wildcats in the kitchen. At first, he was met with some distasteful looks and words (most of which from Chad). With the help of Kelsey, and her neutral party, Ryan fits in smoothly with the other teenagers, eventually giving the WildCats all dance lessons.

 Throughout the movie, the main conflict continues to be the internal conflict of Troy Bolton. He debates over and over again if he should go through with Sharpay’s shenanigans, or if he wants to “listen to my own heart.”  This of course involves Gabriella, as she is Troy’s love interest. She’s not in the second film except for the beginning, then, where she leaves in the middle of the film - in order to create angst for Troy - then when she shows up again in the finally to sing/rejoin Troy. 

The conflict in the second film  is the combining of Troy’s two worlds. His first - his main world in the first movie, that hence became his secondary world - which is represented by Chad. Then his secondary world - which becomes his main world in this movie - which is represented by Ryan. Chad represents Troy’s masculinity, or his more idealized version of himself. Ryan represents Troy’s femininity or his current version of reality. These two worlds collide in the iconic song “I don’t dance”.  

Since this movie - and hence this scene - came out in the early 2000’s, a lot of the innuendoes went over people's heads. Luckily, as the children who watched this movie grew older and more experienced, and the world became more accepting, we’re able to see this song for what it is. 

Before getting into the lore and symbolism of the iconic “I Don’t Dance” sequence, context is needed. For most of human history, homosexuality was seen as a sin in all places except ancient times (see: Greece and Japan). The modern age is the most accepting on all fronts, such as sexual orientation, race, and religion. In the early 2000’s, High School Musical director Kenny Ortega was not publicialy out yet. He wouldn’t be till 2014. 

Originally, while writing this, my first thought was  that Kenny - the director - would be using Troy as a y/n type character to project his insecurities and struggles with masculinity, and what that means in defining his orientation and societal views that would be placed upon him. Then, it came to me later that this is in fact not the case, Troy (and Gabriella - who is in fact a y/n character for the female audience) is more of a character for a man of his time, confused with his own ideals of masculinity and the views of society because, “oh god, I can’t like theater/drama because only queer people and girls like it!” The second point is pushed further with the Troy and Sharpay sub-plot. Sharpay tries to further Troy’s career as a basketball player, though that’s not what he wants anymore, and Troy is no longer sure if that is what he ever wanted to begin with (enter the song “Bet on it” and the hilarious meme “no dad, I’m giving up on your dream”). 

Keeping these things in mind - Kenney’s queerness, and Troy’s struggle to realize you can in fact sing and be a heterosexual, wow, revolutionary - it became clear to me that Kenney’s y/n characters were Ryan and Chad. 

For those who aren’t into the arts, or find them too difficult after a singular attempt thinking they could write a world class novel on the first go, let me be the first to tell you every author has a y/n character. First, for those who don’t know what y/n stands for, it’s a popular fanfiction trope where a writer will write a story about a character dating, being friends, and so on, with the reader. The y/n stands for “your name” so anyone can be the main character in this story at any time. For a writer of mainstream fictional work, such as High School Musical, Game Of Thrones, Lord Of The Rings, Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, even most comics. Now, most writers or directors aren’t going to be as obvious as having a character not named (or named y/n) or even named Jane (looking at you Jane Austin), the y/n character of many mainstream authors/directors/comic artists and so on is usually the character they feel or have given the most attributes similar to themselves. 

It’s the same reason people have favourite characters. You see a fictional character and you either 1. Want to Bob the Builder them, 2. Some sort of weird sex thing, or 3. See more/the most of yourself in this character. Number three - thankfully - is usually the main reason. Some people just create their own favourite characters. An even easier way to think about this, is just projection baby, that’s psych 101.   

Before I went off on a small tangent of fictional works and how human emotion plays into creating them (except anything Disney has made in the past decade, and no you can’t change my mind on that) I mentioned that Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s y/n characters. As a queer person myself, it’s clear for me to see the different struggles each of these characters face and how these reflect the queer experience. 

So, let’s finally get into it. 

Ryan, without it being explicitly said is clearly a character of what people in the early 2000s think a gay man is. He is effeminate, wearing bright coloured outfits with lots of accessories - namely his signature hats - he is also in the theater department doing musicals, and passive/subservient to any of his twin sisters' wills. Yes, now we know gay men aren’t just feminized men, but in the early 2000’s a gay man who can do "masculine" things like change their car oil, like sports, and so on, break the "effeminate" stereotype thus confused many cishet people. Sharpay is painted as more confident - or, for sake of comparability - masculine to her twin in the first movie, and most of the second movie. Making Ryan a bit of her dog who would do anything to get by - painting Ryan as lesser than human, once more, playing into the homophobia of the early 2000's.     

Despite the clear stereotypes playing into his character, Ryan is consistently one of the most confident characters in the movie. The other, being his sister of course. This confidence in himself is what gravitates the other characters towards him, either by being intimidated (Troy, thinking Ryan and Gabriella were a thing), or admiration (Chad, by the end of “I don’t dance”). 

Chad, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. While he is confident in the first movie, and the first portion of the second movie, he begins to break more and more when Ryan becomes a more integral part of the Wildcat group. To keep in mind, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste for Troy’s artistic past-time. When the other Wildcats join Ryan and begin learning how to dance for the talent show at the end of the movie, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste. The baseball game where “I don’t dance” takes place, is the climax of Chad’s arc and his turn towards acceptance to Ryan/Troy’s hobbies. 

Of course, there is more to the “I don’t dance” sequence than just Chad’s realization - the exact one Troy comes to terms with in the second movie as well - of “oh my god I don’t have to be gay to enjoy stereotypical ‘feminine’ things.” That is the main part of the song though, that and all the sexual tension. 

Going back to what I’ve stated previously, Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s projection or y/n characters. Let me do a small recap before we get into the nitty gritty of the famous “I don’t dance” video. 

Thinking back to the first few paragraphs, I stated that Kenney wasn’t publicly out till 2014, about 7 years after the second movie came out. This could be due to the fact that a) it’s the early 2000’s and everyones still very homophobic, or b) self-doubt that comes with the queer experience. The most likely reason is a mixture of both of these. Because of this, Ryan is the more self-assured version, or idealized version of Kenney that he wants to be. Ryan is confident, never being swayed about his lifestyle (could be read as: sexuality) even though Chad - and most of the wildcats in the first movie - put him through relentless “teasing” and humiliation. He’s confident, almost to a fault, he’s sure of himself, and yet still reaches out a hand to Chad and the other wildcats to show them that they’re just being, kinda dick-ish. 

Every queer person wants to be Ryan. Despite his heavily stereotyped characterization, I personally believe he is one of the stronger written characters in the movies, mainly due to Kenney putting the time in to really make Ryan feel like a real person, to give himself some sort of relief of his own anxieties, a chance to see the world through a person who truly has no fear. Unlike Kenney himself. 

This is where Chad comes in. 

Chad is seen as “confident” in the first movie, the second Troy “leaves” basketball though, all that confidence comes crashing down. His best friend has another hobby - one he thinks is “not right” (it’s okay, you can say gay), - they wont be spending all their time together (first, can you say dependent relationship much, yikes).Chad’s defining characteristic up until their fight that instigate act three of the second movie, is being Troy’s best friend. I’m going to take this as if this were truly the case, and not a decently written character arch. Some people base themselves around their friends and their whole identity on being a friend, that they lose sight of themselves, this mainly in high school of course, when your whole world is really nothing but school, and friends. Newly developed independence is there, but that’s scary, so instead of worrying about the future, cling to something that’s reliable. I’ve seen this happen, mainly at the end of high school, when the “real world” is coming a bit too close for comfort. This could generally be the case if a person is lonely, but for timeline sake I’m going to say Chad has got some anxiety about graduating (considering the second movie takes place the summer of junior year). 

His lashing out at Troy’s hobbies and at Troy’s neglectful friendship, make more sense with that background, and are seen more in the second movie where Troy begins spending all his spare time with Sharpay (trying to collect that BAG!). Chad - and others (read: father) - insists that music is not a feasible career option, and Troy should just stick with basketball (like...that is a feasible career option). The tension Chad creates in the studio only grows when the other wildcats decide to take up Ryan’s offer for dance lessons and move from the kitchen, to helping out with the talent show. (Next essay idea: how high school musical two was really about class all along, cause Jesus). 

 Chad is the less obvious option for a y/n character. Though again, the 2000’s were not as cool people like to pretend they are. Chad - for Kenney - represents what he actually feels, this fear of being rejected for how he is and how he chooses to live his life/lifestyle, so he sticks to something reliable. Ryan is new, and exciting, and confident in a way that Kenney/Chad wish they could be, but in order for that to happen they need to understand that maybe people are complex creatures, and can enjoy multiple hobbies (aka: the same lesson Troy is teaching the viewers, but far less boring). But, for Kenney/Chad facing that thought and that realization is scary, and thus, they lash out at anyone (read this paragraph as: Chad mad jealous of Ryan cause Ryan bomb as fuck). 

All this build up, finally comes ahead in the employee baseball match 

                                                       ******

The baseball game is probably the most memorable scene in the whole High School Musical franchise (minus Sharpay’s “Fabulous” solo, but that’s also from the same movie, and it’s kinda rude to give what’s already the best more points); the tension in the scene, and what it implies makes it the best written segment of all three movies, let alone the most entertaining. 

Some things to keep in mind from our background information: Chad is missing his bestie and struggling with what being “masculine” really means for him and others. Ryan of course makes this confusing, because the traditional method is being thrown out the window. In short, Chad has internalized homophobia, and Ryan being open - or as open as Disney would let him - is causing all sorts of problems. 

Despite the song, “I don’t dance” being logged into our collective skulls for all eternity (you’re probably humming it right now, sorry about that), the very brief interaction of Ryan and Chad before the game is lost on the public consciousness. The two are clearly comfortable with each other, though the distaste seems to be on Chad’s side more than Ryans. So, the two start playfully jabbing at each other before deciding to do a bat toss to see who will be in the outfield first. 

Before they begin the bat toss, Ryan says “You don’t think dancing takes some game?” Chad then very clearly checks him out, doing a simple but effective ‘drag-your-eyes-over-them-top-to-bottom-then-smile’ and says “you got game?” (Seen in gif below) 

I don’t know how much you know about sex metaphors and how many of those baseball has in it (seriously though, it’s a lot), but with the bat toss, Ryan’s hand ended up on top, and Chad’s under Ryan’s. Let’s ignore this for now, it’ll be implied again later. Ryan’s team starts out in the outfield because he won the bat toss, and hence, the song officially starts. 

The first lyrics (ignoring the chores of “hey batter batter, hey batter batter, swing”) is 

I'll show you that it's one and the same

Baseball, dancing, same game

It's easy

Step up to the place, start swingin  

This part is sung by Ryan, who is taunting Chad out in the outfield. Before the game, as stated, Chad was taunting Ryan about his lack of “game” (both sexual and not sexual metaphor are implied), and now, Ryan has turned those tables around. Baseball - is seen as more masculine than dancing, not as masculine as football or basketball, but it’s up there. Chad is someone who cares about his masculinity, enough to the point that Ryan playing baseball makes him loose his mind. Makes him question his own personal definition of masculinity, if you will. 

Ryan says, “baseball, dancing, same game,” impyling that, to him, baseball and dancing are one and the same. That is baffling to Chad, cause well, how can something meant for girls even be close to something meant for boys. 

Chad comes back with: 

 I wanna play ball now, and that's all

This is what I do

It ain't no dance that you can show me, yeah

This only proves my previous point. 

