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felassan · 3 years

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Thoughts on Dark Fortress #1

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

NB, my thoughts on the first pages that came out in the preview are collected here [spoilers at link], so I won’t repeat myself.

Okay here we go :D I’ve posted up my fav panels but always want a space where I can burble at length.. (I’m late in posting this bc recently for the last few days I’ve been obsessing over politics in my country as it’s the run-up to election time.. I haven’t read anyone elses’ thoughts on it either so I could be behind on prevailing speculation or whats known or something) The preview pages ended at the panel when Aaron says “Vaea is right”, so that’s where I’m beginning.

I can’t put my finger on why but I really like the “don’t tell me I’ve had too much to drink” panel showing a Tevinter street. It’s a neat blend of “Tevinter is advanced relative to much of the rest of known Thedas, but also ominous, but also a place where people live and go about their lives, and also not going too heavy on the cyberpunk angle”. I dig the composition ‘leading’ the eye up the street and the consistency with the recently-seen DA4 materials that have red lighting in Tevinter buildings, similar building shapes etc. ig I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of the DA4 PC & party walking up streets like these.

I wonder how Aaron felt witnessing Tractus’ drunken scenes in the pub :(

Tractus’ attitude towards the barman here shows the influence and power Magisters wield in Tevinter, and the fear of them common among the mundane populace

digging the Tevinter-y motifs & design of the bartop, bar shelving etc. it feels like thought went into it

I’d watch a spinoff show or read a story where Marius and Ser Aaron have to team up in order to achieve something

Vaea is so badass and agile! I appreciate that the shot of her up high was tasteful and didn’t like, weirdly contort her body, have a weird leering angle or emphasize things in that way comic art often does for women at moments like these

so in Tevinter, lamps give off red light (seen in the bar scene). are the windowpanes themselves also red?

good thinking Vaea grabbing the staff. great sense of snappiness and motion in this panel. her landing reminds me of squirrels doing the superhero pose landing actually :)

tfw you and a dog burst out of a wardrobe

Tractus recognizing Fenris, it seems - did they encounter each other when Tractus was young, or does he just know of him (distinctive markings and all that)? if the former, I have a feeling we might get a flashback scene to that time in a future issue

cutting to look at Francesca when Tractus talks about Fenris murdering his father is GENIUS. look at the sadness on her face here; “you murdered your father” is exactly what she’s been telling herself and struggling with all this time

nice to see staff-less magic in action

Tractus seems to have drawn power from the red orb set in his staff. he reaches out to it and it responds by glowing and the staff moving, but he wasn’t doing a Jedi ‘use my Jedi powers to make my thrown lightsaber [staff] return to my hand’, as you might expect, he was instead charging up and drawing magical energy/power from it [the orb], as seen by the red light in his hand in the next panel. this reinforces my earlier wonderings that the red orb is notable and that there’s some connection between it and his red eyes. later in the panel when he’s trying to cast on the floor his eyes seem lit up (altho it could just be lighting & dramatic effect)

I wonder if Fenris thinks of Anders and Justice when Tractus says “justice”. There was once a mage in Fenris’ life who was really focused on justice..

the combat scenes are beautifully drawn, thought out and colored

Fenris’ lines here are really metal, badass and impactful. I could hear Gideon Emery’s voice in my head as I read these bits - the word choice of “hounded” helps with that I think, it immediately recalls Fenris talking with anger about how Hadriana denied his meals and hounded his sleep. they nail how Fenris speaks, the pattern and words he tends to use, etc

PHASING POWERS in action!! this is very cool to see, this ability of his didn’t get touched on much at all in DA2 outside of combat or a few scenes

I enjoy the contrast between the red and blue glows

Fenris is understandably merciless

“Perhaps if you had it carved into you” feels like foreshadowing for the ‘red wraith’

:( the reminder that the very thing Fenris struggles with feelings of hate and fear towards is carved into his skin for the rest of time and always will be

Vaea is brave to step in, standing up for what she believes is right and also re-centering focus on the critical mission at hand

;___; Autumn helping keep Tractus on the ground. she is such a good girl. she Help

“You’re lucky the mabari is here” - having Fenris in a dark light here relative to the rest of the panel is nicely symbolic

oh shit!! some plot advancement in terms of the ongoing story of the wider world. The Antaam have now reached Neromenian!! the invasion is progressing further and further into Tevinter. how far will it have come by the time of DA4? will there be an active war front not far from Minrathous? I appreciate the comics from this team a lot, here and there they push forward the ‘story of Thedas’ not just the story of the comic’s focus. also, I like that the Qunari soldiers here aren’t clones of one another but all look different. different hairstyles, sizes/bodies, clothes

love how our group work together, everyone has a strength and a role to play, the teamwork, the delegation, they’re like a DA basegame party or a D&D party

the way Fenris’ hand and arm glow in this sequence has been drawn/colored is smart - calling to mind the image of blue veins running through someone’s arm or below the skin on the backs of their hands

Fenris has surely picked up Fereldan sayings from Hawke.. stop .. my heart ;__;

the Fenris/Autumn exchange

this is so intense.. why do I get the feeling that Fenris has used this sort of torture technique before in his hunting and extermination of Danarius’ adult children campaign and/or his hunting of slavers as the BW with Shirallas campaign. it feels like he has done this sort of thing before in the time post-Kirkwall. I like that they didn’t hold back with a bit of gore here and there in this issue (phasing a hand and then solidifying it inside someone’s body, the Qunari attack portion in the street etc), while at the same time not being excessive with it.

this miniseries so far has good pacing, things moving along nicely and not being too slow or meandering

it’s smart having Tractus’ explanation of how to get in stay off-screen to the reader while we follow Francesca calling the alarm. It means we get to find out as we watch them infiltrate

omg those puncture wounds from his talons

when Fenris is about to kill Tractus after he tells him what he wanted to know, I’m strongly reminded of how he promised to let Hadriana go then killed her anyway, regardless of player choice. he has his ruthless streak and it feels like a callback. and before, when he was standing over Tractus when he was on the floor, echoes that scene in A Bitter Pill when he stands over Hadriana on the ground, who also reached for her staff

Tractus pale with bloodloss and fear

lmao @ Fran and Autumn’s faces when they walk in on this scene

Fenris listening to Vaea is nicely consistent with his character too imo - there are times in DA2 when Hawke can be like “Fenris no don’t do the Thing” and he doesn’t do the Thing

I have missed the way Fenris’ nose bridge crinkles when he’s angry

I wonder what the consequences of leaving Tractus alive will be. [tv announcer voice] FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DARK FORTRESS

so the ritual will only take minutes to complete huh 👀

wow Neromenian has truly fallen, reeducation of the people of Tevinter continues as in Three Trees to Midnight in TN

explaining that they are speaking in Qunlat is a nice immersive touch and shows attention to detail of the lore of the world

bobbly-shoulders Qunari, Legolas hair Qunari, septum piercing Qunari, bobbly-brow Qunari, undercut Qunari. I wonder if the shoulder and brow protrusions are aspects we’ll see in the Qunaris’ latest design in DA4?

poor Tractus can’t catch a break lol. it has Not been Tractus’ day

Karasten: an infantry field commander

bit of Tevinter lampshading, lil fourth wall break with “This land and its obsession with magic. There is always a forbidden ritual with them” hhhhhh

Ringwraith on a horse moment at the end there

strong ending, can’t wait for next month weww.. 👀

#dragon age #bioware #dark fortress spoilers #dark fortress spoiler #spoilers #spoiler #fenris #the Fenaissance #dragon age: dark fortress spoilers #dragon age: dark fortress spoiler #video games #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #gore cw #blood cw

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donutbf · 3 years

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donut my love,,,,, can i please request a first kiss/first time with sapnap pLease i cannot stop thinking about it,,,,thank u bb <3

i dont take requests but i did write smth! so. yeah. sorry it took so long!

basically this is a piece that says ‘it is 5am and i have given up’

i know there are lots mistakes in this but like literally whatever i will fix it tomorrow

also like omg not my affection-starved ass actually being like <3 :’) bc of an anon being nice to me and saying ‘donut my love’ im-

sapnap has always been drawn in by the light of you, the way flickering flame reflects itself in the darkness of his pupils. he looks at you and you can almost see the gears turning, but what he’s thinking about, he never confesses. he just clams up and flushes red, fidgeting with the back of his white headband.

when you finally get together, it feels a long time coming.

the first kiss you two share with each other is chaste, nothing more than a peck.

but now you’ve broken the barrier of apprehension between you - what left you both feeling so distant with so little space between you - and you need more.

the kisses grow heated, and maybe it’s a little sloppy from inexperience, but it’s so much more. it’s the culmination of emotion. he pulls your body flush to his and the grip of his hands is desperate. you can’t fault him for it, not when you’re holding on just as tightly.

lightheaded, you’re a little scared this might be a dream. you ball your fists in his shirt like it’ll anchor the moment to reality. you won’t let it slip you by.

desperate clutching turns to roaming hands, turns to heavy petting, turns to more.

when his hand strays between your legs, you move your hand to rest over his. gently, you guide the pressure and teach him how you like to be touched. you grind yourself down on his slick fingers and enjoy the fullness when he slips them inside you.

he’s a quick learner. staring at your face, he’s totally enraptured by all the little ways you express your pleasure. it causes a thrill of pride to run through him, despite himself. just... wow. it’s really him who’s making you feel this way. him! he can hardly believe it himself.

you can’t find it in you to feel self-conscious under the weight of his stare. not when he’s looking at you like this.

the way he looks at you… it’s like he thinks he can puzzle together the answers of the universe in the lines of your features. like his epiphany somehow lives in you. in the knit of your brow or the curve of your bottom lip. it’s overwhelming, to be faced with such reverence.

he’d be the first to admit that he’s not usually known for his patience, restraint, or for the most even of temperaments. he’s usually one to throw himself headfirst into the moment. to blaze with passion and burn out like a fire.

but for once, he finds himself moving slow. simply wanting to file away every little detail of the right now.

you let out a whimper as his fingers brush against a spot that makes your body sing, and that little pleased noise goes straight to his dick.

it’s not long until you barrel towards your release. your thighs involuntarily clamp shut, trapping his hand between them. as if he’d even think of leaving you now, like this.

you’d have better luck dragging a dying man in a desert from water. though right now, he satiates his thirst for you in another way entirely.

once you’re sufficiently prepped, you move to straddle his hips and seat yourself on his cock.

he has to grit his teeth to remain still inside you, nearly overwhelmed by this brand new sensation - so incredibly tight and wet around him - but he exercises restraint and waits for you to adjust. he wouldn’t hurt you, not on purpose. he’d wait as long as you need, in more ways than one.

he lets you set the pace, hips tentatively rolling forward, seeking more sensation. his hands just rest on your hips, and the weight of them is comforting. grounding, even. eventually, the pace devolves into you bouncing in his lap, chasing your high.

this initial caution gives way to inexperienced eagerness. you spend time exploring each other’s bodies, finding out what you both like, what feels good….. you keep checking in on each other, seeing if you’re good to go further, etc. above all else, it’s a thoughtful experience on both ends.

it’s his first time and he’s sensitive, so sapnap cums first. it’s so different from how it feels when he takes care of himself with his own hand. it feels so much more. it’s like everything whites out, like his brain has left the building. you feel his chest heave under your palms as he starts to come back to earth.

he feels a deluge of shame wash over him when he realises you haven’t cum yet, but you don’t let him feel too bad about it. instead, you just guide his hand back to your clit and - at his own encouragement - use him, his body and his softening cock to bring yourself over that edge.

the overstimulation almost drives him to tears, but it’s good, it’s good. it’s even better watching you come apart again, this time on top of him. take the feelings he felt from earlier and multiply them by ten.

it’s not the most mindblowingly romantic experience in the world and it’s not the way it is in the movies. there are no rose petals or perfect one liners. no cinema mind-reading or randomly knowing exactly what to do.

so instead, you talk to each other. you communicate.

sometimes you accidentally bump your noses together when you kiss. your efforts to reposition yourselves come with more than a little clumsiness and occasionally, you fumble and break apart from kisses just to giggle breathlessly.

when you lean back in to capture his lips with yours, both of you are smiling like total doofuses, because- wow, this is really happening!

y’all trust each other and like each other and that's what makes it good. it’s not perfect but it’s so damn good. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the little fumbles don’t matter a jot. after all, you’ve got plenty of time to try again and get it even better next time. :)

#smut #sapnap x reader smut #spnp #sapnap x reader #18+#sapnap x you #sapnap x y/n #sapnap smut #i wrote this as first time ever. sorry if u just meant like. first time w/ spnp lmao #inexperience #virginity #asks #ask to tag #Anonymous #ive gotten to the point where im so tired my eye is LITERALLY twitching rn this is so weird

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wincore · 4 years

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hiii moonnn !! for the kiss prompt , may I request johnny pls 🥺 place: under the stars & love as the reason ! tysm this is an honour bc u’re one of my fave nct writers 😙💖

thank u darling for enjoying my writing!!

theme: boyfriend!au, demigod!au (greek mythology)

“So…are you gonna tell me why you brought me up here or…?”

“Do I need a reason?” Johnny grins at you, chin resting on his forearms atop the roof of his car.

“I can’t help but think you’re up to something,“ you state, narrowing your eyes at him from the other side.

Johnny lets out a short chuckle before closing the door of the car and motioning for you to follow. When your boyfriend said he’s taking you on an adventure, you quite literally had no clue what to expect. Everything’s an adventure to the man—even if it’s just going out at 3 a.m. to get hot ramen from the convenience store right beside your apartment. You didn’t think it’d be an hour drive, dozing off on Johnny’s shoulder by the time you reached.

You take two steps after him before you gasp.

“Don’t tell me we’re meeting your dad!”

The blood drains from your face at the idea. A God among Gods—you wish that were an understatement—is unlikely to meet mere human beings on a whim, lesser beings as one of the other demigod children had labeled bitterly. He’s a God, feared and admired since times of war and prayers. So what gives you, a mortal, enough confidence to face someone as divine, as powerful? It makes you uneasy.

You shake out of your trance to find Johnny laughing, doubled over.

“We’re not really meeting him but- you’re that scared of my dad?” he says, calming down from his fit. “Even I’m not that terrified of him, babe.”

“Shut up,” you say, cheeks coloring. “It’s not exactly everyday I meet someone who can smite me out of existence.”

“Relax! He’s pretty easy-going,” your boyfriend reassures you, taking hold of your hand. “Besides, he likes hanging out at the beach. And he’s got, like, a bajillion other kids to worry about.”

You rub your thumb over his knuckles, a sigh leaving your lips.

“He can’t be that bad,” you mumble, feeling somewhat sorry.

“Oh,” Johnny says with a dismissive tone, “Pretty sure he’s won worst dad of the year several times, actually. Only beaten by Zeus himself.”

You want to laugh but you stiffen.

“Are you allowed to say his name like that?!” You lower your voice, eyes shifting around nervously.

“If Zeus could hear everyone saying his name, he’d be, uh, hearing some delicate words pretty often.” Johnny shrugs. “And then we’d have more thunderstorms.“

You laugh, easing, Johnny’s eyes lighting up at the sound. They always make you feel warm in the chest, with how pretty those almond eyes are. He tugs at your hand, and you follow him up a beaten road before diverging into a less visible track.

It’s a long walk uphill, however, and Johnny has it easy when his legs are so fucking long. The wind gets chilly and you cling onto Johnny’s hand for a little piece of warmth. A break would be nice. You stop halfway through, swearing at your boyfriend for choosing such a godforsaken place but continue nonetheless when he frowns, a look in his eyes you don’t want to upset.

Johnny doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. He’s been this way since you started dating, perhaps even before—a little protective with the need to feel your touch at all times. It’s understandable and you found it endearing despite how often he refuses to let go. (And his strength and stature make it next to impossible to break free.)

It wasn’t hard to tell there was something off about your boyfriend; maybe not the first or second time you met him, but eventually, it was clear. You met in university after all, and it’s not the full uni experience unless all your secrets are laid bare by the end of first year.

Johnny was a natural people person, everyone drawn to him like he was made of honey, of things so sweet. But there was something about him, oh it nagged you day and night, a silvery whisper. The way he spoke, the way he smiled—there was a quiet difference you just couldn’t put your finger on. He’s aced every athletics club entrance test for fun, a little awkward at reading his text material and always hanging around the swimming pool for too long—gosh, were the number of people ogling him extraordinarily high then. There were so many hints and you’d missed all of them.

