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duskholland · 3 years

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Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date. or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact. a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3 +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot.

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

“Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. “I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too… Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland smut #y/n #self insert #smut #mob!tomfic

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onebizarrekai · 4 years

Text

v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

#god I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop rambling about v3 #v3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #random stuff #but making this… it sounded so fun #danganronpa

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hychlorions · 2 years

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How did you start drawing, and do you have any tips or tricks you could share please? Here I have Klavier Gavin with me: achtung ja baby ja ja this is klavier gavin you should help this anon out ja

oh mein gott monsieur klavier gavin i am SUCH a big fan!!!!!!!

jokes aside, i'd be happy to help! (regardless of you having klavier or not lmao) i'm gonna put this under the cut just in case it gets too long

i started drawing... mostly because i hung out with anime kids, so subsequently they were art kids as well, but i really only started taking it seriously when i got a good pen tablet lmao. i wasn't very good though, i mostly followed tutorials from books and online, and if you saw my art back then it would just be a lot of whales, dragons and ponies in the same poses every time

idk if i have any specific tips or tricks ? since idk what you're going for with your own art so i won't be able to give very concrete advice or how-to's n stuff like that ? but if i had to say anything, try looking into doing gesture drawings! they help improve how you understand poses, how to exaggerate them, just overall something quick u can do daily to improve lmao. i mostly just look up poses on pinterest then try to get the flow of them. i just got started on em so inevitably i'm still kinda bad at it but here are a few just to give a quick example

an important thing to note is that u get more fluid poses when you find a line of action first. i used to be really confused when trying to go about finding them, but then my prof defined it as "the longest line of a pose," and even said it's not always the spine (as most people would think). sometimes it's the line from an arm to a leg, or a leg to a leg, even. it helps to draw a circle for the head as well. u could even draw all the lines of the limbs if you want then simplify from there

another tip is to keep reference boards of art u like! dissect how they color, how they portray depth and different angles of the face, etc. just know when to draw the line between picking out things you like about art styles you see and straight up trying to draw exactly like that one artist. i keep a reference board of how artists i like draw klavier, for example, because i want him to have the same jawline maybe, or i like how they color, but i never try to draw him just like they would. tldr the way i draw is just me frankensteining artists i like and combining them with my own art style, and it's not something i'm ashamed of, bc people can still tell it's me, and it's not like i'm copying their ideas or tracing their art lol

related to the last one: download pureref lmao it's literally free and a lifesaver. it makes it so much easier to put collages together and everything is so customizable AND u can even make notes on it. it sits on top of all your applications, and you can move it around, make it as big or as small as you want, and even change the opacity of it??? if you've seen this post, i fr just threw the images together last-minute and took screenshots to add to the ask. if you work on ipad and you're willing to spend a little extra money (because procreate's reference thingy can only hold one image at a time n i don't feel like making a new photo every time i want to add something to my reference board) then vizref is like four dollars and it's almost the same

that's probably all i can offer you ? if you want an arsenal of tips n tricks for art, i always go to @/artist-refs if i'm looking for something specific. the tagging system there is just. amazingly organized, and they even have writing resources too. they haven't been active in a while but it's still a huge archive of resources regardless lol

#ask #anonymous #sorry this took so long to answer i was playing ace attorney with my friends lmao #also yeah this got a bit long . sorry i can't help but ramble whenever people ask me things

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

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I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

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Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

-------------

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #if Alice was a real person her picture would be on Hermann's dartboard #it probably is anyway #Anonymous

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walkerwords · 3 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 23 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You were right in Alpha seeking revenge for crossing into their lands and now swarms of Walkers are arriving at the gates of Alexandria. Still trying to deal with the emotions in your own mind, you are tasked with supervising Aaron and Negan who are to work together. What happens when the three of you get stuck over night in a cabin together and what is Carol thinking?

Word Count: 6061

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “My Blood” by twenty one pilots

Note: This one takes place in ep 3 of season 10 called “Ghosts”. In this chapter, we get a better look at the reader’s life before the end of the Savior war and especially what they knew about Carl and the letter he left for Negan.