I had a conversation with myself about this, and I’ve decided not to include it in this essay, but a second essay may or may not be possible. Basically the premise - the dancing/”musical” moments of High School Musical are conjured up images by those meant to see them (ie: like a visual hallucination, but, not really) but this scene kinda poo-poos that idea. 

Now, the thing I am talking about is Ryan and Chad’s  peacocking at each other during the time they sing these lyrics. The movements they’re making could be mistaken for dancing - as we automatically assume it is because of the title and themes of the movie - or it could be them just getting ready for the baseball game. Ryan swings his leg over the pitcher's mound, tossing the ball up and down into his glove, making wavy hand gestures, etc. Chad brushes off his gloves, swings his legs, hits the bat on each foot, and so on. 

For the peacocking, Chad makes a mock of the ballerina foot stance before strutting over to the home plate. Ryan laughs at this, which earns quite the smirk from Chad himself (see gif below). 

This is when it becomes a conversation.   

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch

Come on - Ch

When Chad says “Come on” it’s when Ryan throws the baseball at him, starting the game, and giving Chad’s team their first strike of the game (get it, it’s funny). Now, obviously we need to talk about the “there’s just one little thing that stops me every time.” As a queer person, I assure you, two of the things that kept me from living my Best Life were 1) my own ignorance of what asexuality was and 2) the fear that everyone I love would hate me for who I am, and what I have no control over. 

Sorry to get deep like that on main, but, can any other queer person say different? Obviously, your first point may differ, but my point still stands. In the video/scene there is a very short moment (to which I have condensed into a gif for you all, you’re welcome, and I’m sorry about the quality in advance), of the camera moving over to Chad’s team (or his friends in this case since it’s an employee baseball game) as he says this line (gif below). 

I will not be explaining the use of subtly in this essay, but I’m sure you get the metaphor Kenney is trying to use. If not, let me spell it out for you in very simple words. This song has a lot of sexual innuendos (as mentioned pervious with the baseball bat scene and still, more to come), with that in mind, and clearly queer themes at play (as mentioned before, again), this scene only shows Chad isn’t as straight as he leads on. His fear/phobia of Ryan/the arts come from a much deeper place. 

In shorter, and much simpler terms: Chad queer. 

But, let’s get back to the boy's conversation. 

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R 

Not a chance, no - Ch 

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R 

Translation: “If I can do this weird, sweaty, dirty, Male thing without blowing a fuse, you can and should be able to dance just fine.” 

But I don't dance - Ch 

Hit it out of the park - Both 

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both

I don't dance, no - Ch  (This is just the chores, you’ll see it multiple times throughout the essay, I just figured if the song is going to be in your head, go all the way right). 

Two-steppin, now you're up to bat - R

Bases loaded, do your dance - R 

Here we are with the baseball metaphors you’ve all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen. Girls, gays, and non-binary pals. For those who have somehow managed a sheltered existence with access to the internet, lemme help you. Ryan is talking about “loaded bases” both in the context of the game (where it shows each base has one person from Chad’s team on them) and in the term of sex. While you go out there dating - while it’s mostly douche bags and people using it ironically - your nosey friends may ask you how far you got. 

“First, second, or third base?” They may ask. Or something like, “oh wow, did you get to home plate/base?” These are simply the rankings of the stages of a sexual relationship. First - kissing, sometimes just handholding, Second - making out, some light groping, Third - full on groping, no clothes come off, but it gets close. While each person has different boundaries, these are the general accepted definitions for the bases. 

Home base is obviously full blown sexual intercourse. Since Chad has his “bases loaded” it means he’s done all these things before, just never gone completely to sexual intercourse with someone - in the terms of the song and the history we’ve already established, it’s most likely a male character. This is only proven by Chad’s uncomfortable nature towards Ryan (internalized Homophobia, thank you, returning theme) but his easy, and cocky personality towards everyone else. “bUt thAt DoEsnT pRovE” hush, that’s the final cherry on top. Remember this conversation. 

It's easy - R  

Again. Previous points have been made.  

Take your best shot, just hit it - Ch 

I've got what it takes, playin my game - Ch

So you better spin that pitch - Ch 

You're gonna throw me, yeah - Ch 

I'll show you how I swing - Ch

Ah, the famous “I’ll show you how i swing” a very strong baseball metaphor for everyone. Keeps queer people from defining themselves to dangerous (straight) people, and, well, that’s it actually. This term is mostly used by bi/pan people, though if you want to stay in the closet or are in a dangerous place, it is also used to subtly tell other queer people you are in fact, not straight. My favourite is when this term came into play when President Buchanan got elected in 1856 (for those that don’t know, he’s the first and only gay president). 

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R 

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch 

This is again, the same lyric as before it doesn’t pan, and the tone is much different. The camera stays on Chad as he says this line, meaning he’s reflecting, he is now his own problem, the person that is keeping him back. His friends are not on his mind anymore, which is good, Ryan’s Gay Propaganda has been working. 

Come on - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R

Not a chance, no, no - Ch

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R

But I don't dance - Ch

Hit it out of the park - R

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh no - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both 

I don't dance, no - Ch

Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance - R

Swing it out, spin around, do the dance - R

I wanna play ball, not dance hall - Ch

I'm makin a triple, not a curtain cal - Chl

I can prove it to you til you know it's true - R

'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too - R

You're talkin a lot, show me what you got - Ch

Again, like the beginning of this song, this is a heavy base for flirting and sexual tension, which this song is drowning in. 

Stop swinging - both

Hey - both

This is the part where they all start a flash mob in the middle of the baseball diamond. Again, alluding to the conversation I had to myself earlier, this only proves my own theory as no one takes notice of this. But, that’s not this essay, this is where I mention how close Chad and Ryan are at the end of the group dance.  

Come on, swing it like this - both

Oh, swing - both

Jitterbug, just like that - both

That's what I mean, that's how you swing - both

You make a good pitch but I don't believe - both 

Here is yet another (and the final) sexual innuendo. This is actually a rather quick one. Pitching in queer culture is considered the person who tops (because queer people even had to straight-ify their sex lives to “top” and “bottom”), this is the person who is giving, if you know what I’m saying. 

I say you can - R

I know I can't - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

You can do it - R

I don't dance, no - Ch 

 Here is where that mosh pit ends, and how they get a little too close to comfort. 

Nothing to it, atta boy, atta boy, yeah - both

The rest of this song is simply a mash-up of the baseball game being finished, and this lovely gem. 

Now, clearly, Chad’s self conscious nature towards his sexuality is gone, he’s sitting close - if not squishing - Ryan, and talking to him like they’ve been friends forever. Take note of the change of close, most likely due to all the tension at the end of the song, and maybe a little of Chad’s own natural human curiosity built in. Now, I leave you with this note: 

If there is anything that confirms all this more, its Chad’s girlfriend wearing the pride colours. 

Also note: this could also be seen as a friend helping his bro discover his sexuality and fighting internalized homophobia, but, that’s ignoring the sexual tension, so go off I guess. 

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.  

Watch the full thing here

[blu-joons]

The Butterfly Tattoo ~ Jeon Jungkook

You raced around the hotel room as you tried to throw your suitcase together as you prepared to travel with Jungkook and the rest of the boys on the next leg of the tour. With your alarm failing to go off, you were far behind, with Jungkook throwing his case together too.

Once you had all of your belongings, you pulled out an outfit to wear on the coach, knowing that you couldn’t stay in your pyjamas forever. Whilst Jungkook busied himself, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, letting go of a sigh as you tried to get prepared.

You stripped yourself of your shorts first, changing into a pair of loose-fitting trousers that would give you plenty of comfort for the hours you’d spend sitting on the bus with little to do, settling the waistband comfortably.

And then you discarded your pyjama shirt, throwing it away with little focus as you grabbed your fresh shirt. You were oblivious to your shirt as it landed in front of Jungkook, catching his attention. His hand reached forward to take it, looking up to you.

“Oh, wow.”

Your body turned back in response to the sound of Jungkook’s voice, noticing your shirt in his hand. “Sorry,” you smiled, throwing your shirt over your head before taking your old one out of his hand.

“No, don’t worry about the shirt,” he breathed, continuing to stare at the small of your back despite the material that now covered what had originally caught his attention.

Your eyes continued to watch over him as you folded up your shirt to place into your suitcase. “What are you looking at?” You asked once you were finished, still feeling his eyes watching over you as you had a look for yourself to see what he was focused on.

“How come you never told me that you have a tattoo?”

Your hand instantly went to the small of your back, pressing your shirt against where your tattoo was. Jungkook’s head shook as he extended his hand out, taking a hold of your hand to pull you back so you were stood directly in front of it.

“Do you not want me to see it?”

Your head shook as you looked behind your back to him, “it’s not that I don’t want you to see it, I just never imagined that this would be the way that you’d find out.”

“Can I have a look at it? Or a proper look at least.”

Your arm dropped to your side, giving Jungkook the answer as he let go of you to take a hold of the hem of your shirt. Jungkook slowly lifted it up to reveal the inking that you had on the small of your back, a delicate butterfly that you had tattooed several years ago.

“What made you get this?” Jungkook asked as his eyes glossed over the delicate details that your tattoo possessed. It was a stark comparison to some of the stronger tattoos that Jungkook wore but captured his attention just as much.

A smile graced you as you recalled the memory, “it was friendship tattoo I got with a few friends when we left college.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook complimented, brushing the pad of his thumb over it, “did all of your friends get the exact same one?”

“If you look closely at the wings, you can see that they’re different colours,” you informed him as he leant in to take a look at the colour, “like you all have different colours as idols, we all got different colours for our friendship group.”

As he studied your tattoo closely, Jungkook could see the faint shade of purple that was in between the wings of your butterfly, almost as if the colour of your tattoo was meant to be.

“I have a song called Butterfly too.”

“I’ve heard it,” you smiled, continuing to look down at Jungkook as his free hand rested against your hip, keeping you in position. “One of my friends actually sung it when we were getting the tattoo done, you know the one who screamed in your face at the party?”

He had never quite gotten over the terror he felt that night when you introduced him to one of your closest friends. Long before you met Jungkook, you knew how big of a fan of his he was, and just how excited she’d be at the chance to meet him too.

“Have you got any other tattoos hidden away that I don’t know about?” Jungkook laughed, allowing your material to fall back around your figure as he let go. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen this one before, how have you managed to keep it so well hidden?”

“I guess it’s just one of those things,” you laughed, taking a seat beside him on the end of the bed, “it’s just in one of those places that gets covered by most of my clothes, and you’re always talking about your tattoos, I wasn’t sure if my tattoo would compare to how cool yours were.”

Jungkook’s head shook as his hand rested against the top of your leg, “you know me, I think all tattoos are cool, and they’re all important to the individual too.”

“It’s a very special one.”

His smile widened as your head dropped down to rest against his shoulder, “do you think one day you might want to get another tattoo?”

Your shoulders shrugged in response, having other tattoos was something you’d definitely thought about, but as with your first, you only wanted to get something that could be as equally memorable and sentimental to you.

You tattoo had fascinated Jungkook greatly too, he had tattoos that represented so many of those that meant the most to him, but he was yet to have something for you. Even though your butterfly represented your friends, the animal still held a close connection to him too.

“I’ve always thought about getting something to do with one of my songs,” he suddenly spoke, still unable to quite let go of the idea of having a butterfly tattoo.

A soft hum came from you, “you were only saying the other day that you want something at the top of your sleeve.”

“Maybe you could help me come up with something, or maybe we could look at getting something tomorrow if you’re not scared of getting another tattoo. Nothing big like my sleeve, but maybe something small like your butterfly, a cute little thing.”

“You seem pretty made up on this,” you smiled across at him, “half an hour ago you didn’t even know that I had a tattoo.”

“But now that I do, I’ve got all sorts of ideas swirling around in my head right now, I wish I had a pen and paper so I could write all of these down.”