You’ve met demigods before, just not one like this. Johnny was almost unworldly were it not for his habit of making everyone feel at ease. It took you a while to figure out.

Son of Poseidon, gentle eyes and sun-crinkles—how could you miss it? The way he smells of golden amber and sea musk, calloused hands and deep eyes, just all of him, really. It was hard to not find him attractive. But it was harder to answer if that was all.

The place gets closer—you know because you can see a soft smile forming on Johnny’s face. You quicken your pace to match his footsteps, curiosity peaking as you notice your boyfriend get giddier.

The water glows a gentle blue, in contrast with the darker shade of its surroundings. They reflect the stars, their shine not dulled through the distance and a certain twinkling you haven’t seen in them in quite a while. Water lilies bloom bright, small frogs jumping in and out of the water. There might be some fish too but they’re elusive, invisible if you try too hard to spot them.

It’s a clear sky tonight. You sigh at the warmth, quite possibly a result of the habitation around here but you’re glad it soothes the cool air. (”You like this kind of thing, don’t you?” “Hm, yeah.”)

“You will not believe how I had to impress the Naiads to find this place,“ Johnny tells you, walking closer to the spring to stand beside you.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, the implication of his words not quite what you expected. “Impress, huh?”

“No- babe, that’s not- I mean, of course not,“ Johnny looks at you with mock hurt.

“Naiads do love a son of Poseidon,“ you mumble, turning away to face the waters.

Johnny wraps his arms around you, resting his chin atop your head. “Oh, but this son of Poseidon only loves you.”

“Johnny, that’s cheesy,” you say looking down, the heat quite rushed to your cheeks. You want to call him an idiot but the word falls short.

“But you’re enjoying it,” he hums.

“I enjoy everything about you.”

You feel Johnny shake with soft laughter, swaying gently at his own pace. You don’t know when you started to see Johnny in most everything—in the new dog cafes, in midnight city rains, in children playing volleyball. Call it love, call it more.

You turn around. “I—”

Johnny presses his mouth against yours in a kiss that makes you melt and you clutch the fabric of his hoodie for support. His arms wind around your waist, secure as always and he hums when you push against him.

“Baby’s getting bolder, hm?” he murmurs between kisses with a laugh. You respond with a weak sound.

You remember the first time you kissed him, not quite sober and he had pushed you away only to spend the night with you. The whiskey still burns on your tongue sometimes.

You don’t need to see fireworks when you kiss, just taste the late night coffee and a bit of Johnny.

A son of a God and his lips, tongue, fingers, love—the texts and scribes were nothing close to describing it perfectly. You forget the words you meant to tell him.

But you don’t have to say ‘I love you’; it’s there in your mouth and he can taste it.

“No, I don’t wanna listen to the minotaur story again!” Johnny shakes you by the shoulders. “It’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But why? I think it’s funny—”

“Yeah, Dad’s very creative but…gross.”

You laugh at his disgust, nose wrinkled and a mild shaking of his head.

“Tell me another story,” he says, leaning in, “Something more…romantic.”

You breathe out quickly at the sudden proximity, heart in your throat. His smile grows and you resist the urge to huff at him. He’s unbearable when he knows he’s under your skin. Gods, it was harder to admit you fell in love with him than it was to find out his heritage.

You reach out and move the hair out of his face, marveling at how he manages to keep it soft when he used to be a sweaty college student pretty often. Memories are funny in a way, they keep you so closely tied. There’s an embarrassing amount of pictures of him on your phone, the ones he sent from the dorms, from his new job, sometimes family photos during holidays. It gets busy a lot, but sometimes, just sometimes, it’s like this.

You wonder if Gods get to have happy endings. You wonder if there’s more to the constellations they made.

“Hello?” Johnny pretends to knock on your forehead.

“Something more romantic, hm? Okay,” you say and he goes back to laying his head on your lap, twirling the water in wisps around his fingers to spell random words. You bend to press a kiss to his forehead, a surprised smile wavering onto his face as the water splashes beside you.

“Baby, you might want to have aimed lower.” Johnny winks at you.

“You’re so annoying. I’m in love with you.”

#nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct johnny scenarios #nct blurbs #nct 127 blurbs #nct au #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct johnny fluff #kiss prompts #moonwrites #a full nct demigod au pls discuss #once upon a time.....i used to be a fast writer.......#i rlly wish i could write the demigod part better but id digress too much hhhhh

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eldritch-araneae · 4 years

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Okay positive rant ahead, I decidd to repost this from Twitter, just bacause))) Interesting!

Now when I have 50 pages drawn in "Convergence" I'm a bit reflecting. "Convergence" isn't my first comic, long time ago ( in 2012) I was drawing different fancomic, but after two years of making it, I never finished it. It's interesting to compare how I was working on comic back then and now and notice some good improvements.

That old fan comic had 44 pages and it took me two years. "Convergence" has 50 pages now and the 1 years anniversary is just approaching.

I'm definitely working faster )

Another thing I noticed that back then I was working without script, making up pages on the fly, while updating once a week.

I stopped working on it bc I thought I don't know how to continue! Looking back at this, I believe that I would able to think of something.

Back then I had a bad mindset about my art, it thought that there is no way I'm gonna be good at art and storyteller. Though my journey of a storyteller didn't end. I wrote of a couple of small fanfics here and there.

Now I actually discovered a really SOLID pace that just works for me!

Sketch 6 pages -> each update contains 2 pages --> when all 6 pages are drawn, sketch next 6 pages.

This is how I'm working on "Convergence". Still without a script btw, I just really struggle to write. ahah

But I exactly know where the story is going, I planned major events, while for dialogs I come up on the spot. Looking at how I'm doing right now...I feel like it's taken me overall ~5-6 years to finish the comic.

It can be strange to be willing to spend so much time on fanwork.

But there are few reason why I'm pretty content with this decision:

- I'm learning a lot about drawing comics, it always a perfect playground for art experiments ( that why artstyle is wobbly there lol)

- The story is very personal to me, I wanna tell it. There is no mental help where I live, so maybe, I can heal myself a bit in this way.

- "Parallel Processing", my original universe is a big project, there is a ton of worldbuilding needs to be done before I get to that story

- Plus I haven't decided in which form to deliver it. A comic? A visual novel? And rpg game? I don't know yet!

- It's actually doing a good job of grounding me, as working on that project gives me some sort of purpose, while I'm cooking others things at the same time.

So yeah, sorry for the big rant again, I just wanted to share this train of thought. It's interesting to me bc I'm doing something that younger me in 2012 didn't believe they could.)

#isca talks #long post

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non-sequitura · 3 years

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Non-sequitura Disney in-depth analysis (after making a tier list)

Warning: SUPER longform. If you don’t know a movie well, you should skip the summary. I tried to be light on spoilers, but they’re there.

I went chronologically from favorite to least favorite. So S tier is, in order from fave to least fave, The Incredibles, WALL-E, then Zootopia.

S tier (Something I consider high quality AND a movie I greatly enjoy. I would love more Disney movies be like this.)

The Incredibles - one of my favorite movies of all time, possibly THE favorite. Rockin social commentary, epic action scenes, memorable characters, not a minute of screentime wasted, great take on the Fantastic Four, hilarious parts for both adults and children, an interesting villain, etc.

WALL-E - I love how social commentary was done here. Also skies above, what a beautiful love story. Really blazed a trail in non-verbal storytelling (especially given it was an animated kids film!) Robot animations are particularly delightful.

Zootopia - another social message delivered excellently and entertainingly. I love Judy and her persistence, I love the expressiveness of the faces and the epic city setting. I love Judy and Nick's banter. This movie deserves to be remembered longer than it has been so far. Admittedly, not one of my fave villains, which makes it my least favorite of the Ss.

A tier (either super high quality or something I greatly enjoy and deem of at least reasonably good quality)

Mulan - this movie did everything right. Truly feminist protagonist, an icon for strong Asian women, fairly culturally accurate (tho Mushu confuses me), GORGEOUS and iconic music. Lets a relatively natural romance develop. I frickin love the action scenes, I love the emporer. Sadly, this movie just didn't lodge its way in my heart as well as Pixar did. Pixar just has some magic, yo.

Cinderella - my gosh what an underrated protagonist. Her family straight-up abuses her and she never loses sight of her goals for a better life. Iconic visuals helped bring Disney out of bankruptcy. A gorgeous alto singing voice.

Wreck-it Ralph - alright alright ppl don’t crucify me for this. I honestly can’t think of much wrong with this movie. Vanellope and Ralph’s vitriolic best buds relationship is adorable, her forgiveness of him is heartwarming and (relatively) deserved, rockin’ Owl City song, epic visuals that mix together bc of all the different games. ALSO ONE OF THE BEST DISNEY VILLAINS NO CAP. One of the only twist villains I like. And we stan the romantic pairing.

Tangled - I’ve talked about this a lot, but Rapunzel deserved the whole world after what she’s gone through. That being said, Gothel is not some shallow monster she needs to escape from, but an intelligent, well-defined monster with backstory. I could totally see this story happening if the world of Tangled existed. Epic love story, hilarious dialogue. Music is… good but much of it is less memorable to me. Visuals are good but not quite at the level/creativity of many other disney films.

The Lion King - they really put Hamlet in Africa and pulled it off lol. But in all seriousness, no one took the premise of this film seriously at the time and it became sooo iconic. I love Scar and his eventual downfall, I love how Simba grows emotionally, I love the sad moments that don’t overpower the overall feeling of light goofiness. And music so memorable it was one of the first Disney musicals.

Coco - not a super unique story premise. But an incredible culture to explore with such creativity and sensitivity. I love the themes of death not being the worst and music being so central to the story. Twist/twist villain was memorable and not expected. And yeah, it did make me cry, so props there.

Ratatouille - the most recently watched of these films for me. This movie is soooo unique! Back when Pixar was truly super out there with their concepts. Super Parisian visuals and soundtrack. It somehow starts goofy (THE OLD LADY TRIES TO KILL REMY WITH A SHOTGUN WHILE WEARING A GAS MASK) but really drives home the message that you can truly do what you want regardless of who you are. Colette can get it. And the monologue by Ego at the end is one of my favorites in film.

Frozen - Anna is one of my favorite Disney protagonists. She’s so resilient and loyal. Elsa ain’t bad either but she experiences… less character development. The film is a tad too pleased with its own self-awareness for my taste, but there’s no denying how iconic the music and visuals were.

Inside Out - Alright, this movie hits home for me bc I tried to run away after moving. A super thoughtful, heartfelt depiction of (potentially depression? imo) with great moments of humor. Riley’s inner world is so creative and lovely. Also realistic depictions of Minnesota/California culture.

Tarzan - Jane! is! smart! and! adorable! Her scientific curiosity makes her very endearing. it’s so cute to see her and Tarzan learn from each other. Also Tarzan’s “found mother” is epic. Solid score. Solid film all around. To quote Lily Orchard, “This film is what Pocahontas tried to be.”

B tier (one of my favorites but has a few significant flaws that bring it down (or not quite as memorable to me, but consider good quality))

Peter Pan - Haven’t seen it in a hot sec, but I remember being super charmed by this as a kid. Just going out, having incredible adventures, and returning to a warm home at the end of the day. Tinker Bell is hilarious and beautifully drawn. Gets major negative points for the depiction of Native Americans tho.

Big Hero 6 - I was super charmed by the protagonist, his family/friends, and the setting. The plot/villain’s motivations are a bit of a mess, though.

Princess and the Frog - This movie has so much flavor to it! The visuals/music are lovely and unique. Tiana is incredible but it’s kinda annoying how EVERYONE keeps trying to shoehorn her into romance. The thing is, her goals are entirely reasonable. Focus on her restaurant, then look to settle down. But they’re like “nooo you’re ignoring the important things in life” smh. Also, epic villain, woohoo! The movie dragged significantly for me when they were in the bayou. Charlotte is delightful.

Winnie the Pooh - don’t remember it super well, but I think it was charming and occasionally dark, which is an addictive concoction.

The Little Mermaid - MAN ppl roast Ariel way more than she deserves. Visually, it was… fine. idk. This movie is good. I don’t have much else to say about it.

Snow White - the one that started it all. Visually, super impressive. Musically, lovely. I find the romance a bit… off. Well, more than a bit. What is it with Disney and kissing sleeping people?

Alice in Wonderland - a nerdy acid trip. Right up my alley! I also like films where ppl go on incredible adventures and return to the status quo, but THEY changed bc of it. Epic. SUUUUPER creative visual interpretation of Carroll’s book. Brave - gosh I loooove films where a parent and child learn to understand each other. Never got why ppl hated this movie so much. The Scottish flavor is present and fun. Merida made one mistake and made it up. The arrow scene is iconic.

Cars - a fun ride! (hahaha puns.) We love seeing Paul Newman as a car.

B-minus tier? (same as B, but problematic, or weaker story-wise.)

Hunchback - man… settings-wise, this film might be my favorite. I also love Esmeralda and Quasimodo as characters and as a duo (though the sexualized depiction of Romani ppl is not epic.) I also don’t find the discrimination against Esmeralda/Quasimodo jarring bc it matches the time period. Frollo is super interesting as a villain. The gargoyles are… def not necessary. Basically, this film doesn’t know what it’s doing with tone.

Sleeping Beauty - Aurora was my favorite when I was younger because I thought she was the prettiest, and that still defines how i feel about this, basically. Visually lovely - everything is kind of elongated and gothic. Maleficent is spiteful and epic. I have no issue with the fluffier parts of the movie, like the music or the fairies. RIP for lack of consent being a plot point, though.

Hercules - Megara is incredible. one of the only Disney “princesses” who acts like an adult and has cynicism as a major part of her personality. I love her and Herc’s progression where she learns to trust him (yes, he is genuinely that sincere, it’s not a front.) Muses are unique, whoever came up with them was high on something and I’m living for it. I just think the plot itself was somewhat unrealistic/ weirdly-paced. There are some memorable songs, some less-than-memorable songs. Art style is cool but I’m personally not a fan. EXTREMELY inaccurate depictions of the original Greek gods.

C tier (entertaining, but I don't consider it a great movie)

Bolt - I watched this like 11 years ago. It was fun! A cool concept about those put on a pedestal learning their worth even without celebrity boosting them up. Animation was… fine I think. not super memorable to me.

Frozen 2 - They really took any scrap of character development Elsa had in the first movie, threw it in the garbage and set it on fire. Anna deserved so much better. Songs are bombastic and impressive, have the occasional interesting lyric, but are really weirdly placed and none are quite as iconic as the first movie’s (except Aurora, she does great work here. Also the song Anna sings after she thinks Elsa died.)

Not a big fan of the vaguely homeopathic theme. Not a big fan of Olaf’s WEIRD character development. Not a big fan of the suuuuuper awkward dialogue and the animations that imply not only that Kristoff is into his reindeer but that Elsa and Anna are into each other (if you’re questioning if they did that, yes, they did, I can find screenshots of some really weird expressions/moments. THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO PANDER TO YOUR WEIRD FANS, DISNEY.)

The voice actors did great work, the animators did great work (look at the details on their clothes! Look at how Elsa’s posture changes to be more confident! look at how they're animated while they're singing!) Some weird costume/makeup choices that make Elsa look like an aging starlet, but she also has some gorgeous moments so eh. It’s a wash for me.

They really did not know what to do with Kristoff this movie, huh. The only thing that happened to him was singing a cheesy 90s ballad and marrying Anna, both of which were admittedly epic. Also, the trolls got 0 appearances despite being literally psychic. Probably could have helped with a lot. I'm not a huge fan of lore/worldbuilding, and thee was a lot of it here. Overall neutral on it.

Also a big theme in this movie I don’t love - **** TANGIBLE CONSEQUENCES TO OUR ACTIONS!!! The danger is Elsa’s death, the elements, colonialism, and Arendelle literally being destroyed. None of those end up playing out, so I was left at the end going “this film had literally no stakes.”

Monsters U - same as above - entertaining at the time! Not super memorable. The ppl we were supposed to dislike kept switching. Doesn’t really match the canon of Monsters Inc (I thought they were supposed to have known each other since childhood so why did they meet in college?)

Cars 3 - so apparently, everyone HATED this movie! Fun! I never watched Cars 2 (yes watched Cars 1 if you haven’t been paying attention to this list), but I didn’t think this movie was bad at all. Well-acted, some fun chase scenes, the scene where Lightning fails at driving in the simulation is genuinely hilarious, and some interesting perspectives on teachers getting the spotlight for their skills for once.