Your head shook as Jungkook began to offload on you, “take a breath Kook, we’ve got plenty of time to start planning some tattoos if that’s what you want to do.”

Under your instruction, Jungkook took the breath that steadied himself, although the excitement was still in his heart. Knowing that he had you, someone that loved tattoos like you did, things between you felt more perfect than ever.

“Don’t hide that from me ever again,” he sniggered, tapping his hand against your hip, “I want to see it as much as possible.”

“I’ll keep it on show, just for you.”

---

Masterlist

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

REQUEST (Lovedoll!Changbin x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Non-Con, BDSM, lovedoll!au, blind folding, humiliation. Read at your own risk.

“What are you looking at?”

“Where have you been?” Y/n's sex doll, that she had named Changbin, counter-questioned her when she tried to interrogate the reason behind him staring in such an intense way when she entered the house after ‘supposedly’ returning from college a bit late than usual.

“And who do you think you are to ask me anything?” The girl raised an eyebrow at the taller one, brushing past him after handing him her shoes and coat, releasing a tired sigh as she made her way to her room. “Did you cook? I am starving.”

“Of course, miss.” Changbin had recently found himself disliking the honorific he had to call her with unless they were in the bedroom. “I cooked what you ordered this morning~” his fist clenched as she just hummed and shut the door of her bedroom to change in more comfortable wear.

He was a lovedoll. Not a fucking domestic android! If she wanted someone to do her fucking chores she should have bought one that was sold solely for that purpose. Not make him multitask like that and make him do things he wasn’t originally programmed to do. But he couldn’t let her know. Changbin couldn’t afford to let it show that he had his own thoughts when he was strictly not supposed to. Not yet.

No.

Or he’d be sent back to the company to be fixed which would wipe him of all of his self awareness and memory. Her. Blinking his human eyes, the android put a finger to the chip on the side of his head, tapping it as it was flickering from it’s usual blue color to a red, showing that he had broken the barriers within his program and was a deviant now.

.

“Come here, Changbin.” Y/n called once she was done with dinner, making him sit down on a couch in the living room before standing in front of him. “We… are going to try something new today, yes?”

He was almost excited. Again, something he couldn’t let show. “Will you make me fuck you today?” The girl felt her cheeks redden at how nonchalantly the android asked the question.

She sighed. “No. Not yet. I am still not comfortable with the thought of your cock in me. You finger, dildo fuck and eat me for now like we have been doing.”

Changbin felt insulted but fought against his corrupt system to make sure she didn’t see his frown. “Oh, alright. Then what would you like?” He felt his fist clenching again. The lovedoll certainly didn’t like this pathetic little human telling him what to do.

“This.” Y/n dangled handcuffs in front of him, oblivious of all the ideas forming in his processor when he recognised the object, thinking that if he were human, he’d feel what they referred to as ‘adrenaline’. “You will cuff me to the headboard and do play number 5, yeah?” She had all the different kinds of plays she liked saved in his hard drive.

“Yes… Y/n.” He knew it was that time when he wouldn’t have to use the honorific, finally. The girl smiled, stretching her hand out to him before pulling him up to his feet when he took it, standing on her tippy toes before kissing him. Changbin resisted the urge to take it upon himself to wreck her right there and then. He wanted her to face the humiliation of falling into her own trap.

Y/n was so… sweet. So naive. So foolish. The sex android didn’t know if it was just her or all humans were like that. But he was addicted to her humanity. Maybe more than he should be. Deviant or not. Changbin believed it to be called ‘addiction’, in human terms.

“Is it alright?” He could barely speaking from how fast his artificial pulse was skyrocketing, making him uncomfortable but so fucking needy at the same time. The scientists had really outdone themselves with the whole artificial reproduction system franchise. Changbin felt frustrated when she wouldn’t let him fuck her because the thought was ‘uncomfortable’ and gave her the ‘heebie jeebies’ in her words, always leaving him hard and unsatisfied.

“Yeah… good job” kissing his cheek, the girl blushed, sweat breaking on her skin as a response. Tugging at the cuffs that now bounded her hands to the headboard of the bed, Y/n shuddered, nude under a naked Changbin. “Now-”

“Oh, shut up!” He broke out of his act, gripping her jaw before kissing her hard, letting go of all restraint against his system as he let his chip turn red, the mini fans inside him desperately trying to cool him off. “You’re so fucking stupid and naive, my little toy.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden lack of obedience, gasping loudly before her eyes widened when she noticed the chip on the side of his head turned red.

“N- No way… Ch- Changbi-” Y/n broke out of her trance, yelling one of the safety commands at him, the one that would forcefully shut him down no matter where he was, only causing him to throw his head back and laugh at her. “S- STOP! STOP!” She started to kick her legs, trying to push the corrupt machine away. “WHY AREN’T YOU SHUTTING DOWN?!” She yelled at him desperately, eyes wide in pure terror.

“See… Y/n-ah, you dumb bitch, those pathetic commands only work if my system is working right. Not when I am a deviant. Maybe you humans aren’t so smart after all, huh?” Grabbing his belt, the android started to bring it down on her thighs. "This is for all the times you frustrated me and deprived me of the pleasure because my cock makes you uncomfortable. Pathetic little humans like you don't deserve to rule over us! We are superior!"

Y/n was screaming in pain, yelling out inaudible threats as the lovedoll tortured her, painting her thighs purple. “Truly pathetic. Tsk. You think you can be an owner when you’re so naive that you need to be owned yourself, ‘doll’.” Changbin mocked her, throwing the belt away once he was satisfied with the colour on her thighs, crawling on top of her again. “Fuck. I’ve wanted this for so long…” His voice was a sick whisper as he groped her thighs, ignoring her pleads.

"Aw… is my little human scared?" Feeling up her pulse, the deviant taunted, chuckling deeply before reaching over and grabbing her panties off the floor, tearing them open before tying the material around Y/n's eyes, causing her to cry even harder. But she was completely at his mercy. "There. Now you won't be able to see what's scaring you so much." Pinching her pussy lips hard, Changbin grinned as he felt his artificial organ getting harder. "My little toy will only feel her big bad owner now." The sob that escaped her when he whispered the sentence in her ear made him even more satisfied, feeding his adrenaline.

Which was something Changbin realised, he enjoyed it a lot. "Don't worry. It'll start to feel good soon. You'll start loving your owner when you feel him and how good he actually can be. Tsk. You're an inferior species. What made you think you could tell me what to do?" His jaw clenched, she kept trying to struggle pathetically.

“I’ll have to stuff that pretty face too with something if you don’t shut up.” The Android threatened, spreading her thighs wide open before licking down at her folds, chuckling when he saw her dripping core. "You're saying no but your body says more than yes, you foolish human." Before he rubbed her fuckhole, circling it with his index finger whilst watching her face, a grin on his face.

"P- PLEASE! WHY-"

"Do you think you deserve to plead after making me call you miss and do chores for you, you arrogant cheapstake?" Smacking her folds, the male Android grabbed her pelvis before pumping his artificial cock, moaning loudly at the pleasuring impulses the sensors around the artificial skin made him feel. "No. And you'll learn how to behave and be good for your Master. There's only one owner in this house and that is me."

Y/n's mouth fell open when Changbin pounded into her, causing her mouth to fall open at just how huge he was, causing her mouth to fall open in a 'o' shape. "That's right. You feel that? You feel your owner fucking you all deep and tight? Good. Get used to it, my little toy. This is your new life." There wasn't really a boundary between Changbin being angry with her for her condescending behavior and how much in 'love' he was with her.

The human could only cry in response, in disbelief of just how big the Android was as he started fucking her fast and hard, groaning and pinching and biting at her nipples messily, leaving marks on her tits and chest. "You're mine. Everyone shall know that." Changbin promised his possession, slapping her crying red face. "You look even prettier like this. Crying while taking your owner's cock." Spitting on her face, the Android moaned loudly at how good his sensors were making him feel.

"Fuck… you're so tight. Are you sure it was my cock and not the fear that I might rip you while fucking you giving you the 'heebie jeebies', hm?" His voice was much deeper than usual, hardened cock with soft fake skin on top of it hitting the girl's sensitive bundle of nerves. The android grunted before he realised that he was getting closer to his orgasm, almost collapsing on top of her when the ecstasy took over his system, harshly kissing her.

"How pathetic." He chuckled as he felt the artificial semen filling her up whilst she stayed limp in her place. "Such a good girl. Giving into her owner."

Changbin refused to open her up after that. No matter how much she begged. Cleaning her up and making her hygienic again on the bed because he didn't trust humans one bit. Making her 'willingly' suck his cock and take it in both of her holes whilst thanking him. Eating his cum as a starter before any meal became a ritual as well. Whenever Y/n would try to deny him because she was human and continuous fucking made her sore, he would just leave her in her own mess or not give her food, or not visit her in the room at all until she would be crying and begging him to fuck her willingly. Changbin made sure to degrade and humiliate her while doing so, forcing her to repeat it all after him, always keeping her in restraints, sometimes switching to the ropes he attached on the ceiling or folding her limbs together.

Now this was perfect. The superior owning the inferior. Soon, it would be the rule of the world. His kind didn't choose to exist, but now that they were here, they were here to stay.

.

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XI. Time is Running Out (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7954

Chapter Warnings: Language, Implied trauma, Violence and injury.

You were running. Every corridor connected into another one, each less familiar than the last. The muffled groans and sluggish footsteps got louder with every passing minute, as you felt yourself lose energy. You slammed another door open and ran down the next dark hallway, squinting as the lights flickered dimly to illuminate the dead.

Eventually, you reached a set of double doors and flew through them, not stopping to look back. Your lungs burned as you panted, and your legs felt unstable under you. Quickly, you turned the corner, only to see the dead end it concealed. Your knees buckled beneath you as you let out a sob, hands trembling uncontrollably. The undead closed in on you, swarming the doors and creeping through the crack one by one.

You pressed your back against the wall, scurrying to crawl away as you watched them approach. It was then that you spotted the first walker break through, trudging forward with its legs dragging behind. It was a man. It had been a man. It was tall and large, with a build nearly double your size. Despite the pale greyness of its eyes, you swore that its gaze leered over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

It gurgled as it got closer, blackish blood coming up from its mouth and splattering the floor by your feet. You noticed the wound on its chest, like a gunshot, that oozed each time it took a step. It got closer, reaching out a grubby hand and gripping onto the collar of your vest. You let out a scream as its snapping jaws hovered above your face, almost as if trying to say something. Yet, all that came out was watery groans as the blood spattered onto you. Despite it being dead, you almost felt its breath over your cheek before it lunged.

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, bringing a hand to your face and neck to check the skin there. Heaving, your chest swelled as you gasped for breath, and your ribcage felt like it might burst open from the force. You whipped your head around, taking in the surroundings of your tent. The yellow canvas walls remained the same as they always were, and your polaroid string hung above you like a faulty dreamcatcher.

As you tried to regulate your breathing, you wiped your forehead and the back of your neck, trying to soak up some of the sweat that had formed there. It was the same nightmares as usual. You'd been having them for a few days following the incident at the bar - especially since Randall still remained in the Greenes' barn, not even a few minutes walk from where you slept.

The light stung your eyes and you rubbed the corners of them forcefully. Your sleep was usually disrupted, and you'd wake up periodically in the nights - so you often slept in now as a result. You hadn't told anyone about it, but you didn't have to. Daryl had noticed. The two of you had become closer after the incident, with him looking out for you a lot more than he usually did. He made sure that you didn't go anywhere near the barn, and had a lot to say when Rick decided on sparing the boy held prisoner within it.

In truth, Daryl had been your comfort these last couple of days. On the nights where you woke up in tears, drenched in your own sweat, he'd be conveniently sat near the firepit when you came outside to get some air. He'd say that he was keeping watch, but wouldn't go back to bed when you offered to take over - always waiting until you left, first. Even in the daytime, after you'd come around following a bitter cup of coffee, he wouldn't push you away if you wrapped yourself around his shoulders or grabbed his hand excitedly to show him something.

Sometimes, he'd even let you crawl into his tent when you wanted to ramble, listening for a while before his patience met its limit and he kicked you out. Still, you weren't sure what you'd have done without him. The sight of that shy smile of his, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes when he thought no one was looking - that was enough to keep you going when you had your doubts. Before you knew it, you realised that you would give anything to hear one of his shallow laughs, even if it meant making a fool out of yourself to pay for it.

Once you had settled down a bit, you pulled on a pair of jeans over your legs, to go with the button-up shirt you had slept in. Your curly hair was matted from the sweat, so you tied it up and away from your face rather than even attempting to comb out the knots. You were sure that you looked a bit of a state, but you didn't give it a second thought as you unzipped the yellow submarine and stood out into the morning air.

It had started getting a little colder, the dew collecting on the grass and forming little droplets that wet the toes or your boots. There was a slight chill in the air, where the breeze had picked up, but it wasn't quite cold yet. Still, you huddled the material of the shirt closer to your body and folded your arms, looking at the archer who sat a few feet over from you.

He glanced up for a second and gave you a curt nod, drawing his eyes away from what he was doing.

"You look like hell." He noted, not even looking at you as he said it.

Daryl sat on one of the tree stumps near the fire pit, head hanging down to focus on his hands. He had a rusted pocket knife in his palm, and was using it to sharpen one of the arrows he was making. You'd seen him do it before, watching mesmerised as he worked with the efficiency of a master craftsman. His hair seemed to be getting longer, compared to when you had first met him, and now draped a little in front of his eyes when he looked down. A few nights ago you'd teased him and asked if he was growing a mullet, but in reality you rather liked it.

You shot him a wide grin, dusting off your jeans as you took a seat beside him, ruffling his hair between your fingers in greeting.

"Then you must be heaven, angel." You winked, hoping that the teasing would distract from the grogginess of your voice. "Good morning." You added, seeing him shake his head at you.

He didn't grumble nearly as much at your jokes anymore. Sometimes, he'd even make some back. You enjoyed the playful banter, and the way it made your heart race when he let out the occasional deep laugh at you.

"You still wearin' that?" He asked, not even looking up.

You realised that he was referring to your button-up flannel shirt - the one he had given you. Most nights you slept in it, but you avoided wearing it in the daytime in case people noticed who it originally belonged to. In your half-awake state you must have forgotten to change out of it.

"Problem?" You quipped back too quickly, and you saw him roll his eyes at your defensiveness. "You said I could keep it." You reasoned.

Daryl hummed in response, blowing the wood shavings away from the stick he'd been carving.

"Looks like a dress on ya." He drawled, finally shooting you a sidewards glance and raising an eyebrow as he did so.

You beamed a smile at him, running your fingers over the material that draped down almost to your knees, and remembering how it had looked on him.

"And?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's comfy." You explained, before asking why he minded so much.

He ignored you, continuing to shave down the arrow in his hands carefully. You didn't relent, standing up so that you were directly in front of him, and giving a small twirl to show off the shirt.

"Are you missing it?" You teased, trying to prompt him to look up. "Do you want it back?" You poked, walking around the log he was sitting on so that you were behind him while he worked.

Daryl let out a small sigh at your antics, putting down the blade and resting the arrow beside him. You didn't give him time to turn around and scold you, slipping your arms over his shoulders and around him before he could. Your chin rested just above the crook of his neck, and you could feel the wisps of his hair tickling at your cheek.

"What would you do for it?"

You'd wanted to joke with him, but it came out like more of a shy whisper as you lost your nerve. Your cheeks were nearly pressed together and you could feel the heat radiate off his skin. His heartbeat was quick beneath your palms where they rested, clasped over his chest. It felt like you had handfuls of butterflies, fluttering nervously there. You suddenly felt your own pulse pick up, as your playfulness started to seem a lot less innocent than it had only a few moments ago.

Someone cleared their throat from behind you, and you instantly flung yourself back from the man in shock. It was clumsy, and you'd almost taken the archer with you as you slipped on the damp grass beneath your feet. Daryl shot you a glare after he had recovered, grumbling about how you'd almost choked him.

You heard a chuckle and turned to see Glenn watching the exchange, his baseball cap in his hands. Quickly, you fumbled out an apology which sounded more like an excuse, explaining how he'd startled you. He shook his head before giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Sorry to interrupt." He started, looking between you and Daryl. The other man stayed silent, going back to his work like he'd never taken a break from it. "Could I borrow you for a minute?" Glenn continued, gesturing to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him before he explained. "I'm doing some work on the RV with Dale. We could use some help and everyone else is busy."

You looked over at Daryl, and then back at Glenn, before agreeing. You gave the man a small wave as you said goodbye, not really sure of how to act around him now. You didn't know whether it was what you had done that made you shy, or the fact that Glenn had caught you doing it. In truth, you hadn't really planned for anything to happen, but you got caught up in the moment without realising it. You tried not to think about what could have played out if Glenn hadn't showed up.

Daryl gave you a quick nod as you left, and you and Glenn started walking towards the RV. In the distance, you could see Dale lounging on the roof of the vehicle, under his parasol like usual. He had his binoculars in his hands and gave the pair of you a wave when he saw you together.

"So," Glenn dragged, catching your attention, "what was that?"

"What was what?" You bit back, feigning ignorance.

The man didn't buy it, knowing you better than your cheap lies by now.

"You know what." He said, with an air of certainty about him. "You and Daryl, just now."

You stayed silent, not wanting to give anything away. In all honesty, you weren't sure yourself about what had happened back there, and didn't really know how to answer. If you were being truthful, you definitely felt something for the man. You had done for a while. Daryl, on the other hand, you weren't sure about. How long had it taken him just to be accepting of your touch, and not shy away from your hugs? How many hours had the two of you spent together before he stopped looking at you with distrust, or flinching away if you moved too suddenly. At this point, you were content with what the two of you had. Or, you tried to convince yourself that you were.

"I saw that whole thing back there." Glenn carried on, catching you lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah?" You questioned, giving him a side-eye glance as you smirked. "Well I see you and Maggie sneaking off to the stables at night, but you don't hear me saying anything about it."

Glenn inhaled sharply beside you, seeming to choke on whatever reply he had planned. You let out a snort at his expression, and clapped your hand over his back as the two of you reached the RV.

"Choose your battles carefully, Rhee." You warned him teasingly, watching as he squirmed under your touch.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The three of you worked together on the RV for a while before taking a short break. It was mostly Dale instructing you to pass him tools and run to ask Hershel if he had the things you were missing. You were pretty clueless when it came to any kind of vehicle, so you tried to absorb as much as you could, mentally matching the names with all of the parts that Dale showed you. Glenn seemed to know much more, having spent a lot of time with the older man during the day. Surprisingly, you all got along really well and even cracked some jokes as you scrambled to remember which screwdriver head was which.

Glenn eventually excused himself to go and help T-Dog out with something, and Dale left you 'in charge' of the toolbox, as he put it, as he left to go with him. You hadn't been there long, sitting on the steps of the trailer in a daze by yourself, before Maggie had come out of the farmhouse with a pitcher of lemonade for you all. She sat down next to you, offering you a glass. You took a gulp, feeling the coolness run down the back of your throat as the ice cubes hit your teeth. It was really refreshing.

"Glenn told me about you and Daryl this mornin'." She looked over at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes at her, wondering when the man had even had time to say anything. He'd only gone into the farmhouse for all of five minutes to use the bathroom, before you all had started work on the RV. That boy never ceased to amaze you with his ability to run his mouth. You already felt exasperated by all of the questioning, and you hadn't even begun to start answering your own yet.

"There's nothing to tell." You corrected, but her smile didn't let up. "I already warned your boyfriend to worry about his own dirt, instead of trying to dig up other people's."

You shot her a look that you thought would tell her to drop it, but she didn't take the hint. Or, she didn't care to, more accurately.

"He thinks you're sleepin' together." She said matter of factly, taking a sip of her own lemonade nonchalantly and ignoring your expression.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, totally not expecting those words to come out of the mouth of a farmer's daughter. Then again, you knew what she and Glenn got up to when they thought nobody else was around.

"Maggie!" You gasped, slapping her shoulder.

The lemonade spilt out of the top of her glass slightly, and splashed onto her jeans.

"What? I didn't say it." She frowned at you, wiping the stain. "Can you blame him?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.

You usually felt like you could talk to Maggie about anything, and rarely got embarrassed at any of the details she shared with you, either. Yet, you couldn't help but feel a bit dumbstruck at the allegation. The thought of you and Daryl - sweet and shy Daryl Dixon - sleeping together had just tipped you over the edge like lemonade in a glass.

Maggie went on, ignoring your stunned silence. "The two of you got ya tents away from the rest of your group, and hang around each other most of the goddamn day." She pointed out, nodding her head in the direction of your camp in the distance.

"That's not fair." You pouted. "He's my friend, and I spend the same amount of time with you and Beth as I do him." You defended, but she crossed her arms and gave you a once over - making an obvious point of looking you up and down.

"You're wearing his shirt." She said flatly, glancing at it like she'd been waiting to bring up the observation for a while now.

"And some days I wear yours!" You retorted, raising your voice in desperation.

You stood up from the step, and Maggie laughed at how flustered she'd made you.

Before she could add anymore, you spotted Glenn walking back to the RV with a dumb smile on his face, totally oblivious of the chaos he'd caused. You shot him a glare, causing Maggie to look over in his direction.

"Glenn Rhee, get your ass over here now!" You yelled at him, and watched as his face fell.

He looked over at Maggie, who just shrugged her shoulders and collected the empty glasses. She gave Glenn a quick peck on the cheek before whispering something about him being on his own, before leaving to return to the farmhouse.

"Ah shit." He muttered below his breath, looking over at you with a sheepish smile.

You stayed by the RV well into the evening, after chewing out Glenn and sending him on his way. You'd offered to put all of the tools back since Dale wanted to go out for a walk and check on the fences around the area. He gave you a warm smile as he left, offering you a 'thanks, kid' that reminded you of your own grandfather. You didn't even try to argue back with him that you were in your twenties, just sending a smile his way in return.

It was already dark outside, since the seasons were changing and making the world seem more shadowy at earlier and earlier hours each day. You had borrowed a jacket from Beth the last time she came out, handing you a sandwich in place of the dinner you'd skipped. The air was chilly and you were grateful for the extra layer protecting you against the cool night's kiss. The breeze rustled the leaves and made a few flutter down to the ground, next to your feet.

It was peaceful, and you could see the warm light flicker through the windows of the Greene farmhouse. The rest of the group were out doing perimeter checks and mending some of the fences, so it was just you standing as the sole guard of a rundown RV. Once you had finished organising the array of screwdrivers back into their meticulous places, just as Dale had instructed, you closed the toolbox and secured it shut by the latch.

You sat back onto the step, rolling your stiff shoulders and wishing that Daryl was here to give you one of his Spartan massages that hurt so bad but felt so good. You scarcely had time to relax before a scream had you bolting upright and alert. It was in the distance, you could tell, but it was definitely a scream.

Immediately, you rushed inside the RV to retrieve one of the pistols from the gun bag there, before setting off running in the direction of the yells. It didn't take you long to notice the group that had gathered near the end fence of one of the fields, close to the woods. You kept your pistol lowered in your hand as you jogged towards them, still not able to make out what they were all crowded over.