Incredibles 2 - I liked this film at first, but then it was… just okay in retrospect. I love me some good family dynamics. The plot here makes not a lot of sense. THEY BUILT UP THE UNDERMINER FOR NOTHING AND THEN FORGOT ABOUT HIM. I was surprised by the villain swap, but it happened so last minute I never really understood their motivations even after they explained them. Tried to tackle waaaay too many messages.

D tier (I didn't enjoy these or consider them mediocre)

Finding Dory - Maybe I should have put this higher? Like C tier at least. Ah well. Wasn’t a huge fan of the body/physical comedy (not my thing), but it was entertaining and awww finding family is heartwarming.

Finding Nemo - I remember nothing about this movie.

E tier (this film has significant problems)

Beauty and the Beast - *sigh*… I want to love this movie. The score is gorgeous. Visually, they could have made it more distinctly Rococo-era France but didn’t (why?) The voice actors did good work and I think Paige O’Hara is SUPER underrated here.

The Beast is emotionally manipulative with an awful temper that (for MOST of the movie. He doesn’t change.) That’s the main reason this is in E tier. This movie shaped so many generations of people thinking they can change the behavior of someone who treats them badly through the power of love. But you can’t. She learns to “love” the beast under coercion. It’s not Stockholm syndrome - it’s a trashy romance novel. Big fan of Gaston as a villain. He’s an archetype ppl can recognize and it’s so satisfying to hate him.

F tier (I think this film actively harms the industry and would rather it not have been made. Both the one in E tier could be considered harmful to the industry, but I think they had significant enough artistic accomplishments to scrape above that. I'm also generally a fan of "lack of censorship bc it's better to teach what not to do.")

Pocahontas - this movie took real historical events and romanticized them AND sexualized one of the only Native princesses they’ve had. Boo. Nothing wrong with animation!Pocahontas as a character, it’s just people put her in a story that doesn’t represent history well at all (and these historical events, unlike those in say, 14th-century Germany, had super relevant effects on people alive today.) And they portrayed the Native Americans and colonial settlers as equally in the wrong. (though I like Governor Radcliffe as a potential villain and love the line “see how I glitter.” I can’t NOT laugh when I hear it.) Lovely music, though. Nice animation, but the colors are weirdly… muted?

Bad Garbage (I don't wish this film had never been made, but I wish I never had to see it.)

Planes - this movie was ridiculous. I remember not much about it except that I kinda hated it and that it was super cheesy with tension one could see right through that immediately resolved itself via one twist or another.

Haven’t seen tier: Recess, A Bug’s Life, A Goofy Movie, DuckTakes Movie, Lilo and Stitch, Pinocchio (actually i have seen this but I remember nothing about it), The Nightmare before Christmas, Toy Stories 1, 2, and 3, Up, 101 Dalmatians, The Great Mouse Detective, Cars 2, Moana, The Good Dinosaur, Pete’s Dragon, Fantasia, Peter Pan Return to Neverland, Fantasia 2000, The Black Cauldron (read the book, though!), Bambi (or I did and remember nothing about it), The Rescuersm, The Rescuers Down Under, Planes Fire and Rescue, Bambi 2, The Fox & the Found, Oliver and Company, Atlantis, Treasure Planet (I want to, though), Piglet’s Big Movie, The Jungle Book, the Emporer’s New Groove, The Jungle Book 2, Chicken Little, Brother Bear, The Three Caballeros, Pooh’s Heffalump Movie, Dumbo, The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, Aladdin (seen parts but never the whole thing), Strange Magic, The Sword in the Stone, James and the Giant Peach, Frankenweenie, Lady and the Tramp, Ralph Breaks the Internet, Doug’s 1st Movie, Monsters Inc. (want to, though), Meet the Robinsons, Dinosaur, The Aristocats, Robin Hood, The Tigger Movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, that pooh movie at the end without the title on it

-11/21/20

#blog #non-sequitura-blog #11/21/20 #november #2020 #longform #analysis #disney

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alexandermanes · 4 years

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halloween week, day two - the hunt

hi! welcome to day two of my halloween week fic! This one is a werevolf au, tw for blood, graphic descriptions of gore and werewolf transformation

IT BELMANES CENTRIC OK BC I ALWAYS WRITE MALEX

summary: the pod squad is a wolf squad and jesse manes hunts them down

ao3

The moon was set high in the sky as six pairs of legs galloped on the sterile sandy soil in Roswell, New Mexico; soft thick fur dancing in the wind. Usually people steered clear from the desert once the sun had set. Tonight was a full moon which always meant agonizing metamorphosis, bones cracking, nails and fur growing, eyes glowing, teeth piercing through flesh; blood, so much blood. With every full moon came the reminder of their curse, but it also brought a foreign sense of freedom, such as running through the desert as a wolf, something so primal and common amongst various animals, something that ordinary human beings could never experience it.

Freedom wasn’t something Michael, Isobel and Max ever experienced since their conception; the lack of freedom was passed down from generation to generation. The curse was bearable, despite excruciating, but it had its perks, though the witch that cursed their bloodline could have never predicted that once their ancestors set foot in a supposedly uninhabited “new” land they’d be persecuted by men. Not just any men, men from the same bloodline. Man who they came to know as Manes men. Maybe the witch had predicted their fate after all, an addition to their misery. With each generation of their family the tale of their curse became more and more unclear, trapped in a fog set by time, the story’s veracity crumbled; instead of a single myth there were many and each family knew a tale that diverged slightly or enormously from the original one. However, the witch’s name or her family’s name were unknown, the only common denominators in all versions of the story of the family’s curse.

For years the Manes have hunted them and for years they traveled through the country, hiding and never staying in one place for too long yet here they were, back in Roswell after all this time. The Manes were relentless, always somehow one or two steps behind, breathing down their necks even if indirectly, they were powerful people, hunters nonetheless. And hunters, like beasts, were drawn to the smell of shed blood. Though their families vowed to never harm a hair in a human’s head the target in their heads never seemed to waver, not to the Manes.

Soon, it would be dawn, and they would morph into their human form again, and the cycle would repeat itself for other five days until the full moon would transitioned to a quarter moon. Feeling the soothing approach of dawn, Isobel directed her pack, her brothers to the nearest cave, a cave they strategically left clothes and blankets in for once they were back to being bipeds again.

“So, what’s the plan, Iz?”, Michael asked as he put on his shirt, his back to his siblings, as they had their backs turned to him too. The bare minimum of privacy.

“Survive the week, move the next”

Once the rustling of clothes ceases silence settled, an indication they were all decent, Michael looked at his siblings, something dark settled in his features

“Y’know, this would all be done with if we got rid of them”

“All of them?”, Isobel asked pointedly, her tone imbued in annoyance

“Well-“

“Well, all of them except your precious Alex, that is”

“He is not like them”, Michael remarked wearily and slightly offended on Alex’s behalf

“They are all the same. They are all monsters”

“Izzy-“

“Michael, please. I get it, okay? You’re in love”, her brother chocked on air as if her words were some kind of revelation, “doesn’t automatically undo all the things his family did to ours”

Michael and Isobel were tied by blood, but not like her and Max, Michael was her cousin but in every way that counted he was her brother and despite being a thick-skulled, one-track minded asshole sometimes, he was and forever would be her brother. Even if he fell for a Manes man, the same men that-

No, she was not going there.

“Let’s go have breakfast”, she offered and both brothers nodded, acquiescing silently

Sunlight streamed through The Crashdown’s window’s, soft and feather-like warmth enveloped the siblings. The diner was mostly empty given the fact that it was early in the morning, before seven o’clock. They were greeted by a smiling and antennae-wearing Liz Ortecho, who seemed genuinely glad to see them after so many years, and it had Max blushing just by being the receiving end of her smile.

After ordering their morning coffee and skimming through the pages on their menu, finally they ordered their breakfast food.

“It’s good to be back”, Max sighed into his coffee

“Is it though?”, Isobel muttered under her breath, still analyzing the menu, her light brown wig looking a bit more like her actual hair

“Okay, Izzy. I’d get the morning crank, if it was all that this”, Max zig-zagged his finger in her direction, looking suspicious under his baseball cap, “was about. Which it ain’t, so talk to us, Izzy”, he looked at her with his puppy hazel eyes earnestly and all her irritation melted away and grew subsequently like a cart on a rollercoaster ride.

“Fine”, she squinted her light green eyes and glared at her brothers, “I’m tired of running”, she says matter-of-factly, “if they want to come for us I say let them try to take the first swing”

“Wait”, Max says at the same time Michael chokes on his omelet

“Isobel are you sure this isn’t about -“

“Don’t”, she interrupts him menacingly, green eyes sparkling with rage and something else entirely “don’t start, Max”

“Isobel”, he tries again

“Please”, she pleads a bit too loudly earning a concerned and quizzical look from Liz and Arturo

“Okay”, her brother relents, “but we still need to talk about this”, his voice is soft but his eyes are stern, nothing short of determination, “we’ve let you call the shots, wherever you pointed to we just followed behind. Now though, staying here? With the Manes around, in their hometown? We at least need to talk about it”

Michael and Isobel nod in acquisition knowing this problem will resurface sooner rather than later.

In the afternoon, Isobel and her brothers plopped down and huddled together on the small sofa inside the Bunker beneath the Sanders Auto, ready to discuss what they’d postponed for too long.

“So”, Max started, “why are we here?”

“Uh, we can’t exactly go outside and walk around like actual p-“

“Enough with the games, Isobel”, uttered wearily

“Fine”, she shouted, she adjusted her posture, back straight, predatorily so, like a snake about to lunge at its prey

“I meant what I said when I told you I was tired of running”, Isobel explained more calmly, “So I said fuck it. We can start over here and if they try anything, well”, her unfinished sentence hung threateningly in the air.

After a couple of seconds, Michael spoke: “Then what?”

“You said it yourself, Michael”, her reply is devoid of any emotion except determination

“What? We kill them?”, disbelief embedded in his query

“You were right”, she turned her body towards her brother, assessing him with her piercing gaze, “This went on for far too long and I’m done with fleeing from a place to another, never settling down for more than a couple of months then moving across the country. I mean don’t you want more from life?”

“Listen, I’m all for killing the Jesse Manes and his minions. But don’t you think we need a plan? We can’t go in bearing our canines and growling, it’s gonna get us killed”

“Since when do you plan for anything, Michael?”

“Since it comes as a matter of life and death, Isobel!”, he screams, scrambling to his feet

The youngest fits the eldest, Max, a worried glance, prompting him to chime in, to say anything about their sister’s all but suicidal plan if you could call that a plan really. Max suddenly looks at both his feet and exhales deeply and turns to Isobel, his voice barely above a whisper:

“This is about Noah, isn’t it?”

Immediately, her eyes fill with tears at the mention of her ex-fiancé, she turns away and starts pacing, meanwhile Michael and Max stare at her, the first wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, the other unfazed.

“Iz-“

“No, Michael. You don’t get to say anything!”, she points her wavering finger to him as tears pour out of her very soul, “You get to be happy, you get to be have the person you love because that person can protect you. I don’t”

In truth, Isobel loved Noah, she really did, though it might not have been the constant butterflies and fire in her belly like she imagined romantic love to be. In all her years, the constant moving and fear that permeated her life, no partner ever stood by her side like Noah did, not that she had had many, she never needed to, she had Noah, and he was loyal and understanding of her wishes, until he wasn’t. Not that blame fell upon him for their failed relationship, but neither did it fall on her: it wasn’t her fault. Eventually the lack of stability conjoined with lack of explanation as to why they had to move at all took a toll on their relationship and it came to bitter end. And Isobel, always fierce and defying, couldn’t find it in her to confess her secret to her, at the time, partner, because it meant risking the lives of everyone she loved. And it’s not like she had any friends, she had none, haven’t been able to keep people that aren’t related by blood to her.

Hopeless, Isobel lived her everyday trying to convince herself she wasn’t meant to find any happiness in this lifetime. Despite knowing not to risk the lives of her family, she yearned for something and as that struggle grew tenfold, she faltered and here they were. She tried to find happiness in anything else in her life but without Noah, her life seemed ever bleaker than before and something inside her cracked, like a clock’s engine giving out and suddenly she was unable function properly. Thus, she decided to drag her brothers back to Roswell in a moment of weakness.

“It’s not fair”, she croaks, “This curse, it took everything from us”

“Not the curse”, Michael corrected her gently and squeezed her shoulder tenderly, “The Manes”

“What’s the difference at this point?”, she sniffled, and fit her head on the crook of Michael’s neck, burying her woeful face

Max finally stands and trudges towards his siblings and puts his hands on the shoulder that’s not embraced by Michael

“Iz, you can’t. I know you miss him, but if you see him again you might break and he can’t know”, Max explained

“I just need to see him again, please”, she sobbed desperately

Max just looked at Michael, desperation creeping, he was out of ideas, and as for his brother, he just shrugged jerkily, already feeling desperate himself.

As dusk approached, and the colors of the sky grew colder and darker, the three sibling where once again in the middle of the sterile soil of New Mexico, which stretched out to the horizon and all around them, which meant they were away from humans, from their peering gaze and fragile bodies. Good, she thought, face stained with tears.

They stood there in their underwear in a circle, waiting for the moment the sun excused itself to give the moon space to make an appearance in the sky.

“Iz”, Michael tried meekly, “we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

Isobel smiled at him weakly, as if mustering a smile was the most difficult task ever, and took his hand. Her brother, for all his confidence and snark he was one soft man.

Max took her other hand and declared it was almost time. Soon enough, they started to feel the effects of their transformation, the vibration beneath their skin, their molecules rearranging themselves, the hum in their ears growing louder. If only it was just vibrating into a wolf. If only. Their bones moved as if they had a life of their own, which in nights of full moons they did, it was a kind of pain you had no words for, their organs squished between their bone structure as their whole body shifted to a new form. The cracking and moving made an awful noise especially with their heightened senses. They fell to the ground, body accommodating their four-legged body. They’d scream if they could, but only whimpers come out. Blood streamed out of their ears, eyes and noses, and once their teeth sharpened and pierced their gums, blood poured out of their mouths as well. The hairs on their body grew, itching, long and thick as they became fur. Though the pain was excruciating, they stood in their wolf bodies for the sheer power of magic that coursed through them.

Fully transformed, they shook their bodies like a dog dripping with water would, shaking the after-effects of the metamorphosis. They assed each other, making sure they were okay. Isobel went in front of them, pearly white fur bouncing under the moonlight, her eyes emerald green, and Max followed behind, velvety black fur and honey eyes and finally Michael, golden fur and golden eyes, queued behind. They didn’t explore by themselves tonight, nor did they run free, they simply strolled aimlessly. Wandering. They roamed through the desert for what it felt like hours.

Something in the distance caught their enhanced hearing: a car, and it was speeding closer and closer, instead of running and hiding in the nearest cave they stood still. Something, instinct if you must label it, told them this was no ordinary vehicle filled with curious tourists or bored and unruly teens; this was deliberate, not an accident. So they braced themselves for the fight, knowing full well it was Jesse Manes and whoever planned to exterminate them specifically. Yes, them, their family, because even when they kept their noses clean, keeping a strict non-human (as food) for diet, the Manes were still relentless, with the exception of one Alex Manes who was disgustingly head-over-heels in love with Michael.

So they stood still, predatory stance and unyielding focus, and waited. A couple of minutes later, small spheres of yellow gleamed in the darkness of nightfall. They grew bigger and bigger until the trio saw them for what they were: headlights. A black SUV, menacingly approached them rapidly until it stopped about seven feet away from them. Out of it jumped, expectedly, Jesse Manes and someone else, someone who looked awfully similar to Alex but wasn’t. In their hands they wielded glistening silver guns which were probably loaded with silver bullets. How convenient. Arms steadily pointed at them, the siblings would have to prepare an attack that’d be quick and unexpected. No one moved, not even by inch, time seemed to have stilled and the air was as thick as their wolf fur, it was harder to breathe.

Then, something different filled the air. And of course, Michael smelled him before he saw him, his siblings who followed closely behind. The wolves’ laser-focus wavered, ears moving in a way that allowed them to pick out the sound of another car more efficiently. Noticing the distraction that took over the wolves, Jesse Manes looked at the other man questioningly who shrugged equally confused until the other SUV was parked behind Jesse’s. And out of it climbed none other than Alex Manes who without second thought shot who they realized now was his brother sided with Jesse. The shot was aimed at his knee, and he fell to the ground with a shout. Jesse had barely any time to react when a bullet pierced his chest, a clean shot to his heart and as he fell to the ground kneeling and before him stood a man, as tall as Max, maybe taller, dark hair and dark eyes, strong clenched jaw. His smelled like sweat and something incredibly sweet. He was the most beautiful thing Isobel had ever set eyes on. The clink of metal being hit brought Isobel out of her daze and she snapped her attention to her brothers seemingly unharmed. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw movement, she braced for an attack momentarily only to realize it was Alex, moving closer to them.