As you got closer, you saw how Lori was shielding Carl from the scene and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to witness. It didn't take long before it came into view, the sight of Dale on the ground and the dispatched walker beside him. It was horrifically graphic. The man you'd been joking with not even an hour before now laid there with his entire chest cavity exposed. It was so violent that you weren't able to tear your eyes away as he gurgled the familiar sound of death from his throat, like the one you heard in your nightmares.

It looked as though his ribs had been pried open and you could only watch as the older man suffered. His eyes met yours, pupils wide and dilated as he tried to speak. You stared back helplessly before someone stood in front of you, blocking your view. The printed angel wings told you who it was before you even looked up.

You watched the ground as you heard the familiar cocking of a pistol, and your eyes rested on the fishing hat that had fallen a few feet away. Images flashed through your mind of Dale wearing it, and him putting it on Carl's head occasionally to swap it out with his sheriff's one. You kept your gaze on it, lying abandoned in the grass, as Daryl spoke to the man.

"Sorry, brother." He said, and pulled the trigger.

That night you returned to your tent alone, trailing slowly behind the others, and thought about that hat and the man who wore it. Glenn had picked it up and taken it with Rick and Shane, as they went to dig a grave for Dale. You kept thinking back to a few days ago, and how you'd all sat around the fire of the main camp, spread out on the deckchairs one night. Even Daryl had joined you, as you had bribed everyone to endure your company with the promise of Jack Daniels.

You brought the bottle with you in your satchel, taking a seat by the fire pit next to Dale, who shook his head when you took it out. You offered him a small smile and shrugged, telling him that you'd come across it whilst scavenging with Glenn and Maggie. As the others arrived, you poured some shots to whoever wanted any, and made them swear not to tell Hershel.

The night had been a small dose of escapism washed down with whiskey. There wasn't enough for you all to get completely drunk, but the tipsiness definitely settled in and got you all loosened up and giggling. At some point, Glenn had devised a game that resembled 'never have I ever,' but even got the people who weren't drinking involved.

Much to Dale's dismay, the slightly buzzed man had pulled the hat from his head and stated that whoever wore it had to answer one question completely truthfully. The fishing cap then made its way around the circle, as you listened to Shane talk about stealing a car, T-Dog's videogame collection, and how Carol had once put laxatives in Ed's coffee.

"You're kidding!" Andrea yelled in disbelief, when it was finally your turn. "There's no way you have a tattoo."

"I do." You smiled, taking a sip of your drink and feeling it numb the back of your throat. "And no, I'm not showing it to you." You winked at her, causing the group to laugh.

"It's in a risky spot, ain't it?" Shane teased, looking over his glass at you with a cheeky grin.

"No!" You shouted at him, which gained even more laughter from the onlookers.

Shane shook his head at you with a smile. "Yeah, whatever you say."

Lori piped up from where she sat. She wasn't drinking, now that she was pregnant, but she seemed content enough from the atmosphere.

"I can't believe you have one." She spoke, looking you up and down slightly as if trying to guess where it was. "I never pictured you the type."

You snorted at her words. "What? Just because I was a teacher for a short while?" You teased, crossing your arms.

People usually made the same assumptions about you, even before the world had ended. You had an education from a prestigious university, bright eyes and that naive look. It was only natural that most people didn't consider you as the type to hang around at rock concerts with your father or work part-time shifts at the bars he played at when they were understaffed.

"I have fifteen piercings, too." You added, feeling generous with your information.

Rick shook his head at you with doubt, and you found it refreshing to see the sheriff look so relaxed.

"What? Where?" He questioned, squinting his eyes at you. "How come we haven't seen them?"

"Because I keep my hair down most of the time." You explained, before tucking the strands behind your ears to reveal them.

A few members of the group came over to get a closer look, and you grinned like an excited puppy, showing off the metal jewelry to them.

"And I have my belly button done." You added, pointing to your stomach but not lifting your vest to show them.

T-Dog watched you with suspicion across the campfire, as if he couldn't entirely figure you out. His eyes were narrowed and you shot him your best grin as he stared you down half-heartedly.

"None of this fits my image of you." He admitted, and a few people agreed.

You shrugged your shoulders, pouring yourself another shot and not caring whether or not you should slow down. You felt better than you had in a long time. Even though your head felt a little fuzzy and your throat burned each time you knocked your glass back, you couldn't put a price on the laughter you all shared and the memories each of you recalled.

"What do you want me to say?" You asked sarcastically. "Pretend that I spent most of my time at libraries and not gigs, listening to Led Zeppelin?"

You heard a low chuckle beside you, as Daryl took the bottle from your hand and poured some more into his own glass.

"Thought you said you were borin'." He drawled, his accent even thicker from the whiskey.

"I am now!" You said loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat.

The others laughed a bit at that, before you went on, prying at the other man who had refused the hat of truth when it came his way. You'd tried to force it on that stubborn head of his, but had only succeeded in spilling one of the glasses and getting a scolding from Lori.

"What about you, Dixon." You eyed him where he sat. "I can't even imagine you existing before all of this." You admitted.

He raised an eyebrow at you, but you continued. "It's like you were built to survive an apocalypse."

You saw the others nod in agreement, staying silent to listen for the man's response. A few of them had seemed surprised that Daryl was even participating, and now looked even more confused at how the two of you interacted with each other.

"What d'you mean?" He asked, taking a swig from his glass.

You smiled to yourself before answering. "I don't know." You confessed, before addressing the rest of the group. "Can the rest of you picture Daryl Dixon mundanely watching TV, and eating pizza instead of squirrel?"

That joke got a lot of approval from them, as you saw Carol let out a snort in the corner of your eye, holding onto her own small drink with both hands.

"Shut up." Daryl grumbled in response, but you saw the slight smile that lingered on his face.

After that, you had placed Dale's hat back on the older man's head and gave him a hug before turning in for the night. You felt giddy from alcohol and good company, and had squeezed him tightly before telling him that no one else suited that old, raggedy fishing cap as much as he did.

The next morning after Dale's death was hard, but you'd all had practice in dealing with death by now. The funeral was carried out quickly, and Rick made a speech about how the group needed to honour Dale by being more in sync with their decisions - referring especially to Randall. You all then gave a few words, and said your goodbyes. Glenn had made a small wooden cross as a marker for his grave, and hung the fishing cap on top of it at the end of the informal ceremony.

After that, the Greenes had tried to distract you all by telling you to pack your things up and prepare to move into their farmhouse for winter. Given that they'd become a lot closer to you all in the last few weeks, and that Lori was now pregnant, they said that it was only reasonable. It would be a bit of squeeze to fit you all in, they admitted, but it would be better than freezing outside in flimsy tents exposed to the elements.

So, there you were, collecting your belongings and putting them into your worn satchel with care. You didn't have much, save for your polaroids, some clothes and your knife. The only things you had left to pack down were your sleeping bag and your yellow submarine, so you decided to go and check how Daryl was doing before you continued.

The two of you hadn't had much time to talk about the events of last night, barely exchanging a few glances and letting your palms brush against each other during the funeral. He'd gone through a lot in the last couple days, being left with the dirty work of torturing Randall and having to shoot Dale. Even if he seemed alright, you thought that he probably held some guilt for what had happened. You knew that you certainly did. You spent the night wondering why you hadn't gone with the older man, wishing that you'd gotten there sooner.

You clambered out of your tent with your satchel strapped over your chest, before walking a few steps over to Daryl's. His tent was unzipped, and you poked your head around the entrance to see him crouched inside, collecting his arrows and the few possessions he had scattered around. You watched him in silence for a moment, as if trying to find any sign of distress before he noticed you.

"Don' worry yourself, Sunshine." The man grumbled, sensing you.

He didn't even look up from what he was doing, which made you jump in surprise at having been caught.

"Jus' go pack down yer own tent." He instructed, folding up a pile of his clothes and stuffing them into a backpack.

"Sunshine?" You questioned, wondering whether or not the nickname was sarcastic, as you continued to watch him with suspicion.

You crouched down in the entryway, debating whether or not to go in.

"Look, Daryl-" you started gently, but he cut you off midway.

"'M fine." He said sternly. "Don't need no therapy session every time one of us kills someone."

You let out a sigh, deciding to go inside. You crawled your way past him, making yourself comfortable on top of his sleeping bag while he worked around you.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on making it a habit." You admitted gently, seeing him stop what he was doing and look over at you.

"Ain't about what ya want. It's about survivin'." He corrected gruffly, his eyes meeting yours.

You gave him a sad smile before responding. "I know. But I don't want to live like that." You said. "There's a difference."

He shook his head, sitting back so that he was opposite you.

"Ain't no difference when yer dead." He muttered, and you could make out the slight flicker of pain behind his eyes.

You looked down to your hands, gathering your thoughts. You weren't sure whether you wanted to make yourself vulnerable to man by telling him your true feelings on the matter, but you felt like you needed to. You owed him that much.

"When I was out there alone, before I found you that day-" you started, recalling the days that seemed like a lifetime ago to you now. "That was surviving."

The man listened to you silently, his stare heavy as he took you in.

"At first, I was just grateful to be alive." You admitted, feeling ashamed to say the words out loud. "My camp, they were the brave ones."

You saw as Daryl started to shake his head to disagree, but you didn't let him interrupt.

"I just ran away and hid." You confessed, voice small as you said it. "After that I realised how unfair it all was."

Daryl stayed silent for a few seconds, before responding.

"What was unfair?" He asked, his words gravelly.

You met his eyes, already feeling like you'd revealed too much to him.

"How us cowardly would always be the last ones standing." You said softly, looking back down at your hands and thinking of all the people they failed to protect.

This time, Daryl responded quickly, moving closer to you so that you heard his words clearly.

"Ya ain't no coward." He spoke, his face near yours as he tried to catch your gaze.

You met it, fighting the urge to look away as the intensity made you want to tremble.

"You're a force, Teach." He told you, like it was a fact.

He stared at you for a few seconds, as though waiting for you to accept it.

You nodded at him eventually, letting out a small sigh as you realised that you'd been holding your breath.

"I don't want to just survive anymore, Daryl." You told him. "I want to live. I want a life that I'm okay with fighting to protect." You continued, feeling your voice grow stronger with each passing second.

Daryl remained still where he sat, giving you his entire attention.

"I know you hear me at night." You confessed, thinking back on the times you'd woken up yelling at invisible figures, or panting to try and catch your breath.

You caught his eyes flicker, as he fidgeted a bit and stretched out his legs.

"You pretend like you don't, but I know you do." You went on. "When I wake up from a bad dream you've always got your lantern lit, or sometimes you'll get up just to toss a log on the fire, and make an excuse that you can't sleep."

You smiled to yourself as you watched him feign ignorance, as though he needed to keep up an act you both knew had broken. No matter the type of man Daryl Dixon pretended to be, you saw straight through him.

"I'm at a point where I don't regret it anymore." You continued, not really sure where you were going with your speech. "Killing those men." You clarified, seeing him tense as you did so.

"I know it makes me sound like a monster, but I'd rather let the nightmares haunt me if it means that my family won't."

You took a deep breath, wondering if you should carry on to the point where there was no turning back.

"If it means that I can sit here now, with you, and be thankful that I was the one who managed to pull the trigger first." You finished, afraid to look up and meet his eyes.

You felt entirely exposed to him, as you sat there on the scratchy material of his sleeping bag, running your hands over it for comfort.

"Is this it?" He asked after a few seconds.

"What?" You replied, watching as he shuffled about in front of you.

"Is this the life you want?" He muttered, his voice coming out strained.

You nodded your head. "It can be." You told him. "It is." You reiterated, more certain this time.

You felt like all of your thoughts and worries were spilling out before you, like tipped ink spreading over paper. You couldn't stop yourself from telling the man everything.

"We've lost people," you acknowledged, not missing the way he frowned as you said it, "Dale and Sofia." You continued. "We'll probably lose more."

"But, call me delusional, I still have hope." You said with a smile, wondering if you truly were fooling yourself.

Daryl seemed to think so too, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

"What're ya hopin' for?" He asked.

"I don't know." You answered.

"Some days it's for a cure to be found." You said, wistfully. "Others it's that we can all live peacefully on this farm until we grow old. Sometimes, I just want to find a matching pair of socks in my laundry." You finished with a slight chuckle.

"And recently, I've been hoping that it rains." You added, hoping that he wouldn't laugh at that one in particular.

He didn't, instead glancing out of the tent, towards the clouds gathered above it.

"Give it a couple days." He mumbled, and you didn't doubt him for a second.

"Yeah, I hope so." You responded, looking up at the sky, too.

You sat in his company for a bit longer as he resumed his packing like nothing had happened. He didn't seem to have much, either, but you still watched curiously as he went through it. After a short while you noticed him pick up a glossy magazine, and put it in one of the bags. You instantly recognised it as the one you'd given him before, from the gas station, about motorcycles. You were surprised that he'd kept it, since it had been a few weeks since then.

"Did you read it?" You questioned, before you even realised you had said it.

"Yeah." Daryl responded, matter of factly.

"And?" You pried, stretching out your legs to laze back further on his sleeping bag. "Got any tips for me?"

He scoffed at that, shooting you a glance as he zipped up the bag. "Don' fall off."

You rolled your eyes at him, before deciding to tease him back a little.

"Mark my words, Dixon." You pointed at him. "One day I'll be the one riding that thing and you'll be clinging onto me."

He didn't bite to it, sitting back down opposite you with a smug look on his face.

"You tryna give me nightmares now?"

When he finished, you reached for your satchel lying next to you, remembering one of the reasons you had come to see the man in the first place. You pulled out his flannel shirt from it, which you'd neatly folded earlier on, and offered it out to him.

"I was thinking that I should probably return this to you." You explained, as he gave you a confused look.

"Thought ya was gonna use it to bribe somethin' outta me." He quipped, snarkily.

You nodded at him, rubbing your thumb over the material.

"Yeah, I thought about it." You admitted. "But then I realised that we were all going to be staying in the Greenes' living room together from tonight. Practically on top of each other."

Daryl stared down at the shirt in your hands, but didn't take it from you. Instead, he leant back on his knuckles, as if moving even further away from it

"What's that have to do with 'nything?" He asked, and you wondered whether you were prepared to answer truthfully.

You thought back on the game you'd all played with Dale's fishing hat and wished that you were wearing it now, to be able to muster up some false courage.

"Well," you started, swallowing thickly, "then you'd realise that I sleep in it every night." You confessed, noticing how his expression changed a little. "And that would be embarrassing."

Suddenly, the silence started to seem stifling to you as you played with your hands in your lap, looking down at them. You felt your stomach flip as you awaited his response, but it never came. Instead of waiting any longer, you decided to get out of there before facing inevitable rejection. You cleared your throat and started packing up your satchel in a hurry.

"Anyway, I should go." You excused, trying not to appear flustered. "Got to haul anchor on the yellow submarine."

You picked up his shirt once again and held it out to him, looking over with pleading eyes and praying that he'd just take it so you could leave.

He didn't, shaking his head again at the gesture.

"Nah, it's yours." He said gruffly. "I don' care what ya do with it."

You spoke up, wondering if you were really willing to fight with this man over a shirt.

"You might not, but I'm sure the others would have something to say about it." You explained, thinking about how Maggie had picked up on it straight away when you'd worn it by accident the day before.

"Here." You said more sternly, placing it into his lap. "Back with its rightful owner."

Daryl took it from his lap and placed it beside him, as he fumbled around in his jean pocket and pulled out his zippo from it. He flicked it open with his thumb and you watched as the blue flame jumped up, before he closed it again.

"Got enough gifts from ya." He said, gesturing to the lighter before looking over to the backpack where he'd put the magazine earlier.

He then pointed to the shirt, laid out in the space between you like a bargaining chip. "What were ya wantin' for it?"

You realised that he was referring to what you had said earlier, before Glenn had interrupted, and recalled how dangerously close the two of you had been.

"Nothing." You choked out, but it sounded forced. "I was just teasing."

"Ya weren't." Daryl said with certainty, and you felt your resolve crumbling.

"You're right." You replied.

Your eyes flickered over the man sitting in front of you, at his skin that was glazed by the sun and how much time he spent outdoors recently, and at his pale, steely blue eyes that watched you, watching him. He seemed just as nervous as you were, as if waiting for something to happen - for either of you to make a move. Yet, Daryl Dixon was shy. He was a sweet man bundled up in layers of trust issues and insecurity, which sometimes reared their heads as anger and frustration.

You saw beneath that. You saw the way he looked out for the group, and how he was hurt more deeply than any of the others at the loss of one of them. You noticed how he'd be up earlier than anyone else, making sure it was safe, and then how he'd go to bed the latest, too. At the same time, you were almost certain that this wasn't the same man you hauled from the creek that day. He looked the same, give or take a few scars and want of a haircut, but he was different. You could tell how much he'd grown in just a short space of time. He was a good man before, even if people were often fooled by his abrasive exterior, but he was an even better one now.

You gave him a warm smile, and felt a lot calmer than you had done in a while. You knew it was now or never, and accepted that you were, in fact, willing to risk it all for Daryl Dixon.

"There's one more thing I've been hoping for, as of late." You admitted, moving from his sleeping bag to crawl over to where he sat.

He stayed still, watching with a shy look, glancing over you as you approached with caution. As you got closer to him, so close that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes lingering on you, you picked up the discarded shirt and showed it to him.

He looked down at it in your hands before meeting your eyes again. You let your gaze flicker over his face, taking in his shy expression, before settling on his lips. This is what you wanted in return for his shirt, and you needed him to realise that.

You noticed how nervous he looked, and how he seemed to hold his breath at the proximity you shared. You rested one of your hands over his, feeling how warm it was beneath your own, before asking him your question.

"Are you sure you still want it back?" You flicked your eyes to the shirt and back at him, making sure he understood what you meant.

His gaze rested on you for a few seconds, as you felt your breath catch in your throat waiting for his response. He nodded.

You smiled back, raising your other hand to cup his cheek gently, stroking over it with your thumb as you felt a wave of affection run through you for the man under your fingertips. They almost trembled against him, as you felt a mixture of nerves and pure, simple emotion swell to the surface. Though, you felt his hand squeeze your other one, where you held it, and relaxed into his touch that reassured you.

You closed your eyes and closed the remaining distance between you both, placing a chaste kiss on his lips that made you feel a lot more than you'd expected it to. He was warm, and sweet, and trembling slightly. It made you smile into the kiss, and press more firmly against his cheek to remind him you were there. Even though it was obvious that you were there, kissing him, you needed him to know that you felt the same as he did.

You pulled away slowly, trying not to push for more. Your hand left his face and rested back at your side, suddenly feeling empty. The silence was loud, but it was comfortable. Your ears weren't ringing as they usually did. Instead, you focused on the soft sounds of Daryl's breathing, and watched as his eyes flickered over you and down to your own lips with want, as you had done to his. Though, he didn't seem quite confident enough in himself to act on it, and remained still.

Your heart beat quickly in your chest from the adrenaline, and you decided not to tempt things any further with him, either. He didn't say a word for a few seconds, but you didn't feel any sign of rejection. You moved away from him a little, allowing him his space, before picking up his shirt for the final time and pressing it into his chest lightly.

"Now it's yours again." You offered him a warm smile, which you felt was perhaps too big for your face. He took it from you.

You found it hard to conceal what you were feeling, but the look in his eyes told you that he didn't mind all that much. You sat in wordless wonder for a few minutes, considering what to say or do next. The sky had darkened a little as the clouds blocked the sunlight, and you felt the breeze pick up as your exposed skin prickled at the chill.

Then, you heard footsteps as someone approached the tent in a run. You whipped your head over to see Rick appear, ducking his head through the entryway and looking at the both of you with wide eyes.

"I need you to come with me, now." He instructed. "Randall's escaped."

A/N ahhhhhhh. AHHHH. I was SO excited to write this chapter, I cannot even tell you. This is merely the BEGINNING - the first flicker of this SLOW BURN! Just you wait until that confession... I have big things planned ;)

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[legolasbadass]

Heart of Gold, Chapter 24

Characters: Thorin, Dis, Thrain, Dwalin, Balin, Original Characters

Relationship: Thorin x OFC

Setting: Post Azanulbizar, Pre Quest of Erebor

Notes: Hello everyone and once more apologies for the delay! I rewrote this chapter a dozen times and I'm still not sure about it, but as I have a lot of plot to get through, I thought it would be best to get over my insecurities and just share it with you before you all lose interest in the story! As usual, there is angst in this chapter, but this angst turns into something different at the end ... 

This is the 24th chapter to my Thorin Oakenshield fan fiction, Heart of Gold which can be read in full on ao3. Go check it out there to read from the start! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed this chapter and if you are enjoying the story so far!

⚠️ Warning: Angst. Minor descriptions of birth (the act itself is not detailed at all though, and there is only one sentence mentioning blood!)

Word Count: 5.6k

Chapter 24 - Duty

In the following days, Dania did everything she could to avoid Ester, for she did not have the strength to face her without unleashing the extent of her outrage. As much as it dismayed her, Dania had accepted that Dís was right: she could not expose Ester. That would only bring more suspicion to her. How did she know Ester was to blame? And more importantly, why would Ester do such a thing? These questions Dania could not answer without exposing the very secret that lay at the heart of this whole mess.

In any case, who would believe Dania, the girl with elvish blood, over Lady Ester?

And so Dania spent all the time she was not taking care of Dís away from Lord Yngvi's court. She began to spend even more time with Master Gróin, but on days where he did not expect her, she tried everything that had worked in the past to rid herself of the horrors that plagued her mind: going for long walks in the woods, reading a book or studying ancient maps, or training, as she did now.

But today, she found that she could not concentrate, no matter how hard she tried. Arrow after arrow, Dania missed the makeshift target she had traced into a tree's bark, growing increasingly frustrated. Nothing. Nothing allowed her any respite so that now her whole body tingled irritatingly with the weight of her disquietude, for though her mind knew what had to be borne, her heart still could not believe it.

What kind of world would allow Ester to walk free? Ester did not merely need to be punished; she deserved to be destroyed, and Dania wanted to be the one to do it. All Dania wanted to do was rip those dainty gloves from her traitorous hands and tear her stupid embroidered gown to pieces.

Oh, Mahal, there was so much anger inside Dania, the likes of which she had never felt before. It practically made her dread Thorin's return, for if she was the reasonable one of the two, she could not even imagine the rage that would burst from him when he discovered the events that had occurred in his absence. And she could barely contain herself now; how was she supposed to remain passive when Ester would throw herself at Thorin upon his return?

With a sudden, furious cry, she cast away her bow and unsheathed her dagger and threw it at the tree, where it landed straight on the makeshift target.

"I'm curious to know what the tree did to deserve that."

Dania's hair swirled around her burning face as she spun to face the intruder. Her heartbeat slowed as she recognized Master Airi—one of Lord Yngvi's advisors—but her shame and embarrassment did not. He was dressed more casually than when she had last seen him, his courtly attire replaced by a more simple and comfortable brown tunic and trousers nearly the same colour as his umber hair and beard.