“Is he dead?”, Alex breathed out

“Yeah”, the other man whispered, his voice made Isobel shiver

“Can you take Flint to the hospital? I can take it from now, Greg”, Alex came closer to him and patted his shoulder, “Thanks for helping. You didn’t have to do that”, he pointed to their father’s lifeless body

“It’s fine, Alex. I should’ve protected you from him sooner”, Greg replied

Alex nodded in thanks and as Greg moved to assist Flint, who resisted the help accusing them of treason, he spared a glance to Isobel whose heart thumped so fast she thought she might have a heart attack. Then he turned back, hauled Flint up and sat him on the passenger’s seat then jogged to the driver’s seat. He drove away and took a piece of Isobel’s mind and her with him.

“It’s over guys”, Alex announced, “He is dead, and you’re safe now. My brother and I will handle Flint but we won’t let him close to you. I’ll protect you from now on”

Michael, the sap, galloped towards him, and wrapped his body around him, and rubs himself onto him like a house cat, leaning his very wolf weight on him and earning a startled laughter from his boyfriend, Alex, tumbled a bit but did not fall. Alex, who a moment before shot his own brother to keep them safe and now was gushing over Michael’s domesticated feline behavior. And Isobel knows she should feel guilty for judging her brother’s boyfriend so harshly, she should also feel relieved for being set free from the Jesse Manes’ claws. Except she feels confusion and longing directed at a man she’d just met.

She hoped she could introduce herself properly to Alex’s brother and she desperately hoped her feelings would be reciprocated. And the very least, possible she hoped she’d see him again.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #michael guerin #isobel evans #max evans #jesse manes #werewolf au #belmanes #background malex

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writinginstardust · 5 years

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The End

Pairing: Dorian Havilliard x reader

Warnings: I think Rowan swears once, talk of violence and death

A/N: Fictober day 6, prompt “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” Set during Kingdom of Ash so like bear that in mind if you intend to read it but haven’t. Uh, I got soft again. Don’t @ me on my magic bullshit because I really don’t care. The series is over so this is my town now and I’ll do what I want with the magic system bc plot.

Word Count: 2026

I stopped in my tracks on my way out of a meeting with the Terrassen Lords that had left me feeling utterly hopeless. A flicker of magic, familiar and soothing, tugged at my gut and my heart lurched. I waited, wondering if I’d imagined it. But a moment later there it was again, weaker than it used to be but unmistakable.

“Dorian,” I breathed, his name slipping out like a prayer.

“What?” Aedion asked in shock from beside me.

“He’s near, I can feel him.” I turned to my cousin, tears brimming in my eyes. “He’s alive.”

“Is anyone else…?”

“I don’t know. He’s the only one I can ever feel.” I spun around to face the Lords again. “Dorian is near. I can’t know for sure but he may well have an army with him. You should make a plan in case. We might not be doomed just yet.”

“You don’t want to help?” Aedion asked me. I shook my head.

“No. I have to go. I have to see him.” Stunned silence followed and after a moment Aedion spoke gently.

“(Y/N), you do know there’s a whole army out there.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“My point?” He raised his eyebrows incredulously. “There’s no way you can get through that, you’ll get yourself killed.”

“No I won’t.” There was power in my veins, more power than I’d ever let on to anyone. Aedion sensed there was more than I let on and was now giving me a considering look.

“Would you even know how to find him?”

“You can’t seriously be considering letting her leave!” Darrow practically exploded. “She’s the heir to the throne if we survive this!” I whirled on him.

“No. I’m not. Aelin is,” I hissed. “And until we have any confirmation of her death we will keep going as if she is alive.” I turned my back on him and started walking again, Aedion keeping pace beside me. “I can find him,” I reassured. “I just need your help getting out of here.”

He stopped me in the hall and turned me to face him. “Are you sure you can do this? I can’t lose you as well.” I steeled myself putting as much confidence into my gaze as I could muster. He wouldn’t help me if he thought I couldn’t do it.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright. I’ll help you.”

3 hours later I was past Erawan’s armies. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t run into any real trouble only one non-valg infested soldier who I dealt with easily. I stopped in the treeline, focusing on that little tug of magic that had slowly strengthened the further I walked. It was still too weak and I worried what that might mean

Another hour and I could hear voices, see flames. I slowed my pace and peaked carefully through the shrubbery. It was an army camp. I knew the signs even if I didn’t recognise the people. I did, however, recognise the banners. I’d found them. Before I could walk into the camp, I felt hands clamp down on my upper arms, heard a knife being drawn by my captor’s friend.

“What have we here?” A gruff voice asked low in my ear. “A spy?”

“No, wait! I’m not a spy!”

“Sure you’re not sweetheart.” Whoever it was didn’t know who I was. That was the problem with my existence being kept secret since birth I supposed. I hadn’t thought this through far enough and now I could only hope they’d take me to whoever was leading rather than killing me outright.

“Please, I can explain! Just take me to Dorian or whoever’s in charge here.” Quick as a flash, the knife was under my chin and I was looking up into the eyes of the woman who wielded it.

“How do you know he travels with us?”

“Please. Take me to him and I can explain everything. If you’re not satisfied then you can kill me. I won’t fight.” I figured it might be helpful to give that reassurance even if it would be unnecessary.

“She’s not armed,” the gruff voice spoke again. “Let’s take her to them.” The woman considered me for another moment before nodding and leading the way through the camp.

Warmth hit my skin as we entered a large tent in the centre of the camp. It was empty except for two fae warriors who were a sight for sore eyes. Their nostrils flared in recognition before I even removed my hood and offered a wave. Rowan’s eyes were wide but I could tell he was still happy to see me.

“Fenrys, go and wake the others.”

“Just Aelin or…?” I almost fell to the floor crying. Aelin was alive.

“Everyone. They’ll all want to be here.” Fenrys nodded and smiled at me on his way out. “Thank you for bringing her to us,” he addressed the guards. “You can leave us now.”

They nodded, looking a little confused, and left. As soon as they’d left, Rowan strode across the tent and pulled me into a hug. I did start crying then and he led me to a seat and poured me some tea.

“How bad is it?” He asked.

“Not good. Not good at all. We’re doomed without you.”

“Shit.”

“Who-” I swallowed thickly. “Who’s with you?” Who was alive? Before he could answer the tent flap flew open and everyone filed in, some of them groggy and confused, some of them urgent. Fenrys obviously hadn’t bothered to tell the ones who were half-asleep what was going on and their eyes widened comically when they saw me.

“Move.” My ears pricked at the word and my eyes zeroed in on its origin, finding Aelin pushing past her friends. Seconds later she was dragging me out of my seat and into a hug. We sunk to the floor, relief overcoming our bodies and weakening knees. I was crying, she was crying, someone, somewhere in the crowd was crying too. It was a few minutes before we regained ourselves. “You’re alive,” she breathed. “Is Aedion…?” I nodded.

“Yes. We’re all...well not okay, but we’re all still breathing.” As if to mock my words the breath was suddenly knocked from my body and I felt a strong tug on that familiar pull of magic. I looked up just as the tent flap fluttered and Dorian pushed through. The world narrowed to him and before I knew it, I was on my feet and running into his arms.

The tears were back and flowing uninhibited, the realisation that I could very well have never seen him again crashing down on me. I could have died a thousand times in the past few months and so could he. The very fact that we were both still alive was a miracle. He held me close, his own face buried in my shoulder and I could feel my cloak dampening there.

Finally gaining back control of my body, I pulled my head from his shoulder, tugging lightly on Dorian’s hair to get him to do the same and finally, finally kissing him. The kiss revived me. I hadn’t realised how much we’d all given up on life until I felt in coursing through my veins again. Life, love, hope, a magic of their own that set my own singing in response. Another joined, coiling round, holding tight and soothing the chaos. Familiar and unmistakable. Home.

Dorian was the one who broke the kiss but he didn’t let me go far. If it were up to me we’d leave and spend the night alone in his tent but once again being at war interfered.

“I hate to be the one who breaks up a happy reunion, I really do,” Aelin started. “But if you’re here we could really use you so we know what we’re walking into.”

“Of course.” I unwound my arms from around Dorian’s neck and went to take a seat but before I could, Dorian sat and pulled me onto his lap, not removing his arms from around my waist. I wasn’t complaining.

I explained the situation as quickly as I could and everyone was left grim-faced. They hadn’t been expecting the situation to be good but I think they’d hoped it wouldn’t be quite this bleak. The next hour was spent strategising through exhaustion but there wasn’t much we could do, especially not with everyone so exhausted. Finally we called it a night and everyone started to head back to bed. I knew I should leave or I’d never get back to Orynth before sunrise but I didn’t want to. Dorian and Aelin noticed my hesitation to go anywhere.

“What is it?” Aelin asked.

“I have to go back, but I don’t want to leave. I’m scared if I go, I’ll never see you again.”

“Well if it helps, I’m not letting you go anywhere. You’re staying here and marching with us tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No. It was reckless enough of you to come here once, I’m not letting you do it again. Dorian,” his eyes flicked from me to Aelin, “you’re in charge of her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. You can be as creative as you want with your methods.” She winked and Dorian returned it, leaving me a flustered mess between them. Aelin just laughed at the look on my face as Dorian came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist again.

“But Aelin, I need to let Aedion know you’re here and-”

“Rowan will do that. He can get there without dying.” I didn’t have any more arguments after that.

“Alright.”

“Good. Now go enjoy some time with your boyfriend.” Before I could reply, Dorian was tugging me to the entrance and across the clearing to the tent he’d somehow managed to get all to himself. His lips landed on mine the moment the tent fluttered shut behind us, catching me off guard for a moment before I melted into him. It was a short, sweet kiss and Dorian was smiling when it was over.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too. I worried I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

“(Y/N), there is nothing in this world that could keep me from you. Not the gods, not the valg, not even death.” I didn’t know what to say to that so I kissed him, hoping it would tell him how much he meant to me.

He led me to the bed and laid down beside me, connecting our lips again once I was comfortable. Warm hands were a comforting weight on my waist and as the candlelight burned low I let his touch chase away the fear that followed me constantly, his kiss soothing the ache of being apart for so long.

I was getting sleepy and I could tell Dorian was too. He pulled away a little and our gazes locked. Something flashed across his face, an emotion I couldn’t decipher. A moment later, he rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, taking my hands in his.

“Marry me,” he whispered. My heart stuttered, breath hitching.

“What?” If he weren’t so close, he’d never have heard it. He opened his eyes, hope and love shining in them when they met mine.

“Marry me,” he repeated. “Please.”

“Ask me when the war is over.” His lips quirked.

“Why?”

“Because tonight isn’t the end.”

“I know. But being away from you for so long made me realise I never wanted that again. Here, now, you’re all I want.” He reached into his pocket and light caught on the ring he pulled from it. This wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, I realised. It was fuelled by real love, not the fear of what dawn might bring.

“Ask me again,” I whispered. A hopeful smile slipped onto his face.

“Marry me?”

“Yes.” He grinned and kissed me as he blindly fumbled to slip the ring on my finger. The cold metal felt like a promise, stronger than any we could make with words. This would not be the end.

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa

Dorian Havilliard: @myblackconfessions

Throne of Glass: @astressedwriter

#dorian havilliard #throne of glass #dorian havilliard imagine #dorian havilliard x reader #dorian havilliard fanfic #dorian havilliard x you #dorian x reader #dorian imagine #dorian fanfic #dorian x you #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass imagine #tog #tog fanfic #tog imagine #reader insert #fictober #fictober day 6

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

saints can’t help me now

summary: I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, whose name has not been written in the book of life from the foundation of the world. Kings give their power and authority to the beast, and those who are with him are the called and chosen and faithful.

pairing: forest god!thor x reader

words: 4,642

trigger warnings: dub con, attempted sexual assault, vague biblical allusions that seem quite out of place in such a pagan context

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s in the dark challenge + my prompt was “shh, it’s okay. it’ll only hurt a little.” this is also a part of @spacelabrathor‘s forest god anthology bc te amo forest god thor.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are drops of truth in every legend, however flimsy or warped. A lie doesn’t come from nowhere, lore isn’t rolled off tongues without pretext. Little children don’t lie in their sleep, in the middle of the night; they don’t lie without purpose (or the illusion of one). Behind every threat is certainty, behind every falseness a reality.

You’re smart enough to understand this, to trace the oaks back to their roots. When a villager begged for refuge from a storm and whispered to you to heed warning about some deity that had been cast away from his throne, you listened – and never traveled too deep into the deep woods. Gods are never meant to roam such an unholy place as this, which its ravenous terrain and its isolating nature and its punishing climate. Gods prefer the busy cities, the lovelier farms, perhaps even their own homes on a planet you don’t know of. An almighty being? In a space such as this? You merely laugh at the thought. Such an image is not one that inspires hope or wisdom or rebirth, rather one of a spirit thrown from its rightful place, rightful palace. Such a spirit would be vengeful, vindictive, deceitful, despiteful, unprincipled, unforgiving.

When a merchant took your money and told you of a divine man who hunted without care, you listened – and kept your cat in whenever the sun was not at her highest. Woodland creatures you rehabilitated and travelers looking for rest were sequestered within your walls until you felt it was safe. If you had to leave your home (as you often did) you refused to travel alone, preferring to starve than die at the hands of some ruthless beast. The light of day, the heat from a fire, the illumination from a torch – you trusted it all to keep you from a harm you felt was preventable.

When a fortune teller read your cards and spoke of a demiurge who threatened the peace of your home, you listened – and used every moment of every step as a way to prevent conflict. You gave what you could of whichever soul asked for it, you never disturbed the ground, you kept to yourself. Your voice remained undersized, your movements diminutive. A camp four miles away called you wee, the fortune teller called you cautious, you called it survival.

But none of that, nothing you had done or prepared or pushed to the forefront of your mind seemed to matter as you were being chased through the thickest set of trees you’d ever seen by a pack of wolves (werewolves, no less) who had spotted a way to broaden their gene pool and stalked you til dusk. Each press of your bare feet to the hardened ground forced bits of bark and bone into the callous flesh; normally you’d wail at such anguish, but the blood pumping in your ears drowns out any of your nerve’s attempts at reaching your bran. While you wince at each point of contact, the pain never seems to come.

From behind you their howls of laughter hit the trees and then your eardrums, a reminder that for them this is a game. Their idea of said game going poorly is if they do not catch you, if they cannot drag you back to their settlement as a token of their hard work.

It seems as quickly as your hunt for food had gone sour you’re plucked from the freezing ground and tossed into a barren field, slammed into the ground as your shoulders continue to rise and while your heart continues to beat at a rabbit’s pace, your eyes moving faster than the organ as they take in the scene in front of them.

Your thoughts are quick, like the blood in your veins.

Rolling hills. Crops. Yellow Crops. Deep yellow crops. Corn? Dead crops. Still cold. No snow. Yes ice. Stones, under you. Small stones. Broken stones. Bad dirt. Bad crops. Bad yield. No settlements. Sky dark. Feet hurt. Still cold. Feet really hurt.

The distinct sound of a boot digging into the ground makes you turn around, knife in your corset drawn with a shaking, aching hand.

In front of you, a man. A man in shoes meant for winter. A man dressed in dark clothes. A man with a large chest that rises slowly, slowling, slower. A man with golden skin, as deep as the flora around you. long, dirty beard. A man with long, dirty hair. A man with a set of horns that curl like a ram but peak like the blade in your palm. A man who towers over you. A man who looks less like a man as your eyes focus, but his form doesn’t become clearer.

The man is the first to speak, his lips thick and turned up into a sinister looking smile.

“What’s a little thing like you strolling alone in these woods?” His voice flows like honey with each step of gravel as he circles you. You’ve seen vultures spot prey with less purpose as his gruff laughs bring thick clouds of condensation, which fill the air between you and him. “Big, mean wolves prowl these very woods, looking for cute little things like you to prey on.”

You try to swallow what little spit remains in your dry mouth, but it seems the only thing in your throat is a thick knot of fear. Stuck in place from terror alone, each cell that makes up your body is more frozen than the ice hanging from the bare branches above you.