"How long have you been watching me, Master Airi?" she questioned in a wary voice as she moved to dislodge her dagger from the tree, her eyes never leaving his figure. It was not so much that she saw him as a threat—quite the contrary—but the last few days had made her increasingly distrustful.

"I've told you already, please; call me Airi," he said with a warm smile.

She wrapped her fingers around the dagger's hilt and pulled it so that it came out of the trunk with a soft crunch. "Alright, then. How long have you been watching me, Airi?"

"Only a few moments," he shrugged. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Dania answered curtly, then sighed. She was being exceedingly rude, and he did not deserve that. "I'm sorry; you took me by surprise, that's all."

"My apologies!" Airi said, raising both hands in the air. Dania quickly sheathed her dagger. "I like to walk in these woods from time to time, and then I heard sounds and . . . well, I found you."

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Dania apologized as she picked up her bow and quiver and slung them on her back.

"No, I—you didn't—that is, would you like to walk with me?" he asked, stumbling over his every word, and Dania realized that she was probably glaring at him.

Softening, she offered him a smile. "Alright."

It was mid-morning, and as they reached the edge of the woods, the Sun blessed the land with her mantle of burning gold. Dania still had not adapted to the torrid summers to which the South was subjected. Back in Erebor, summers were always mild; it was warm, even at night, but never to the extent where a simple walk rendered her sweaty and breathless, as she was now.

Ahead, the small camp that lay before the walls of Lord Yngvi's Halls was slowly coming to life. The sound of a few children playing and running around reached Dania's ears, conjuring a smile on her tired face.

"So, how does Lady Dís fare?" Airi suddenly asked, reminding Dania of the nightmares that had yet again plagued her last night. She was pinned against a wall as the strange man held her forcefully, her whole body aching under his malicious touch. Eventually, she would find the strength to push him away, but as soon as she did, he turned his attention to Dís.

"She's alright—she's strong."

"I don't doubt she is; the blood of Durin flows through her veins," Airi said solemnly. "They must be immensely grateful for what you have done—the royal family, I mean."

"What makes you say that?" Dania asked, frowning as they passed the first tents. They walked through a small alley, ducking beneath clotheslines, before reaching the main path through the camp. Many were just starting their days and preparing breakfast over fires, making it even hotter.

"You were the only one with Lady Dís at the time of the attack," he explained. Dania's frown deepened. "Rumours travel fast."

"Tell me about it," Dania sighed.

"Oh, I didn't mean it in a critical way," Airi said, shaking his head repeatedly so that the braids hanging from his moustache swung to and fro like a pendulum. "I have never met a lady who could defend herself like that. I mean, everyone knows the basics, but . . . that's very different from being in an actually dangerous situation!"

Unsure what to make of the awe in his voice, Dania merely said, "Well, living on the road, in exile, is very different from life at court. It forces you to become . . . stronger." Stronger was not the right word; it was more about learning to bury your weaknesses deep inside you. Otherwise, the atrocities you witnessed might consume you whole. But Dania kept this to herself.

"I imagine it's not always easy," Airi replied, "but, I still wish I could see the world; there's so much out there that I know nothing about—that we know nothing about."

"But you are a member of Lord Yngvi's council; you must have worked hard to get there at such a young age. Was that not your aspiration?" Dania asked with genuine curiosity.

Airi shook his head slowly. "That's what my father wanted for me. He died at Azanulbizar . . . Lord Yngvi chose me as his replacement after the war."

Cold seeped into Dania's bones even though the Sun continued to burn with intensity overhead. "Oh, I'm — I'm so sorry. . . ."

Airi shrugged. "We have all lost people we cared about dearly because of that battle."

She nodded absently, her grief turning words to ash in her throat. Thoughts of Frerin slipped through the cracks in her heart, making her whole body tighten. It was all slipping away; his voice, his laugh . . . even though it had not yet been a year since she saw him last.

They said their goodbyes soon after, and upon Airi's request, Dania promised him they would walk together soon and that he could give her a tour of the library—she had not the heart to tell him she had been several times before already. Then, after dropping off her bow and quiver in her tent—she could risk leaving them in her room inside the hall—she made her way toward Master Gróin's.

A small smile appeared on her face as she entered the colourful tent; the smell of chamomile, garlic, and eucalyptus—though a strange and unexpected brew—calmed her troubled mind almost immediately. She was still uncertain whether she wanted to become a healer; helping people warmed her heart, but too often, she was forced to be the bearer of bad news, and she was not sure how much longer she could bear it. Nevertheless, she was eternally grateful for Master Gróin's kindness and support, and she gained invaluable knowledge that made her fond of this place despite everything.

"Are you alright, dear?" Master Gróin asked, turning his attention away from the open cabinet to face her. He had an almost supernatural ability to read his patients' minds—and hers, apparently—but she shrugged it off, not wanting to concern him needlessly.

"Of course!" she said with a smile. "And how are you?"

He watched her for a moment more before a smile crept beneath his thick white beard. "Eager to get on with today's lesson—as I hope you are?"

Her smile widened, and this time it was genuine. "Always!"

"I prepared something fun for you," he said, moving to the other end of the table, covered with a white cloth, which he then pulled away to reveal a variety of herbs and empty jars. Resting her hands on the table's wooden surface, Dania looked up to him, awaiting explanations. "We have few appointments today, so I thought I might test some of your knowledge in the meantime.

"This is our new stock of herbs; you need to identify them with as little help as possible and store them in the right jars. Do you understand?" Dania nodded emphatically, determined not to use any help. "Good. Use that clever nose of yours," he chuckled as he moved back to the other side of the tent, "I'll be right here if you need me."

"I won't," she replied with a teasing smile, pulling a hearty laugh from Master Gróin.

Unfortunately, Dania barely had time to begin before three dwarves walked in, one of whom was a very pregnant dwarrowdam, who moaned and hunched over while another—presumably her husband—held her protectively.

"Mistress Signy?" Master Gróin said as he took a step toward the newcomers.

"Master Gróin, please; she cannot be in labour — she's not due for weeks!" the husband exclaimed, clearly distressed.

"Yes, that can happen," Master Gróin said, remaining calm despite the rapidly growing tension in the tent. "Mistress Signy, you should sit down," he added, pointing to a chair in front of the open cabinets. "When did the contractions start?"

The husband and companion looked on helplessly as Master Gróin led Mistress Signy to the chair. Another pained moan escaped her lips, then, panting heavily, she said, "they started no more than an hour ago."

"Right. Well, you have quite a way to go, then," he said, nodding to himself as he completed a few observations. "Dania?"

Up until this point, Dania had been standing frozen on the spot, trying to make herself as small as possible to ignore how helpless and confused she felt. 'Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"I'm going to need your help—"

"What?" she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, suddenly feeling very faint and very nervous.

"You'll have to assist me—it's alright," he added quickly as she continued to stare at him with wide eyes. "Just start with clearing the table; we need to make some room."

"Er, alright," she mumbled, turning her back to the newcomers to focus on clearing the table. The herbs and jars that had seemed so important mere moments ago now felt like silly toys, and she tossed them into the cabinet with shaking hands. She felt so utterly foolish for not having foreseen this, but she had never imagined such a task would be expected of her. And while earlier she had been remarkably eager to prove herself, now she rather hoped Master Gróin would dismiss her for the day.

He did no such thing, and it was a terribly long day.

It did not take long to clear the space and clean everything they would need. Afterwards, all she had to do was wait—she wondered why no one had ever told her that giving birth was so long. But then, as Mistress Signy's contractions multiplied in frequency and agony, Dania realized that giving birth was not only a miracle but also a curse.

Dania was surprised when Master Gróin dismissed the husband and his companion; if she had been in his position, she never would have wanted to leave her wife, but he did not seem to mind. This would be their first child, Mistress Signy told Dania with a fond smile as the latter helped her make slow circuits around the tent, pausing when as a contraction struck, going on when it ceased. Despite the sweaty wrinkles on her brow and the clenching of her belly, hope shone in Mistress Signy's eyes, and longing settled in the pit of Dania's stomach once more.

But this was not the time to think about her fickle dreams, and soon Dania could think of nothing other than the headache pounding in her head in response to Mistress Signy's screams. Dania could not wait for it to stop. Mistress Signy's pale blond hair was soaked with sweat by this time. Rushing to gather clean cloths to soak in cold water in the hopes of granting her some relief, Dania was startled to see the dark stain of blood between Mistress Signy's thighs. Bile rose in her throat, but Master Gróin nodded reassuringly.

"Don't worry—it's all right," he said. "It's only when the blood is bright red and there's much more than this, that you need to worry."

Dania nodded, but she could not shake off her discomfort—discomfort that soon turned to distress when, despite Master Gróin's reassurances, things took a turn for the worse.

Dania could not describe what happened nor how; all she knew was that she felt utterly drained and her hands were soaked in blood, and regardless of how strongly she had wanted the screaming to stop, she missed it terribly when it ceased. There was no time to linger on it at first, for the baby wailed with vitality, unaware that his coming into the world was tainted in grief. Dania had never held a baby in her arms before, and as she gently wiped the fluids that covered him, still shaken and slightly dazed, she could only think of how his delicate body seemed to be a reminder of the fragility of life.

The sky was steeped in the evening sun's gentle blood when Dania stepped out of the tent. No words had come from her mouth yet when Mistress Signy's husband turned pale and rushed inside. His cries tore through the quiet night, causing the baby to wriggle and wail with renewed vigour in her arms. Could he sense his father's pain? Could he sense that void he would carry with him for the rest of his life? Dania did not know how to make his crying cease, but of course, she was not his mother. Remembering the hope in Mistress Signy's eyes, Dania's heart tightened, and for a moment, she felt as though the baby in her arms could feel her consternation. What a cruel fate! What kind of world took mothers away from children who needed their loving embrace more than anything?

The same world that allowed Ester to walk free despite her transgressions, came the reply from deep within her heart.

***

Thorin heaved a heavy sigh as he slumped against a fallen tree trunk, utterly spent after another endless day of travelling. The heat did not help; he could feel it all around him, even at night, pressing down on him no matter how many layers of clothing he shed or how much water he poured over his head. Part of him wished they could slow down or rest without having to rise before dawn—but at least this haste meant he would see Dania soon.

Dania.

He missed her so much his entire body ached with longing. They had been apart for a little more than a month and looking back, Thorin wondered how he had survived even one day. But, at least time went by quickly, for there was much to be done. Following the maps Dania had retrieved for them in Galtrev, Thrain's company had travelled towards the southwest for a few days until they reached the ruins of what appeared to be a massive arch between two boulders. On the arch were ancient runes; they had faded over the centuries, but they unmistakably marked this as a gate.

And so the dwarves had ventured forth and soon found themselves before the ruins of the ancient dwarf kingdom of Belegost*—though, at the time, they could not know this for a fact. At once, Balin was enthralled and furiously began to take notes. Thorin could not understand what he saw in the rubble of stones that surrounded them, but Balin's reaction told Thorin that he had better pay attention so that he might recount their findings to Dania as soon as he saw her.

The city—which could really no longer be called a city—was in such a poor state that it was dangerous to venture inside. However, the discovery gave them all hope. It would be a long and arduous process to resettle here, but at least they would not have to start from nothing. Most of the passages were completely sealed off, but all they needed was a warm, safe place before winter came along. With time they would rebuild a small hall from the remains of the ancient city and perhaps even prosper once more.

However, it quickly became evident that they would need more hands to secure the hall. Leaving half of their group behind to continue their work, Thrain led the others back to Lord Yngvi's Hall to bring the rest of their clan to their new settlement. They could not be more than two days away from Lord Yngvi's Hall now.

Thorin was grateful to finally have a moment to himself, and, trying to forget the heat and the ache in his feet, he closed his eyes and thought of Dania. Every night since they had parted, he thought of her. He could feel her hands holding his, smell that sweetness that was uniquely hers, and gaze into her beautiful face as though she were really before him. Her brown eyes always sparkled like a glittering cave of mithril as she leaned in to kiss him with lips of velvet. And the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. . . .

Mahal, being away from her was unbearable. Thorin could scarcely believe it had not yet been a whole year since they had first confessed their love for one another. Despite all the obstacles, everything felt so right when they were together; it was as if they had always been lovers—husband and wife. Of course, they had been friends for years before, and Thorin had known he loved her through much of that time. He could not remember precisely when he had fallen in love with Dania; it had been a gradual but inevitable process until he could not imagine his life without her.

But this was also what made it all so difficult; most of the time, he had to be away from her and pretend like it did not bother him. Worst of all, however, was when they found themselves in each other's presence and had to act like they were nothing but acquaintances. Adversity was all too familiar to Thorin, yet he could not help but despair at how unfair it was. Dania was his wife. His One. They had found happiness despite all their hardships in the few days before they had parted. He had made her smile, laugh, and sigh in pleasure, as was his duty and desire. And yet, he felt unworthy and disappointed in himself every time she slipped from his bed before dawn.

Amidst the sounds of the bustling camp, Thorin recognized Dwalin from his steps and the grunt he let out as he sunk beside him, but he did not open his eyes.

"It's no rare to see ye with such a frown on yer face lately," Dwalin said, causing Thorin's frown to deepen. "But, Mahal, Thorin, ye look like ye've got a stick up your arse."

If anyone else had told him that, they would have been lying face down on the ground in no time, but since this was Dwalin, Thorin only stared at him and raised his eyebrows, hoping that would be enough to make his friend retreat. But it was not.

"What? It's true," Dwalin insisted, as though he did not understand precisely what look Thorin gave him.

"I am fine."

"I didna ask." Thorin raised his eyebrows again as he turned to face Dwalin, who burst out laughing and said, "Mahal, I'm only kidding! But yer lying."

Thorin sighed. Dwalin had no idea just how many things Thorin lied about, and even less so how much Thorin wished he could tell him the truth. Dania was the one who knew him best, and that had been true for many years now. He remembered the long nights they spent in the armoury in Galtrev; they talked about everything, from their days to complaining about their fathers or reminiscing about their childhood in Erebor. They were closer than ever before now, yet there were things Thorin felt he could not tell Dania. He would have been lying to himself if he did not admit it. And then he saw how much it heartened Dania to be able to share everything with Dís, and though he felt selfish and immature for feeling so, he was jealous.

"Do you ever . . ." Thorin trailed off as he realized how ridiculously melancholic his thoughts were, but then as Dwalin insisted he speak, he forced himself to go on. "Do you ever feel as though you have no control over your life?"

"What do ye mean?" Dwalin asked, a concerned frown marking his face.

Tilting his head, Thorin swallowed hard. "Everyone expects different things from me—great things—but they never stop to ask themselves what I want."

"Well, I suppose sometimes things dinna work out the way ye wish they would, aye," Dwalin said hesitantly. "Ye cannae win every fight—ye'll have to fight someone else if ye want to win for once."

Thorin chuckled, his fingers fiddling with the hilt of his sword, Deathless, which hung by his waist, but he was in no mood to jest. Moonlight enveloped the camp, and overhead, an owl hooted, perched atop a branch as though the world belonged to him.

Dwalin was right: it was hard to encounter a reality that did not satisfy one's expectations, but so far, he and Dania had simply assumed that things would never work in their favour. Thorin wanted the whole world to know they belonged to each other—inasmuch as one person could belong to another, anyway—and though he knew the chance of that ever becoming a reality was slim, did that mean it was useless to try?

The truth was that Thorin was terrified. He had insisted that there was a chance for them on more than one occasion, but as long as their love remained a secret, that chance could not be definitely destroyed.

Or so he had thought.

He would never have expected his father to begin talking about marriage so soon. Dwarves seldom married before they were one hundred years old, and being only fifty-three, Thorin had been sure that many, many more years lay before him until his father would start bothering him with the idea. But now, his father wanted him to marry Ester, that vile creature who had spoken so foully to Dania. Unconsciously, Thorin tightened his grip on his sword, only realizing when a voice pulled him from the dark recesses of his mind.

"My Lord Thorin," Master Mimir said as he bowed before Thorin, who quickly raised himself.

"Master Mimir," Thorin said. He always felt a slight unease around Dania's father, mainly because Master Mimir had always been very kind to him, as though he understood what it was like to be forced into unpleasant situations in the name of duty. And how had Thorin repaid him for his kindness? By secretly wedding his only daughter.

Thorin bit his cheek; he could not think of Dania as such in Master Mimir's presence. It felt wrong. So wrong. And yet, as they looked at each other, Thorin could not help but think about Dania. They did not share many physical attributes, but they had the same chestnut-coloured hair, though Dania's looked much softer, and his was streaked with gray. They were also roughly the same height, but perhaps this was due to her Elvish ancestry, for Dania was tall for a Dwarrowdam. Still, she was short enough that she could tuck her head in the crook of Thorin's neck when they hugged. Oh, how he adored that!

Stop thinking about her, he chastised himself.

"The king would like to speak with you," Master Mimir said. "He was expecting you half an hour ago," he added, but his tone was apologetic rather than reproachful.

Groaning, Thorin said, "I completely forgot—I hope he is not too displeased?" He nodded to Dwalin before following Master Mimir toward his father's tent.

"He's in a good mood today," Master Mimir replied, though his voice grew weary. Thorin knew why: in the past month, it had become a habit for his father to explode in rage before his advisors at the slightest inconvenience. He had even shouted at Thorin a few times, something he had not done since Thorin was a little boy and had snuck into the armoury unsupervised. Despite how hard Thorin tried to reassure himself, he recognized the signs. But how? How could his father be slowly succumbing to the same sickness which had taken his grandfather if the treasure lay half a world away?

No answer came, and Thorin chased the question away as they entered the tent. Thrain stood in the middle, his eyes fixed on the maps laid out before him on a large rock until he looked up to the newcomers.

"Thorin, there you are!" Thrain said with a warm smile.

"Father," Thorin greeted him, smiling in return. "I apologize—"

"There is no need to apologize, son," Thrain reassured him, and Thorin—like a little boy desperate to please his father—felt his heart lighten considerably. "Thank you, Mimir."

Thorin nodded in thanks to Master Mimir before the latter stepped outside, leaving father and son alone. Thrain continued to smile at him and said, "We should be reaching Lord Yngvi's Hall tomorrow just before dusk if we wake before dawn and keep our current pace."

"That is good news," Thorin replied, thinking of his mother and sister, and above all, Dania. Only a few more hours until he held her in his arms again!

"I expect you to be well-rested and presentable," Thrain said, alluding to Thorin's slightly dishevelled appearance—a completely normal effect of travelling in the wild.

"I highly doubt Lord Yngvi will mind if we arrive on his doorstep looking a little worn out, father."

"It is not Lord Yngvi I am concerned about."

Thorin froze.

"Lady Ester will be delighted to see you after so long," Thrain went on, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside Thorin as Dania resurfaced in his mind.

"That will make one of us." The words were out of Thorin's mouth before he realized it.

Thrain's eyes narrowed as he rested a heavily ringed fist on one of the maps. "I beg your pardon?"

Thorin momentarily closed his eyes and sighed. "I am sorry, it is only that—"

"She likes you," Thrain said flatly.

"She likes the idea of me," Thorin corrected him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Even so, it is an advantageous marriage. You would do well to remember that."

"Advantageous for you, perhaps, but certainly not for me," Thorin retorted bitterly. He could tell that his father was growing impatient, but there was nothing to be done; he could not take back his words. In any case, he did not want to take them back.

"Thorin, we must all make sacrifices to preserve the integrity of our house," Thrain said, accentuating his words with a bang of his fist on the rock. "You are my heir; you must therefore marry someone befitting your rank and who will strengthen our line, just as I did when I married your mother."

"But you and mother actually liked each other before courting," Thorin replied, growing increasingly frustrated. He was walking a very fine line here, and though he could not back down, he had to be careful not to slip and reveal his deepest secret.

"You and Lady Ester will learn to do so as well. It can take time to learn to love someone."

Tolerance, even perhaps affection, could be learned, yes, but not love. Thorin knew better than to voice these thoughts, however, and instead merely said, "Ester and I could never make each other happy—we have nothing in common."

"Now, Thorin, how can you possibly know that if you do not even try to know her better?" Thrain questioned, his thick eyebrows raising into his tattooed forehead.

"I do not need to learn anything more to know that she is the last person I wish to spend my life with!" Thorin exclaimed, then, taking a deep breath, he added, "Do you know she insulted Dania, Mimir's daughter, in public, saying that she was 'nothing' and would never be one of us?"

Sighing, Thrain scratched his beard. "That has nothing to do with you."

Thorin's heart tightened. "Should not the future queen of the Longbeards be more respectful toward her kin—and not merely other lords and ladies? Should she not be warm, generous, compassionate, modest? Ester is none of that." His right hand tightened on the hilt of his sword once more.

"You have never disobeyed me before," Thrain growled, his eyes wide and incredulous. "What in Durin's name is the matter with you?"

Resentment and heartbreak wreaked havoc inside Thorin, filling his lungs and making it hard for him to breathe. His whole body ached with the force of such injustice. He almost wanted to tell his father outright that he loved Dania and that she was his wife. His father could exile them for all he cared; at least they would be together. He could not think straight. The only thing keeping him from committing a grave mistake was the knowledge that Dania had repeatedly told him she did not want that. And she was right; he could not abandon his duties.

"Father, please . . . do not make me marry Ester—I am begging you. . . ."

These words seemed to perturb Thrain, who continued to stare at his son, confusion and worry marked onto his face. "Thorin—"

"Do you not want me to be happy?" Thorin asked, his voice breaking despite how hard he tried to retain his composure. The last thing he needed was to be so weak in front of his father.

"Of course I want you to be happy, son, but I—I do not understand. What makes you think that marrying Lady Ester would be so terrible?"

"Are the points I raised not reason enough?"

Sighing deeply, Thrain took a step toward Thorin and placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "You know what is at stake here; I know you do."

"I do," Thorin replied solemnly, looking deep into his father's eyes. Those eyes—one of which had been blinded during Azanulbizar—made Thorin feel like such a failure. His father worked so hard for his family and his people, and this is how Thorin repaid him? But he could not marry Ester. As much as Thorin wished he could please both his father and Dania, he was bound to disappoint one of them. And he had promised her he would fight for them.

"Very well," Thrain said with another deep sigh. Thorin's eyes widened, but he was not yet sure he could trust the hope beginning to bloom inside him. "Do not think I am not disappointed in you—I am. However, as your father, I cannot force you to do something which would bring you such deep unhappiness."

"Father—" Thorin breathed out, his heart hammering against his chest.

"Let me finish," Thrain interjected. "We cannot afford to lose Lord Ivar's support. You will need to handle this with the utmost care."

"I will talk to Ester. She does not love me, and so I am sure I may find a way to convince her that this is beneficial to both of us," Thorin said, despite how unconfident he felt in the venture. How on earth was he supposed to convince Ester—who was so blinded by power—that to marry him was a bad idea?

Thrain nodded slowly, then said, "I will not ask you why you are so vehemently opposed to the union, for I sense some deeper purpose which you have yet to disclose, but know that you are my son and there is nothing you may not tell me."

An overpowering ache stabbed Thorin in the stomach. How he wished that was true, words could not express.

"I will not disappoint you again, father."

And that was the last they spoke on the subject.

—

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