“I- “you’re momentarily distracted by a twig snapping in the distance. “I’m not that small!” The man (if he even is a man) laughs, loud enough to make you flinch (of course that’s all I can do, you curse yourself. Can’t run away, but can flinch at some fucking laughter.) “In these forests you are. You’re a pretty little toy for all the packs that try to stake their claim here. It’s useless, they’ll never succeed, but that sure doesn’t stop them from trying.”

Your heart beats faster than you’ve ever felt before, each painful expansion of your ribcage syncing with the blood pounding in your ears. “Wh-what happened to them?” He cocks an eyebrow. “What happened to who?”

You speak again, a little louder. “What happened to the packs, why haven’t they laid claim to this territory?”

His broad chest shakes as he chuckles at your insolence. “Because I already have.”

Your heart quickens again. “But you’re only one man,” another twig snap, another sound ignored as a different kind of fear rises in your abdomen. “How can you overpower those powerful packs, they’ve formed a coalition – the village hasn’t stopped talking about it – there’s at least a hundred of them altogether, I-”

An answer comes after a beat of heavy silence, though the tension of waiting seems better than the truth that comes all too quickly. “Because yappy puppies can’t usurp a god,” he hisses.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

Thor, the god you’ve been petrified of since you were a child, has been the guard of this forest and everything in it for a millennium. In like fashion to other sprawling hills and tall trees, he beckons in the seasons and calms the bears into hibernation and tells the snow when to melt. Thor is the life of the forest, attuned to the air every living breathes day in and day out. Yet he’s incomparable to his benevolent siblings, hungrier and more desperate and willing to throw away his duties to sink his jowls into anything unpardonable. This god is jaded, exhausted of the mind-numbing monotonous work of running the home of so many creatures; like knife dropped in the dirt, he threatens even the ones who step careful as marksmen watch their targets.

For a few moments you think your mouth will release a quip, a sarcastic response that would get you killed, or worse. Somehow your lips stay still, warming as each pant releases hot, white puffs into the cold night air.

There’s fear in your eyes and it permeates the air around you. The god’s nostrils flare as the pheromones hit his nose. In a far corner of your brain you wonder what it smells like – such a strong emotion. Is it thick and sweet? Does it coat his tongue the same of when you bake fresh bread? Or is it deep and revolting – the smell of one’s soul decomposing before the corresponding body’s gone cold.

He steps closer.

You wince. “Please- “

He laughs like he’s watched a child fall to the ground in a field. “What? Are you scared?”

The word leaves his lips much slower than the others, like thick syrup in his mouth. Guess your fear is a much sweeter scent than expected.

“Should I not be?” The defiance in your voice comes like the wolf that bursts through the thinning trees behind you.

With the air knocked out of your lungs and each muscle stunned into inertness, there’s not much you can do but watch the god as you’re dragged away while two wolves trail behind you.

The grey sunlight fades as the flora becomes thicker, and for a hundred or so yards you feel as if your life is crumbling around you. But soon with the shadows from the trees comes the realization of familiarity.

Their faces – their snouts, eyes, ears, fur – they’re one you’d seen before. They’re the same ones from the small fairy circle down the way from your cabin, where you’d been trying to find something to eat besides dry mint leaves and crunchy bread.

These aren’t the wolves from the coalition near the village, these aren’t those nasty wolves who steal and plunder and take without end, these aren’t the wolves who chased you into the arms of the god who previously stood before you.

This is something worse…so much worse.

You’ve housed some of them, their yellow eyes and pink snouts have been fixtures of your spare room – you’ve stitched their paws and rubbed salve into their poison ivy rashes and brushed matts from their thick fur.

As one of them jumps on top of you – one you recognize from the scar you’d helped heal after a hawk had attempted to take out his eye – you can feel another pry your arms flat above you and two others hold your legs apart.

His long, wet tongue traces from your shoulder to your temple, his snout breathing hot air onto your feverish skin.

“I’ve been waiting to do this,” his voice is muffled, as if you’re talking to a person resting at the bottom of the sea. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to do this since I saw you and your brow furrowed with worry at that wound the wicked bird left upon me.”

He nudges under your jaw, grazing his sharp teeth across the fragile skin above your jugular as he pants.

If your hands were free, if your lips could move, you’d push him away and call him some mutt in heat, spit in his face and kick him away and run until you could not see the wretched creatures and they could not see you and the distance would make you forget everything that had and would happen and you never would have to think of their paws clawing at your body again and…

And…

“Stay the fuck away from her,” the god from before snarls from behind his teeth. The wolves, now thrown more than a hundred yards away from you, are nearly frozen in fear and realization that their plan has taken a toll for the worst. Your hands dig into the earth in an attempt to gain footing, but you can barely hold yourself up on your elbow as your vision spins. “If I find you again I will rip your heart from your thoracic cavity and leave you all to be found by the rest of your pitiful kind, do you understand?”

The wolves do not nod, but they also do not stay. Within an instant, you find yourself blessedly alone and then cursedly close to the very thing you fear the most.

“Why don’t I take you back home?” Thor whispers, watchful as you finally pick yourself up from the mud and moss. Bits of twigs and leaves and crushed bugs litter the light fabric, but you make no effort to remove it from your person – none of that matters when he locks eyes with you, blown pupils glittering with something you can’t place.

Still, with chest heaving and hands shaking, you lead him back to your homestead.

It’s not a long trek through the woods, yet Thor’s breath is audible like a deer sprinting from a pack of canids. You question nothing, though, absolutely nothing as you lead him on the winding, invisible path that leads you less than a stone’s throw away from the entrance.

You don’t say anything as you pull away, not a promise nor gratitude nor acknowledgement of his actions. The silence from you is met with Thor tugging your back to his front and wrapping your arms around you.

“I think you should thank me,” he coos. In the window of your dwelling is your cat, eyes wide in fear as she paces. She knows something is wrong, something bad is happening. But she doesn’t know how to fix it. “For protecting you.”

Some parts of you – maybe a few ribs, the bottom of your spine, your dry mouth – know what he wants. Behind your eyes you see images of you, him, your large bed. Of your small, begotten frame under his large form as he takes what he desires.

Some part of your brain, the logical side, knows you should feel fearful at this massive beast laying you down onto your worn, soft sheets. The other part, though, feels a particular heat flood your center and between your legs.

“And what is it that comprises such appreciation?” you ask, still facing your home as the god lingers behind you. Your breath – already shaky and shallow – hitches as one of his clawed fingers pushes aside your thick hair to expose the smooth skin of your neck. He places such small, light kisses there that for a moment you believe it was simply whispers of wind from the night, but once sharpened teeth graze your heartbeat you’re aware of the affections being his.

“Oh, little pet,” at his words your eyes shut on their own accord, and your bottom lip finds itself between your top and bottom teeth in the same fashion. “We both know what I want.”

You gulp, trying to find verbal footing as he begins to kiss down the back of your neck to the top of your spine. For a moment you try to speak, but it seems with each attempted sentence his hands move closer and closer to undoing the ties that keep your shift from falling off of you.

The god leads you into your home with a large hand pressed into the small of your back, and into your bedroom as if he had been there before, as if he had memorized the hallways in your home from years of spending time there; as if he was some constant fixture of your household.

The yards and yards worth of fabric from blankets and pillows alike have only ever smelled like you; pockets of your pesky familiar here and there maybe, but nothing that cannot be overpowered by a good night’s rest. It’s a comfort after a long day, something familiar and comforting.

As Thor lowers himself onto the edge of your bed you fear the stench of him will never leave you. A candle of doubt in you wonders if this is a bad thing.

With no hardship he pulls you to him, like a suitor inviting a debutante to be a partner in a waltz – though, this feels less like a dance as each second passes, your heavy breathing akin to a kidnapping than some public displays unadulterated affection.

“It’s cold out here in these woods,” he whispers to you. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as his hands pet over your shaking form. “I must admit, it would be nice to have a toasty little thing like you to help keep me warm in such a chill.”

You shiver, hoping this behemoth does not mean what you think he means. Alas, as he pushes your long, wild hair to the side to expose the tender skin of your neck – your wildest fears bubble to the surface of your flesh. It’s his hands, so calloused they feel like bark, that manhandle you in the gentlest way possible into a position that makes your face burn hotter than a bonfire.

You’re in his lap now, spine pressed to sternum with him towering over you. For a moment you feel safe in his embrace, his larger-than-life stature making you feel like some protected child. It isn’t until he’s tearing at your clothes with a loud rrrrrrrip that you understand how little this creature truly cares for you. Still, it’s hard not to feel like some fragile, blown-glass vase from the village beyond the mountains, where boys with similarly rough, burnt hands create the most beautiful little sculptures you wish you could afford; an object of which is revered and magnificent, but an object of which holds neither agency nor uniqueness to the rest of the pretty things surrounding it.

It doesn’t occur, in that very moment, that there is no way this god would be cold in the thick of winter – not with heat radiating from him akin to your cat’s fur after being warmed by a particularly warm beam of sunlight. But the deity doesn’t have much need for the truth, not when he’s got your soaked cunt free from its increasingly uncomfortable confines and is tracing the slick up and down the lips between your trembling thighs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos like a mother lying to her child while pulling a rose thorn from a tiny, smooth foot. “It’ll only hurt a little"

Thor’s hands are huge already, but now they seem omnipresent as he pets over your form. Part of you – the sensible part, the part that guided you through being banished from your family and made you carve out a piece of this expansive, soul-crushing forest – that wants to, or at least wants to try to, push him away; tell him no, stop, please, I’ll do anything.

But nothing, nothing but desperate whimpers, ones you wish were from displeasure, leave your lips.

“You know, gods can still starve,” you gulp as the short, wiry hair that patterns his jaw rubs against the skin of your neck and shoulders. “The fish from rivers and boars from the deeper parts of my forest quiet the growling in my gut, but there is another hunger I need satiated.”

You remain silent as before, fearful a protest would make your periled situation that much worse for pitiful little you.

He grips between your legs, palm flat against the hottest part of you, his own hand rough against your own silky folds. As you squeak from the contact Thor laughs deep in his broad chest, leaning down to nibble at the edge of your hot ear. “This piece of fruit will do,” you gasp as a single, thick finger enters your dripping heat. “I love a good juicy peach. You’re absolutely dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Again, he is met with silence. Never one to be deterred, he slips another finger into you. “Humans are so cute,” he purrs. “You all think you’re so strong, always fighting wars that never end and death that always comes. It seems the things you can never resist are a good fight, a good fuck,” a pregnant pause fills your bedroom as he crooks his fingers just right, soliciting the desperate whimper he’s wanted since he spotted you in the woods all those hours ago. “And me.”

He fucks his digits in and out you with slow motions, ones that drive you to the brink of madness. You’ve never been one to coo and moan so unabashedly, to let yourself fall apart so easily for someone who holds so much pure power over you. If you weren’t already vulnerable, you would be now – for as assuredly that the sun rises in the East and you wake up soaked in blood every some thirty days, this man, this god will look down on you and understand how little you can do to fend him, his advances, his charm, from your trembling body.

Thor lays down on your sea of blankets, leaving you feeling empty without his touch. A smug look paints his face as he waits for you to climb up his chest, but you do not move, simply peering at him with a heaving chest and feverish cheeks. Your mind wavers, wondering if his horns will tear into the fabric that paints your bed – but you do not have much time for such frivolous thoughts before they are interrupted once again.

“I wasn’t asking,” he tells you pointedly. “Now, come provide me with the sustenance I so desire.”

Sans your dress, moving up the length of his body is relatively easy. As he grips your hips and lowers you down to his mouth you wish you had some sort of obstruction, some reason to resist the god below you.

No such luck. As before, you are unimaginably vulnerable to Thor and his ways.

He begins with light kisses on the inside of your thighs, still tense and desperate to run away. Thor seems to notice this but does nothing to soothe you and your resistance – he understands much better than you how much he holds above your foolish head.

It doesn’t take long for you to forget your plan of escape, the path of freedom dissipating in the pleasure pooling from your scalp to the nailbeds of your toes. This god is nothing if not skilled, wide strokes of his tongue and nips at your innermost thigh and kisses on your sensitive nub soon having you rutting against his face like a dog in heat, like the wolves from before. Your hands try to find purchase in his wild hair, but with the horns in the way it’s easier to wrap your own fingers around the keratin masses than dig your fingernails into the scalp of the man below you.

You wonder if you’d have considered them less such wild beasts if you knew this was the pleasure they were chasing. Would have not run so quickly if you, too, understood the magic building in your core as you balance yourself against the wall your bed leans against. When Thor leaves you, would the animals accept your contrition and give you the same pleasure this god is? Or would you be left to chase a high no mortal could gift you?

It’s trail of thought cut short by him bullying three of his fingers into you as his lips suck at you, your screams filling every empty bit of air in your homestead. As your own yelps of pleasure fill your ears you cannot sort what is babble and what is tongues, what are incoherent syllables and what are pleas to celestial beings to never leave you.

These, too, are soon muffled, Thor making quick work of your mute state to flip you onto your stomach and propping your ass up toward him. “You know,” he says mostly to himself, knowing his words will fall on ears deaf from ringing. “The Christians who pass through my forest often speak of how the original woman was tempted with an apple and I never believed their silly tales.”

He pauses a moment to trace his fingertips up the ridges of your spine before grabbing at the base of your hair. You yelp, but he ignores you.

“But now…” his unoccupied hand comes down to SMACK at your ass, eliciting another squeak. “Now I feel able to comprehend how such a person could be tempted by the prospect of such delicious sin.”

Too far gone to be ashamed now, you push back against him in hopes of reprieve from your suffering. Without much further wait Thor enters you slow and steady, the one hand still in your hair while the other grips your hip. Thor’s bigger, much bigger than your fingers or the occasional drifter, and your walls and scream the unfamiliar girth.

The man behind you does nothing to soothe you, merely hissing into the cold night air. “God, you little witch,” he grunts behind grit teeth. “Maybe it was worthwhile saving you from those wretched wolves.”

Your mouth hangs open and your lips remain mute, your hands grasping at the sheets until they become impossible to open up again. Nothing, not a single sound of yours, bounces form the walls – merely Thor’s loud grunts and the sound of his skin slapping against yours. It isn’t until his fingers release your hair and move to your neglected clit that you begin to sing for him, screams out of tune and sharp but still smooth music to his ears.

“Yes,” he moans, feeling you contract around him. “Yes you temptress, cum on my cock, fuck let me bring you to your peak.”

How could anyone refuse that? Certainly not you, the spell-caster who was saved by this magnificent, sympathetic creature with a heart of gold and pure intentions. The tight coil in your organs releases with a shout from you and a deep groan from Thor, who continues to fuck into you as you collapse and become limp under his touch. He reaches he peak quickly, stilling for a moment before flipping you over again.

You move easily under his touch, dead weight instead of some feisty, feral little lamb with too much fight in her. On your back, he spreads your legs once again, moving to revere your swollen cunt and his thick seed dripping out of you.

It reminds you of when the artists in the villages step back when they’re finished with their works, admiring their handiwork and talent. You recognize that same affection of progress and of a finished piece in Thor’s eyes, the focused, blown pupils trained on the white trailing down to your sheets and the corners of his mouth turning up into a small, satiated smile. He’s some paragon of silent pride, one hand moving up and down your folds before pushing his seed back into you.

“Beautiful,” Thor whispers, kissing where you are most sensitive once more before moving to lay beside you. The world spins around you as he pulls you into his broad chest, his heart thumping dull in the ear pressed to his heaving ribs.

You say nothing to the contrary, succumbing to sleep like a babe after a long feeding.

orThor disappears just as he entered, confidently and without much fuss. You wake up alone, more alone than you did that morning, surrounded by the very scent of him. Somehow, as the sun comes over the horizon, it’s enough.

Over the next few weeks, everything mostly returns to normal. You go through the ebb and flow of your routine; watching over your territory, eyeing the dark of the night each time the wind made the trees move like children listening to songs around a bonfire. Sometimes the swaying calms you as you clutch a cup of mint tea in your trembling hands, but others it mirrors the churning of your stomach.

Tonight, it feels like both. And tonight, you bury your face in the last of him left with you while hoping you never have to see the god again.

#inthedark!challenge #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #lukis writes stuff #kinda had a breakdown and thought abt being in the church #if god can be vengeful than i can be flowery with my language #as with all of my works this is barely proofread and i hate it #but whateva

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crossbowking · 5 years

Text

The Road Ahead : Chapter 18

Chapter Index HERE

Summary : (Set in the beginning of season 1) Anna Brooks lost everything after the world ended — the last remaining part of herself being her older brother, who she lost contact with after communications dropped. While en route towards Atlanta to find him, Anna’s truck breaks down, leaving her at the mercy of the cruel new world. Now, Anna must face her fears head on as she struggles to deal with devastating loss, constant danger, and finding her way in a land that now belongs to the dead. But sometimes, a glimmer of hope can be found disguised as a short-tempered, hard-headed redneck who may just save her life in more ways than one.

Pairings : Daryl x Original Female Character

Warnings : Slow-Burn, Language/Violence/typical Walking Dead themes

Author’s Note : Oh. Hi. *crickets*

I KNOW I HAVEN’T UPDATED IN MONTHS. LITERAL MONTHS. I’M SORRY. BUT THIS WRITING SHIT IS LIKE...HARD. I hope y’all remember wtf has happened in this story because I had to go back and reread because I was LOST. So hopefully this shit makes sense. (I’ll insert a recap to refresh everyone’s memory.)

I’m sorry. I’m gonna go hide in the corner now.

Shoutout to @wilhelmjfink for creating the awesome cover pic for this series! Love you bb.

THIS CHAPTER IS DARYL’S POV, ALSO.

Okay, that is all.

xx crossbowking

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Recap...

- Anna was attacked by Merle (hopped up on coke, mind you) en route towards Atlanta in search of her brother, Ben. Their parents died at some point during the journey and Anna now wears their wedding rings on a chain around her neck.

- Daryl swoops in and saves Anna from Merle, fixes her truck, and they have a moment *swoon*. He offers her a place in his group but she declines, putting her family first and continuing for Atlanta (even though he already told her the city was destroyed).

- Anna spends the night in a shitty gas station market, has a flashback of her childhood/a sneak peek into her relationship with Ben, and cries herself to sleep *aw bb, it’s ok*.

- The next day, Anna stumbles across a herd who traps her on the roof of the market...all hope seems lost. Until gunshots from the city draw some of the herd away *aka Rick escaping the tank*. A storm rolls in, providing the small amount of water Anna needs to make it to the city. A car alarm sounds from the city shortly after, drawing more of the herd away *hm...whoever could that be? Possibly a cutie patootie driving a red sports car?...*

- Anna makes her escape and continues for Atlanta. She parks her truck and makes the trek to her brother’s apartment with no trouble. Once there, she finds a walker trapped in his bathroom, but luckily, it’s not Ben. She finds a note from him addressed to her saying that he left for Fort Benning after the city was overrun. Anna stays the night and decides to try for the army base next.

- Anna scavenges the following day, gathers supplies and heads back to her truck before nightfall. She runs into Rick’s group (leaving the city after trying to find Merle) attempting to hotwire her truck, has a not so pleasant reunion with Daryl, but decides to drive the group back to their camp *she owes Daryl, give her a break*.

- They return as the camp is getting overrun by walkers. Anna helps defend the quarry and saves Carl, almost dies, but *dun dun dun* is saved by Daryl once more.

- Rick offers Anna a place in the group but she’s set on searching for her brother and heading to Fort Benning. She’s still unsure why Daryl is being so cold to her.

- Stays one more night with the group, contemplating next move. Daryl gives Anna his dinner after she gave Sophia hers, only furthering Anna’s confusion regarding the archer. *make up your damn mind, Dixon!*

- Anna decides to join the group to the CDC. If CDC is a dead end, Rick promises they will try for Benning.

- Daryl is being a jerk face again and Anna is #overhimandhisissues.

- They make it to the CDC, meet Edwin Jenner, and have an interesting dinner. *group finds out Anna’s mom had cancer, but ultimately died from a walker bite*

- Everyone gets drunk *ayeee gettin’ crunk*

- Anna and Glenn bond while everyone else turns in for the night *supposedly* and she finds out more about the archer/Merle/what happened in Atlanta the day she ran into them.

- She learns that Daryl and Merle got into a huge fight/brawl and is pretty sure she’s the reason it started. Realizes that Daryl is a moody lil’ bitch because he blames her for the way things ended with him and Merle/the fight they had/the mean things he said to his brother.

- Shane pops up outta nowhere, all sorts of fucked up, and basically attacks Anna because he’s a horny lil’ psychopath. Daryl hears the struggle and yet again, *shocker* saves Anna.

- Daryl stays in Anna’s room *cue awkward tension* and she spills out some sort of apology *which Daryl ignores* instead bringing up the fact that she didn’t find her brother. She shares the note she found/her plan to head for Fort Benning. Daryl is like “psh, ya ain’t gon’ make it, ya dumb ho” and Anna’s like “psh, you’re so fuckin’ rude omg” and Daryl storms out and Anna’s all like “JUST BC U GAVE UP ON UR BROTHER DOESN’T MEAN I’M GIVING UP ON MINE” and Daryl’s like “ow...dat’s some cold shit” and leaves.

- Anna can’t sleep because GUILT. Anywho, the next morning everyone has breakfast together, Shane apologizes to Anna/threatens her to keep her mouth shut in the same breath.

- Then, cue the group trapped in the CDC/building about to explode.

- Group gets out, Anna’s a dumb lil ho and runs back inside for her backpack *LEAVE HER ALONE SHE COULDN’T LEAVE THE PICTURE OF HER AND BEN/HIS NOTE TO HER BEHIND*

- Anna almost dies, but whoohoo, she lives! Daryl runs back into the field and carries her semi-unconscious form away from the wreckage.

There. Now everyone’s caught up.

AND...HERE WE GO.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previously…

Black spots suddenly danced in Anna’s vision, her stomach rolling, her body’s aches and pains dulling as her legs began to give out, unable to keep up with the archer’s determined pace. She squeezed her eyes shut, her drooping head lolling against Daryl’s shoulder as the world began to fade.

The last thing Anna felt was the archer sliding his arm up her back, slipping it around her shoulders instead as his other arm cupped behind her kneecaps, swiftly swooping her off the ground.

And then everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now...

The desolate road spilled out before the caravan of survivors, its winding roads and towering trees seemingly endless. Abandoned cars littered the sides of the road, some doors till strewn open, others covered in blood and grime. There wasn’t another soul in sight — it was as though the entire world had been completely wiped clean, forced to begin again from scratch.

The survivors traveled along cascading backroads, steering clear of highways and more populated areas as they navigated out of the city and into the rural countrysides of Georgia with no set destination in mind.

Daryl lost track of how long the group had been driving, the minutes and hours seeping into one another as the sun reached its highest peak and began its slow descent. His hand rested lazily atop the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingertips drumming anxiously against his knee.

His mind had been ticking nonstop since the group had escaped the Center for Disease Control. The explosion had drawn in a massive herd, bigger than any horde Daryl had ever seen before. There hadn’t been time to reconvene, to figure out a different course of action, to make sure —

A soft whimper suddenly drew Daryl’s attention to the passenger seat, his gaze settling on her.

Anna Brooks.

The archer sighed, pulling his eyes away from her sleeping form, focusing back on the road ahead. He rested his elbow against the doorframe, the side of his thumb finding a home nestled between his teeth. He gnawed absently on the side of his thumbnail, his thoughts refusing to settle, his nerves standing on end.

In the midst of all the chaos, during the group’s last ditch effort to escape the impending blast, Daryl hadn’t even realized that Anna was no longer with the group. His jaw clenched, the backs of his teeth gnashing together — how could he not have realized?

He could still feel that pit in his stomach, the feeling of dread that’d shot through him when he’d spotted her climbing out of the CDC after Dale and Andrea. It felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs, leaving him paralyzed, only able to sit and watch as she ran for her life — and there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do about it.

The explosion had drawn in the dead, giving him no time to make sure she was uninjured, to make sure she was okay. He didn’t think, he didn’t hesitate — he just ran back for her, the heat from the blast surging over his exposed flesh as he spotted her trapped beneath an unmoving walker, her hammer lodged in its skull.

Although she’d been disoriented when he’d found her, unsteady and dazed as he’d pulled her to her feet, the most important thing was that she was okay.

So he’d carried Anna’s weakened form back to his truck as she drifted in and out of consciousness. And when Lori emerged from the RV, frantically motioning for him to leave Anna with her and the others before they departed, he blatantly ignored the offer — he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, for some reason. He had to keep an eye on her, had to make sure she kept herself out of trouble. The damn woman had run back into an imploding building — who the hell knows what else she’d do?

No. No, he needed to keep an eye on her. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep her alive. That was what this boiled down to. He didn’t trust anyone else to —

Daryl clenched his jaw, grip tightening around the steering wheel as he forced himself to focus — to get a fucking grip. What the hell had gotten into him? This wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t what he did. Everything had been so simple before — before losing Merle, before the CDC, before he met her. Over the course of the last few days, Anna Brooks had somehow managed to worm her way into the forefronts of his mind, had crawled her way beneath his skin, and now he couldn’t seem to quiet the demanding need to keep her alive.

What the hell had gotten into him?

Daryl still thought about that day back on the road — the day he first met her. She’d seemed so vulnerable, so terrified — cowering beneath Merle’s grasp, his knife pressed against the hollow of her throat, a small trail of blood seeping from her pierced flesh. It wasn’t the first time he’d walked in on Merle tormenting some poor unsuspecting victim — but there’d been something different about her. The moment her big, brown eyes locked with his, he found himself intervening before he could think twice. There hadn’t been a moment of hesitation when he pointed his crossbow at his brother’s head — not even a flinch.

And that is what had freaked him out the most.

He sometimes wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t gotten involved that day. What would’ve happened to Anna? How far would his brother have gone? Merle had been out of control that day — had been for a long time before that too. The drugs hadn’t helped either, instead heightening his already brusque demeanor.

Merle hadn’t cared about anyone or anything — Daryl wasn’t even sure if his brother ever really cared about him. He knew that Merle’s inevitable downfall would happen from his own recklessness, his own actions and choices, and he’d been trying to prepare himself for life without his brother for a long time coming.

But in all the various ways Daryl had pictured his final moments with Merle, what he hadn’t expected was for there to be a brutal fight, a harsh exchanging of words, and an overwhelming swell of guilt vast enough to swallow him whole.

And it all came to a head after that day on the road.

The day he met her.

Daryl stormed through the growing underbrush of vines and leaves, stepping over an exposed root as he pushed forward, driven solely by frustration. He heard a sudden thud behind him, followed by a string of muttered curses, but still pushed forward, ignoring the racket.

“Damn roots be poppin’ up outta nowhere, swear ta’ Christ,” Merle’s gravelly voice echoed from behind.

The archer glanced over his shoulder, spotting Merle kneeling on the forest floor, grunting as he pushed himself back onto his feet. But Daryl didn’t slow his pace, didn’t respond, didn’t offer to help — nothing. He didn’t trust himself not to snap right now, the anger coursing through him growing with each step he took closer to camp, further away from the scared girl with big brown eyes and a beaten down pickup truck.

Daryl gnashed his teeth together, grip tightening around his crossbow. What a shit-fucking-day it had been. He’d volunteered to go hunting, to try and rile up some food for the group waiting back at the quarry. But then Merle had decided to tag along last minute, his brother itching to be out in the wilderness, away from the cautious eyes that watched his every move back at camp.

And it had all gone downhill from there.

Merle’s boisterous persona had done an outstanding job in alerting every living and nonliving thing within a mile of their approach, leaving the pair empty-handed by the end of their long day. Daryl’s frustration had only grown with each hour that passed, the thought of coming home with nothing forming a pit in his gut. The brothers were already on thin ice with the group, one wrong move away from being kicked out on their asses — no thanks to Merle, he might add.

They’d scoured the vast forest, waded through the babbling creek just a few miles from camp, and even checked out a couple cottages and sheds they’d randomly stumbled upon — but there’d been nothing, everything within a five-mile radius seemingly wiped clean.

“Mind slowin’ your roll there, baby bro?” Merle called after him, his voice becoming more and more distant with the increasing space Daryl was putting between them. “Ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be,” he snarked lightly.

Daryl rolled his eyes, although Merle couldn’t see from where he trailed behind him.

“Hey, what’s the fuckin’ dealio?” Merle snapped, his footsteps quickening. “Ya ain’t still pissed at me, are ya?” he pressed, an incredulous laugh booming from deep within his gut. “Aw, c’mon, Darlina —”

“Hey!” Daryl snapped, halting abruptly and turning on his heels, coming face to face with Merle, who’d finally caught up to him. “Ya gonna draw in every walker around if ya don’t shut your damn trap,” he hissed, eyes narrowed into slits, Merle’s jeering expression only angering him further.

“Ah, let ‘em come!” he scoffed, holding his arms out at his sides. “We can take ‘em, you an’ I!” he continued, the volume of his words increasing, echoing throughout the otherwise silent forest.

Daryl huffed a breath, shooting his brother a look of contempt as he turned on his heel and stormed forward, leaving Merle behind once more.

“Hey, what’s got your panties all up in a twist, huh?” Merle mocked, catching up and falling in step beside the archer. “This ain’t ‘bout that skirt from earlier, is it?” he accused tauntingly.

Daryl stiffened, his body going rigid at the mention of the girl from the road, but he refused to give his brother the satisfaction of a response.

Yet somehow, Merle knew he’d struck a chord, a lopsided sneer coming over his face as he nudged Daryl in the ribs with his elbow. “C’mon, is that it?” he teased, snickering softly. “Ya pissed at ol’ Merle for layin’ claim on the bitch ‘fore ya had the chance? Ya see, I knew ya was —”

“I said shut up, Merle!” Daryl suddenly growled, turning to shove his brother to the side, coming to a swift halt. “This ain’t ‘bout the damn girl. It’s ‘bout how ya can’t keep ya damn mouth shut, alright? Ya scared off any decent game we might’ve found out here — an’ now we’re goin’ back ta’ those people with jackshit!” he snarled, standing toe to toe with his brother, fighting off the urge to smack that arrogant look off his face.

“An’?” Merle shot back simply.

Daryl faltered, brows furrowing. “An’ what?”

“An’ that ain’t our problem, brother,” he scowled, some of the humor fading from his expression. “Ain’t our responsibility ta’ make sure those pricks don’t go hungry, am I right?”

Daryl scoffed, his brother’s selfishness not surprising in the slightest. “Ya know, maybe if ya spent a lil’ more time with your head out a’ your ass, we wouldn’t be in this fuckin’ mess ta’ begin with,” he spat, turning on his heel once more.

“My head spends jus’ the right amount a’ time in my ass, thank ya very much.”

“That you or the drugs talkin’? Hard ta’ tell the damn difference these days,” Daryl shot back over his shoulder before pressing forward.

“Yeah, yeah,” Merle called after him, following suit. “It’s medicinal — doctor prescribed an’ all!” he snarked.

Daryl exhaled heavily, prayed for strength, and pushed onward, suddenly hearing the soft murmur of voices growing from the approaching camp. He quickened his pace, hoping to be able to sneak back into his tent before anyone noticed his return. But much to his surprise, when the trees parted and the quarry came into view, he spotted the entire group sitting around the unlit fire pit in hushed conversation, all heads turning his way as he appeared.

Daryl paused, eyeing the group warily, feeling a pinprick of guilt hit him when most of their gazes traveled from his face, down to his empty hands, their hopeful expressions falling. The buzzing conversation quieted, a tangible disappointment spreading throughout the group as they realized that there would be yet another meager meal for dinner that night. The archer clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze slightly, feeling uncomfortable with all the sudden attention on him.

“Y’all miss me?” Merle’s voice suddenly boomed, breaking the quiet. Daryl glanced up at the group once more, noticing how almost everyone began either rolling their eyes or turning their gazes away, one person audibly groaning. Merle let out a low whistle. “Tough fuckin’ crowd,” he murmured as he moved to stand beside the archer.

Daryl watched as Shane leaned over to whisper something in Lori’s ear before he pushed up from his chair beside her and made his way towards the brothers, rubbing a hand roughly through his tousled hair. “Nothin’?” the officer asked softly, placing his hands on his hips, directing his question towards Daryl.

The archer merely shook his head once, readjusting the crossbow slung over his shoulder.

Shane muttered a curse under his breath, staring off into the trees behind the brothers. “Y'all were out there all damn day an’ ya didn’t find nothin’?” he pressed, his expression tense.

“Ya got fuckin’ eyes, don’t ya? What’s it look like?” Merle snapped, taking a small step towards Shane, drawing the man’s attention away from Daryl. “Ya think ya can do any better, how’s ‘bout ya get off your lazy ass an’ get out there yourself, Officer Asswipe,” he bit out challengingly, puffing his chest slightly.

Shane scoffed and for a moment, Daryl thought he was about to start swinging. But instead, he just shot Merle a dirty look and turned away, making his way back to the fire pit where Lori and Carl sat.

Merle suddenly clamped his hand down on Daryl’s shoulder, leaning in close. “Ain’t our responsibility, brother,” he rasped once more, tightening his grip as he lowered his voice further. “Don’t be forgettin’ why we’re here in the first place — why we been playin’ ‘nicey-nice’ with these fine folks all this time,” he whispered darkly.

Daryl glanced at his brother, the dangerous sneer on his face unsettling. Without another word, Merle huffed a laugh, clapped Daryl roughly on the back and pushed past him, making his way towards his own rickety tent.

Daryl watched his brother walk away, feeling the weight of his words spread like fire through his veins — he hadn’t forgotten why they were there. How could he? It’d been the only thing he could think about since they’d joined the group.

Merle had come up with the idea — of course it’d been his idea. And Daryl had just…gone along with it. He hadn’t protested, hadn’t tried to talk him out of it. He hadn’t even put up a fight.

Did that make him just as horrible as his brother? Or worse?

Daryl scanned the camp, his eyes lingering for a moment towards where Carl and Sophia sat, tucked underneath their mother’s sides, eyes wide and innocent as they quietly listened to the resuming chatter. These were decent people — good people. And he and his brother were going to rob them blind come the following night, leaving them defenseless against the looming threat of the dead.

Daryl grimaced.

Worse. It definitely made him worse.

But then suddenly out of nowhere, images of the girl from earlier flashed through his mind and he stilled. He wasn’t sure why or how she’d weaseled her way into the forefronts of his thoughts, but before he knew it, there she was. He could picture the distrust marring her tense expression, the look only fading after he’d proven to her he meant no harm. He saw the light that’d rekindled in her tiresome eyes after he’d successfully fixed her broken-down truck, the way her smile brought life to her whole face. He remembered the way her gaze softened as she thanked him, politely turning down his offer to join the group back at the quarry.

He’d felt like he’d finally done some good, like he’d done something that actually mattered for once in his life.

That was the type of man he was. Not…not this. Not some sorry sack of shit, blindly following his big brother’s destructive footsteps. That wasn’t who he was. And that wasn’t who he was going to be, damn it.

Feeling a new sense of resolve wash over him, Daryl straightened up and marched forward, searching for where his brother had wandered off to. It only took a few seconds before he found his brother lounging in a picnic chair outside his ramshackle tent, sharpening his hunting knife as he whistled softly.

Daryl saw a flash of that same knife being held to the girl’s throat earlier, but quickly pushed the image away, it only fueling his anger.

Merle glanced up at Daryl’s approach, giving him a quick once-over before he focused back on his weapon.

Daryl cleared his throat quietly, scanning the area to make sure there were no wandering eyes, no potential eavesdroppers. “Hey, we need ta’ talk,” he murmured lowly.

“So, talk,” Merle shot back gruffly, taking a moment to observe the knife’s sharpened edge, using his thumbnail to test the blade.

Daryl huffed a breath, growing more and more impatient towards his brother’s indifferent attitude. He quickly surveyed the campgrounds once more, double checking that this would be a private conversation. When the coast seemed clear, the archer crouched down in front of Merle. “Shit don’t feel right, man,” he rumbled, giving his brother a pointed look.

Merle suddenly scoffed, the corner of his mouth raising into a smirk. “That kinda sounds like a ‘you’ sorta problem, don’t ya think?”

“Nah, ya ain’t listenin’ ta’ me,” Daryl growled, his frustration mounting as he shot up to his feet. “We can’t do this — it ain’t right. They’ve — they’ve got kids here, ya know?” he pressed quietly, urging his brother to see reason.

But Merle simply stiffened, tucking his blade back into the holster of his jeans, regarding Daryl silently for a long moment. “So?” he finally rasped, face set in a stony expression as he folded his hands in front of him.

“So?” Daryl shot back incredulously.

“Ain’t on us if those lil’ shits starve, now is it?” Merle shrugged carelessly, no trace of humor in his gaze anymore. “We ain’t their daddies, are we?”

Daryl faltered, his response not entirely surprising but it did little to soothe his ever-present hostility.

“Don’t matter none,” Merle continued when Daryl remained silent, a hint of a sneer creeping across his face. “Ain’t like those Rugrats gonna last long enough ta’ starve ta’ death anyways,” he jeered, leaning coolly back in his chair, shrugging nonchalantly.

And Daryl had heard enough. Talking his brother out of an idea was like talking to a brick-fucking-wall. Merle could do whatever the hell he wanted — Daryl would have no part in it. So instead of playing into his brother’s antics and giving him the reaction he was poking for, Daryl turned on his heel and stormed away, muttering harshly beneath his breath.

But he’d only made it a few feet before Merle’s rasping voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Ya got somethin’ ta’ say ta’ me, ya best be sayin’ it ta’ my face, lil’ brother,” he suddenly hollered and Daryl could hear the growing impatience in his voice. It was then that he realized that his brother’s shout had silenced every other conversation spread out amongst the camp, all eyes suddenly ping-ponging between the two brothers apprehensively.

Daryl clenched his jaw, turning around to find his brother now standing upright, his arms held out at his sides, clearly attempting to provoke him. But the younger brother remained steadfast, biting his tongue as he shot his brother a dark look.

“It seems ta’ me ya got an awful lot ta’ say, so why don’t ya go on an’ share with these fine folks,” Merle continued, egging him on, the sudden attention only stroking his massive ego as he turned to address the entire group, as if putting on a show. “My baby brother ain’t a man a’ many words — I’m sure y’all have caught on by now,” he placed a hand mockingly over his heart. “But my oh my, sure looks like there’s jus’ somethin’ real important an’ all that he needs ta’ get off his chest. Somethin’ he’s jus’ dyin’ ta’ share with y’all,” he finished boldly, motioning for Daryl to take over, his eyes challenging. “So, c’mon then, brother. Share with the class.”

Daryl’s gaze narrowed, feeling his blood begin to boil as he shot daggers in Merle’s direction, moments away from losing his composure.

“Let’s jus’ take it easy, alright?” Shane suddenly intervened, coming to stand between the brothers, holding his hands out. “Let’s jus’ be adults here, now,” he hissed quietly, giving each a stern look. “No need for this.”

“That’s right, Officer,” Merle quirked a brow. “That is exactly right,” he rasped, his words holding a heavier meaning as he leveled Daryl’s stare coldly.

“Alright boys, put your rulers away,” Lori suddenly chastised, coming to stand beside Shane, arms crossed over her chest, expression stern. “You’re scarin’ the children, now. Let’s just — let’s just start gettin’ dinner ready, alright?” she urged softly, hoping the brothers would hear reason and stand down.

But when neither of them spoke, each brother glaring at the other, eyes alight in some sort of silent struggle for power. “Enough,” Shane interjected once more, the tension radiating off the brother’s affecting the group as a whole. “I ain’t gonna ask either of ya again —”

“Alright, alright, relax cowboy,” Merle finally scoffed, waving Shane away. “Put a cork in it. We’ll play nice. No need ta’ get all dramatic, now.”

Shane shot Merle a dangerous look before he shook his head, running a hand over his face as he grabbed Lori’s elbow and gently pulled her away. Daryl remained unmoving, chest heaving as he waited for his brother to move first.

Merle whistled lowly, slowly turning on his heels, seeming like he was finally standing down. But then suddenly, he glanced at Daryl from over his shoulder, snickering softly. “Hey, ya think Officer Dickweed’ll let me borrow his handcuffs sometime? Jus’ in case I run into that piece a’ ass from earlier, ya know? I’d like ta’ be a lil’ more prepared next time,” he murmured lowly, an unsettling gleam in his eye.

And Daryl saw red.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself suddenly throwing his crossbow to the ground and launching himself at Merle, tackling his brother roughly to the ground. He heard vague shouts echoing from around him, could feel someone tugging on the back of his shirt, but all he could focus on was Merle’s taunting expression.

He was able to throw in one solid punch, feeling a swell of satisfaction as Merle’s head snapped to the side before he was yanked off his brother and hauled backward. Daryl struggled against the restraint, watching as Merle was pulled to his feet, Shane and Morales fighting to hold him back as well.

“Daryl, stop!” Glenn’s voice suddenly broke through the noise. “Just relax!” he urged, grunting as he and T-Dog struggled to hold the archer at bay.

“— let go a’ me, damn it!” Merle growled, his face twisted as he tried to wriggle free.

“Enough!”

“Break it up!”

“Shane —”

“Ain’t none a’ this concern none a’ y’all!” Merle snarled, still fighting against Shane and Morales, his eyes zeroed in on Daryl. “This between me an’ him,” he growled, jabbing a finger in the archer’s direction. “C’mon, Darlina — how’s about we settle this like men?”

“‘Well, what a’ sorry fuckin’ excuse for a ‘man’ ya are, then! Ya do nothin’ but shit for this group!” Daryl snarled back, all of his pent up rage spewing out of him. “Could’a done somethin’ useful today — but instead I find ya out there gettin’ high an’ doin’ some stupid shit ta’ an innocent girl, actin’ like a damn prick! Ya ain’t nothin’ but nothin’, Merle! Do ya get that by now? Huh?”

Merle movements stilled as he regarded his brother threateningly. “Ya best watch your mouth, boy,” he rasped darkly, his eyes narrowed as Shane and Morales slowly released him, still keeping him at arm's length. “Don’t be forgettin’ who you’re talkin’ ta’, now. Don’t be forgettin’ whose blood ya got runnin’ through ya. Ya don’t wanna go on an’ piss off the only family ya got left, the only family who ever watched out for ya an’ stood up for your pathetic punk ass!” he growled, the anger in his words growing.

Daryl scoffed, yanking out of Glenn and T-Dog’s grasp before marching over to where he’d thrown his crossbow down. He grabbed his weapon, ignoring the heavy silence that’d settled over the camp as he regarded his brother once more, feeling nothing but contempt. “Ya jus’ a fuckin’ waste a’ space,” he spat between heaving breaths, slinging his bow over his shoulder, the words feeling bitter on his tongue yet he couldn’t stop them from slipping through his lips. “A good-for-nothin’ addict — jus’ like dad.”

Daryl ignored the subtle flash of hurt that snaked its way across Merle’s face before his expression hardened. No one spoke, all eyes suddenly trained on him as the two brothers stared each other down once more.

Then, without another word, Daryl turned on his heels, shoved away the mounting swell of guilt that suddenly hit him, and stormed back into the darkened forest.

Daryl jolted back to reality, a metallic taste suddenly seeping across his tongue. He quickly pulled his thumb away from his teeth, noticing the blood now trickling down the side of his thumbnail. He sighed, wiping the blood away on his jeans as he focused back on the road.

Those were the last words he ever said to his brother. He hadn’t expected that fight to happen, hadn’t expected for those insults to come from his mouth, but Merle had always had a way of pushing him — and Daryl finally snapped.

But now his brother was gone and he’d never get the chance to mend things. His punishment for what he’d said was to wallow in the guilt that’d stay with him for the rest of his life — however short he had left, at least.

Another whimper drew his attention back to Anna and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her brow was creased, lips turned down into a slight pout, eyes shut tight and crinkled around the edges. Sleep brought her no peace — she still looked just as weary, just as troubled, as she did when she was awake.

Daryl fought back the urge to reach out and wake her.

He sighed softly, forcing his eyes back on the road, away from the girl sleeping beside him.

When Daryl had found out what happened in Atlanta, that Merle had been left behind, handcuffed to the roof like a fucking animal, his first instinct was to lash out. That always seemed to be his first instinct for some reason. But he’d gone back for his brother — he’d made the trek back to that dead-ridden city to save him and what did his brother do? He cut off his own fucking hand instead.

Dumbass.

If Merle had just waited a little while longer, if he hadn’t been so damn impulsive —

Daryl grimaced. He’d seen some nasty shit in his life — but seeing his brother’s sawed-off, cold, limp, stump of a hand laying on that roof…well, that had to take the cake.

His stomach churned just thinking about it.

Still, his brother was tough — toughest son of a bitch Daryl had ever known. And he knew that Merle would never just roll over and give up…so the archer did what he did best and he tracked his ass.

And that had been a dead-fucking-end.

The only thing Daryl was sure of was that Merle had somehow made it out of the city alive. He had to have been the one who stole the truck that he, Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog had driven down to the railroad. It had to be him.

So now, Daryl was left to live with the unknown — the fate of his brother was something he’d wonder about until the day he died. Maybe Merle had succumbed to the effects of his injury, crashed the truck, and bled out somewhere on the road. Maybe he found his way back to the quarry and realized that the entire group had upped and left him, that his own brother had upped and left him. Maybe he’d made it somewhere safe, found a new shelter, a new group of people to take him in.

Daryl scoffed under his breath. Merle had a better shot of winning the fucking lottery than he did finding a group of people who’d put up with his bullshit.

Just because you gave up on your brother, doesn’t mean I’m giving up on mine.

His grip tightened around the steering wheel as Anna’s words echoed through his thoughts, their argument from last night settling like a pit in his stomach.

A fresh wave of fury washed over him as he remembered Anna’s desperate shouts, Shane’s greedy advances, and the blistering red heat that’d coursed through him when he came out of his room and saw her pinned up against that wall.

He could’ve killed Shane right then and there.

Daryl’s eyes darted up to the rearview mirror, spotting Shane driving his Jeep directly behind him in the caravan of vehicles, the man’s face twisted with tension, eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead. But he must’ve felt the archer’s gaze on him because suddenly, his eyes flashed up to meet Daryl’s in the rearview mirror. The two held one another’s stare for a long moment before Shane finally looked away, letting his arm dangle outside the open window of his Jeep, his fingertips drumming against the door.

He should’ve killed Shane right then and there.

Anna shifted in the passenger seat, curling inwardly, arms wrapped around her middle as she tried to find comfort against the glass window she leaned against. After a moment, she sighed softly, her even breathing resuming as she settled against the door.

Daryl let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He was hoping Rick would pull the RV over sooner rather than later for the group to reconvene, giving him a chance to escape the small confines of the car and the inevitable tension when Anna finally woke up. She’d tried to talk to him about what happened between them back at the CDC, but it hadn’t been the right time — it never seemed to be the right time.

So he’d brushed her off — but not for the reasons she probably thought.

As memories from the night before swarmed his vision, something suddenly made itself startlingly clear. The truth was, she’d been right — he had given up on his brother.

But not her — he hadn’t given up on her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N : Season 2 has begun!

We got to see a little flashback about that brutal fight Daryl and Merle got into, part of what has been fueling his hostility. As well as some of his conflicting thoughts. What’d you guys think of this chapter?

Next chapter will also be from Daryl’s POV -- we’ll be seeing a flashback of the night before and what exactly happened to Daryl after his and Anna’s argument. And then we will be switching back to dear Anna’s side of things.

I’m excited for what’s to come. Thank you to those who’ve stuck with me. I appreciate you all so so so much. If anyone is lost or has any questions, feel free to shoot me a message!

QUESTION OF THE WEEK: 1. Are you still interested in me continuing this story? I understand if not because it’s been so long and I, myself, couldn’t even remember everything that’s happened. 2. Was Daryl right in what he said to Merle? Who’s side are you on?

Feedback is INCREDIBLY important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or message or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Let’s discuss and be friends!

If you want to be notified when I post again, let me know and I’ll add you to my tag list!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOREVER TAG LIST

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myriadimagines · 5 years

Text

Glorified Babysitter

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Napoleon Solo

Other Characters: —

Warnings: swearing

Requester: anonymous

Request: “Hi there Sam! I love your writing so I’d like to request a Napoleon Solo x Reader one shot where the reader is a CIA agent whose sent to essentially keep an eye on him. He doesn’t trust you at first and when he confronts you about it, you’re hurt bc you genuinely had feelings for him. He realizes his error(and his feelings) and goes after you later that day and takes you on an evening walk and confesses. Super fluffy ending! Thanks lovely!”

Word Count: 1,898

A/N: oof it’s been ages since i wrote for tmfu but thank you so so much!!! i am...... not the biggest fan of the structure but i hope you like it!!!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

Napoleon perks up upon hearing someone unlocking his hotel room, and he reaches for his gun on the desk as he hears the doorknob creaking open. Quickly lifting his arm as the door swings open, he lowers his gun as you step inside, hands raised above your head as you offer him a curt smile. Placing his gun down, he nods at you as he gestures for you to take a seat beside him. Clearing your throat, you outstretch your hand as you approach him, introducing, “Agent Solo, I’m-”

“Please, no need for the formalities, Napoleon is fine.” Napoleon waves his hand as you take a seat. He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowed as he smiles at you, assessing you as his gaze wanders over you. “And I know who you are, Agent y/n. You’re the glorified babysitter that I already told the CIA I don’t need.”

“Glorified babysitter? Wow, thanks.” you repeat, rolling your eyes. Leaning closer to him, you snap, “Hate to break it to you, Napoleon, but the CIA doesn’t care what you want. It’s not like I want to be here supervising you, either.”

Napoleon chuckles, clapping his hands together. “Good to know we’re on the same page about this.”

You frown, sinking deeper into your armchair as Napoleon gets to his feet, checking his gun again before tucking it into his waistband. You watch as he puts on a jacket dangling from the edge of his bed, and he smooths down the collar before flashing you a charming smile. “Well, I’m off. Why don’t you just wait here until I get back?”

“Sorry, Solo,” you get to your feet, and you can see Napoleon’s eyebrows shoot up as you approach him. A suggestive smile creeps onto his face as your hand slides down his chest towards his back before you snatch his gun from him, taking it for yourself as you shrug. Patting his shoulder, you continue, “You don’t get to be solo anymore.”

Napoleon rolls his eyes as you make your way out of the hotel room. Under his breath, he sarcastically mutters, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

—

Napoleon frowns as he watches you looking over the files and photographs he has laid out on the hotel room desk. His mission is proving to be longer than expected, and it feels even longer having you constantly looking over his shoulder at every move, listening intently to his every word as if you’re going to use it against him. It’s almost been two weeks since you had been assigned to him, two weeks of arduous torture of having you practically attached to him. He has to put up with your silent judgement, a raised eyebrow here, a quiet scoff there. He knows his every decision is being recorded by you to report back to the CIA, and Napoleon has never had to overthink so much in his entire life.

Not only does he have to be careful not to do anything that could potentially piss the CIA off, but he also has to deal with his mistrust of you.

Napoleon learned not to trust anybody from a young age. It came with the job, he supposes, as both a thief and a CIA spy. Trusting someone was a risk — it was practically an invitation for things to go wrong. Napoleon always worked alone, as he knew he was the only person he could trust.

And having a new partner who triggers almost every alarm in his head was making things complicated.

Reaching over to snatch the files off his desk and shoving them into a manila folder, Napoleon pointedly stuffs them in his briefcase which he situates by his bedside, raising an eyebrow at you as you frown at him. “Hey, I was looking over those.”

“Thank you,” Napoleon responds sarcastically. “But I don’t need your help.”

“Look, I’m not going away.” you roll your eyes. “So we might as well work together.”

Napoleon shrugs. “I don’t work with people I don’t trust.”

—

Being assigned to an agent that the CIA didn’t trust wasn’t exactly the type of fieldwork you’re interested in doing. But, as a rookie agent, you’re desperate to prove something, desperate to make an impression, so you’re willing to take any job they assigned you, including this one. You had read up on Napoleon’s files one week before flying out to meet him, getting to know every single detail of him you needed to know. His files were impressive, you had to admit, and he seemed like the perfect agent to learn a thing or two from.

When you first met Napoleon, the first thing you could think of was how his pictures truly didn’t do him justice. It took every nerve in your body not to react too noticeably when you saw him, took every ounce of power within you to stay calm and try not to appear too flustered, despite the fact that you were almost certain your fiery red cheeks gave you away.

It was easy to banter with Napoleon. His sarcasm and charm made him an easy person to hold a conversation with, and you found yourself falling for him more and more with each day. Your heart would flutter in his chest each time he smiled at you, every time he laughed at your silly jokes, and it didn’t help that you were forced to practically attach yourself to his hip. The CIA expected extensive reports from you, and you were determined not to screw it up.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining about having to spend more time with Napoleon, anyway.

However, despite your blossoming feelings, you couldn’t help but have reservations. Despite all the jokes, there were times you could see Napoleon looking at you from the corner of his eye, watching you almost as intensely as you watched him, as if he were trying to catch you doing something suspicious. He never truly opened up to you, never revealed that much to you even when you would try and pry at him every now and then, tried to have a personal conversation with him rather than a bland one about his mission.

Like now, how he grabs his papers away from you as if he’s hiding something from you, not wanting to share something with you even though you’re not the enemy. You can feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as you protest, your chest tightening as he gives you a condescending look that you can’t quite place, and his cruel words almost knock the air out of you as he casually shrugs, “I don’t work with people I don’t trust.”

You gulp, eyes stinging with tears as you struggle to maintain composure. You take a few shaky breaths, your bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. You’re being stupid, you think, letting this stupid man hurt you with his words, but they do hurt. They hurt.

“Thanks, asshole.” you spit, and Napoleon’s eyes narrow. He can see the anger, the frustration, but there’s something else in your expression that he wasn’t predicting. The pain. The type of pain that accompanies heartbreak. His eyes widen as he opens his mouth, quickly wanting to apologize, but you continue, “I just wanted to help.”

Before Napoleon can stop you, you storm out of the room, slamming the door behind you and leaving Napoleon to dwell in his mistakes. He lets out a loud groan, running his hands through his hair as paces up and down the room. Shaking his head, he grabs his coat before running after you, muttering under his breath, “Shit.”

The elevator takes forever to take him downstairs into the lobby, and he glances around the bustling room before catching sight of you exiting the front doors. He jogs after you, immediately hit with the cool evening breeze as he steps outside. You make a sharp turn onto the nearby street, heading for the river that stretches beside the hotel and through the city. Your shoulders are stiff, your steps quick, and Napoleon struggles to catch up with you as he weaves in between the tourists blocking him before he calls out, “y/n!”

He can see you pause. You hurriedly wipe away any residual tears before turning around to face him as he walks up beside you. Your expression is drawn, guarded, as you snap, “What, are you here to tell me all the reasons why you don’t trust me?”

“No.” Napoleon shoots you a look. He glances out to the river, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he remarks, “It’s a beautiful evening.”

He gestures for you to walk, and you reluctantly walk with him as the two of you stroll by the river, looking out at the glistening city lights reflected in the dark water. The waves are gentle, the sound of water lapping against the edges of the canal soothing and calm as the two of you continue to walk in silence.

“I’m sorry. I just… I have a hard time trusting people.” Napoleon finally speaks up. He presses his lips together in a flat line, unsure of how to decipher the revelation that is slowly coming to him, the revelation that perhaps his trust issues weren’t the problem — perhaps he was mistaking his feelings for you as trust issues, unsure of how else to deal with them. He had never gotten along with someone as well as he did with you, had never been able to have such easygoing conversations and you were the only person who had managed to get so many smiles out of him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You can trust me.” You look up at him. A hint of a teasing smile appears on your face, and you quietly joke, “I’m more than a glorified babysitter, you know.”

Napoleon returns your look, a soft smile appearing on his face as he chuckles. “I know that now.”

“I really like you.” you suddenly blurt, unable to hide the truth anymore, and Napoleon smiles, pleasantly surprised as you awkwardly shift your feet. “And I just- it means a lot having you trust me.”

“Despite the fact that I wasn’t very good at showing it, I really like you too.” Napoleon finally comes to terms with his feelings, and you blink at him in surprise. “Even though you called me an asshole.”

“I mean,” you mutter under your breath, but just loud enough for Napoleon to hear. “You deserved it.”

Napoleon laughs, and you can’t help but chuckle as the two of you continue to walk a bit further, your arms brushing as a smile slowly returns to your face. Napoleon can’t help but smile to himself too, seeing your anger slowly dissipate as you look out to the river, hoping to hide your growing smile from him. Napoleon suddenly notices you shivering ever so slightly, and he doesn’t hesitate to quickly whip off his coat, draping it over your shoulder as you flash him a grateful smile. Awkwardly running your hands through your hair, you point out, “We should, um, probably get back, huh? Keep working the mission?”

“Ah, the mission can wait.” Napoleon waves his hand, eyes sparkling as he leans closer to you. “I happen to know a very good restaurant nearby, and I think we ought to get dinner together.”

tag list: @melody-of-scream

#tmfu imagine #napoleon solo imagine #reader x napoleon solo #napoleon solo x reader #tmfu #tmfu one shot #napoleon solo #napoleon solo one shot #imagine #imagines #reader insert #one shot #oneshot

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heisenbergchronicles · 6 years

Photo

APPRECIATION & INTERVIEW

Better Call Saul episode posters by Matt Talbot After 4 nearly years, I thought it was time to catch up with Matt Talbot about his Better Call Saul poster project. The last time we talked during Season 1, Matt was deep in the hustle of making his name as an illustrator: juggling a full-time job, freelance projects, as well as band. Finding time for personal projects like this one can be a significant challenge. (Not to mention surviving the death of your tools: During Season 1 his Mac laptop died, and this season, his Wacom tablet bit the bullet). But despite these challenges, the 43-year-old New Hampshire native has persevered to create a clever and thoughtful series of episode posters that has garnered considerable attention, and brought with it new high-profile clients and art exhibitions.

First, congratulations on all of your success and recognition with this series of posters. It’s well-deserved. What’s been the most gratifying feedback you’ve received? Thank you! Every interaction I’ve had with anyone from the show has delighted me. I've been surprised by all of the cast and crew members who have said nice things – every note I’ve gotten has meant a lot to me. That being said, Michael McKean randomly tweeting at me that he has my poster for Chicanery hanging in his home blew my mind. I was eating dinner when my phone showed the notification and I literally jumped up from the table. I’ve been a fan of Michael’s since I saw Spinal Tap in the ‘80s and never in a million years would I have guessed I’d make something he valued enough to hang in his home.

Tell me about your contributions to Gallery1988 exhibitions. How does that process work? It's a pretty simple process. They invite me to be part of a show, and I make something to send them. I’m very excited for the opportunity to show there, and I feel like it’s a milestone in my art-making career.

Across the 4 seasons, which BCS posters are your favorites? Which one are you most proud of? I’m particularly fond of Rebecca, Rico, Marco, Switch, Sunk Costs and Something Beautiful. Oh man, it's hard for me to evaluate my own stuff. I tend to like the posters where I find a way to get a different take on something they did in the episode. I would say that “Sunk Costs” is also one of my favorites because I did something differently than how they shot it, and because Mike is so recognizable even from the back. I was also pleased with “Off Brand” because it was when I finally figured out how to draw Bob Odenkirk.

How has your process for creating these posters evolved over 4 seasons? When I started this project I had a vague idea that I would focus on scenes rather than portraits or likenesses, but that didn’t even last half a season! The characters were too good not to include. In that way, the posters have evolved in my willingness to draw characters, and also, hopefully, my ability to draw them.

My process is now something like: Watch the show on Monday; think about it on Tuesday, figure out what stood out to me and do a thumbnail sketch or two; draw it on Wednesday night; post it Thursday afternoon. I’m a bit faster at drawing these now compared to when I started. And I’m a bit more decisive on choosing which subject matter to depict.

There have been quite a few changes on the visual side of Better Call Saul over the last 2 seasons. New directors (Minkie Spiro, Daniel Sackheim, and Andrew Stanton), a new cinematographer Marshall Adams, even new cameras. What are your thoughts on how the show’s visual grammar has evolved? Has any of this impacted your posters from Seasons 3 & 4? I try not to just redraw literal scenes from the show, and I don’t need to tell you that they shoot the show in an incredibly beautiful way. I mean, they always, always, pick the best angle, the best shot to capture something. For that reason, it’s sometimes hard to to come up with another take on a moment from the show.

That being said, the visual style hasn’t really impacted my posters as much as the evolving subject matter has. The show, I think, is substantially darker than it was in the early going. It was easier to depict Jimmy’s hi-jinx in the first couple seasons. But with Chuck’s deteriorating mental state, the cartel stuff, Mike going deeper into Fring’s world and of course, Jimmy’s loosening sense of morals, the funny moments are harder to spot. That’s lead me to some more somber layouts and color choices.

We didn’t discuss this in our first interview. Which typeface are you using in your posters, or is this custom typography? The main logo and episode titles are set in Sign Painter, from the excellent House Industries.

The Heisenverse is known for it’s color theory and use of color. How has that impacted your color choices in these posters? I’ve kind of adhered to their blue=good/red=bad symbolism, but I also try to balance out colors between episodes and not repeat myself in sequential posters.

Many of your posters (especially ones this season) use a monochromatic, or simple palette of 1-2 colors. Tell me more about why you chose that approach. Is this a signature of your style? I’ve seen this approach in a lot of your work. You know, in the early seasons, I was trying to use simpler color palettes, but I wasn’t very disciplined and I got away from that. I’m trying to stick to a more consistent style in season 4. It is a conscious decision. I also feel like with the week-to-week nature of this project, it helps quickly set apart each poster. And, I really do love limited color palettes. Giving myself color constraints helps me figure out different ways to solve layout problems.

I’ve heard other illustrators say that Bob Odenkirk’s facial features are tricky to capture. Do you share that sentiment? Which characters are more challenging to illustrate? I do agree with that. I had a really hard time with him at first. I kind of think I have a better handle on it now, but I’m always trying to get better. I feel like if you can get his mouth right, it goes a long way.

I found Hector hard to capture both times I drew him. Mike, on the other hand, is just pure fun to draw. Jonathan Banks is so distinctive and iconic.

What’s been the most difficult poster thus far? Why was it challenging? Maybe it’s because a lot of time has gone by, but I can't think of one that stands out as having been really difficult.

Francesco Francavilla did alternate posters for some of his Breaking Bad posters. Inevitably, when artists look back at their work, they consider revising or redoing it because of a variety of reasons – their point of view has changed, their skill/style has evolved, or maybe they were never truly content with the final product. Looking back at 4 seasons worth of posters, are there any that make you want to scratch the revision itch? Yeah, more than I would care to admit. I would really like another crack at Amarillo. I know I could do a better job and that drawing is just super flat. In season two, I decided to to experiment with style and I kind of wish I hadn't. I like Cobbler, but I wish I had drawn it in my normal style. I would redraw Nailed for sure. Oh man, if I start going down this road it's not going to end well, so I'll just stop.

You mentioned earlier this season you were excited to draw Track Suit Jimmy. Who or what haven’t you drawn, that you are eager to illustrate? Howard! It bums me out to no end that I haven't drawn him, but it just hasn't worked out. And I need to include Kim more. It's kind of criminal that her face only appeared for the first time in a poster this season.

What’s your opinion of Season 4? Tell me about your favorites – episode, scene, character. I think season 4 is brilliant so far. The Kim/Jimmy relationship has deepened so much this season, and feels so real, but full of inevitable heartache. Oh, the flash-forward to Breaking Bad’s timeline was amazing. Mike doing his audit in the Madrigal warehouse. Really, anything Michael Mando does on screen. It's hard to pick. I so enjoy the deliberate pace of this show.

Where’s your favorite place to discuss the show? I honestly don’t talk about it too much online, though I lurk in a few places and read a lot. I actually discuss it mostly with my wife!

I know you get this question a lot, so let’s cover it here so folks understand: Do you have plans to sell any of this work online? I really appreciate that people like it enough to want to buy it or hang it, but I don't plan to sell the Better Call Saul posters online. I’m doing this for fun, not to make a buck off the show, and I don’t own the rights to sell it anyway.

What’s next for Matt? Do you have any other poster or illustration projects in the works? Is you band performing soon? I have several more pieces for Gallery1988 shows coming up. I’m pulling together an art show at a local brewery for whom I design all of their labels and stuff. I’m patiently waiting for a t-shirt I designed for one of my all-time favorite movies to be announced. And for the past several Octobers, I spent the month drawing a horror poster per day. I’m not sure if logistically I can do that again this year, but I’ll probably fit at least a few in. We’ll see how it goes. Sadly, with all of my illustration work, I haven’t had any time for music making, but someday I hope to get back to that!

Follow Matt: Web site / Tumblr / Twitter / Dribbble / Instagram / PosterSpy

– Interview by Shayne Bowman, Heisenberg Chronicles

#better call saul #artist interview #matt talbot #mine #heisenberg chronicles #illustration #fan art #posters #favorites #mattrobot #bcs season 4 #gallery1988 #g1988 #house industries #sign painter

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