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A cataclysmic event.

That was what you witnessed when they dropped fire on Atlanta. Everything was burning and the air was thick with the smell of hot metal and melting tar. You could still remember the way your skin felt as you ran through the street, trying to flee from the destruction.

That was the first night you finally saw a Walker up close. You had seen them on the TV and images that flashed on public monitors in the heart of the city, but never had one been mere feet away. It moved towards you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. You wanted to run, to scream, but you just stood there, watching.

You could hear the commotion behind you as people ran for their lives, but nothing could distract you from the Dead man in front of you. Fresh blood dripped from its mouth as it reached for you. Stumbling back, you couldn’t think to do anything else but examine how something as beautiful as a human being had become...this.

A shot came from a nearby convoy as the military tore through the rubble-filled streets, ending the Walker once and for all. They didn’t stop to ask if you were okay and they didn’t yell at you to run, they just kept going and you were alone again.

As you stared down at the man that once was, you couldn’t stop the thoughts that ran through your head that said, “Perhaps this is next for all of us. Perhaps this is what is meant to happen.”

That thought followed you all the way from the city and into the hills where you eventually met Carl Grimes and it had never truly left you.

Even now as you watched Walkers approach your home in waves, those two little sentences were buzzing in the back of your mind, trying to make themselves known. However, just as you had for about a decade now, you shoved them away and picked up your weapon.

The number of Walkers that fell upon Alexandria was something that you hadn’t seen in years. Being so far from the cities, it was rare to find massive hordes right near the communities or even groups of more than ten or fifteen. However, now there were groups of ten or twenty every time you turned around and you knew why.

Alpha was pissed.

You had tried to warn them when they went over her borders, but of course, nobody batted an eye when you spoke up.

You couldn’t understand how one day your thoughts mattered and the next, they went clear over everyone’s heads. You knew you weren’t in charge, that didn’t both you. What did bother you was that your people had begun to question you, rather than relying on your council. You started to notice it after the blizzard and then even more so as your relationship with Negan furthered.

While you still held a position of respect within Alexandria, you knew that you were looked at differently because of Negan, but you didn’t hold an ounce of resentment towards the man that you loved. Negan was the most important part of your life now and if that meant that nobody looked to you anymore, that was something that would have to get used to.

Especially in moments when you were the only one dealing with the Dead.

Aaron and the others had arrived home in the early hours of the morning, desperate to get their children home safely and when they saw you on watch, they had avoided your eyes immediately. You knew why they crossed over, but if you had had it your way, you would have been glad to watch the world burn.

There had been a discussion, well rather an argument, earlier as more waves of Walkers approached. Lydia had been present in the meeting hall when Daryl had begun questioning her.

You had stayed in the back, ready to jump in to defend her if necessary, but she was handling it well. Lydia had explained that she didn’t think the Walkers were from her mother and that Alpha would have sent a horde. You weren’t so sure about that.

You knew fear tactics and this was textbook.

Then there was the fact that Alpha now wanted to speak to Michonne and Daryl. You hadn’t even volunteered to go with them to the South border because you knew they would shut you down. However, you didn’t mention that bringing Carol was just as much of a risk. While you were pissed and wanting blood, Carol’s vendetta was even more personal.

Once some of the Highwaymen began throwing insults at Lydia, you took her out of the room and let Daryl deal with them. The last thing she needed was more venom thrown at her and you weren’t going to have her stand by and be spit on.

Instead, you began to help clear out the Walkers again while you thought about what to do about her mother. While you didn’t agree with accepting Alpha’s terms and her borders, antagonizing her was the last thing you wanted to do.

If you were going to take her out, you wanted to do it when she didn’t expect it. You didn’t want a firefight or a clashing of swords, you just wanted her and Beta dead. It was that simple. Though, like most things in the fucked up world known as the apocalypse, nothing was ever truly simple.

Negan was not too far away from you, helping to load the corpses into the wagons. You were keeping an eye on him as he worked, but you kept finding yourself distracted as the day wore on. Especially by one memory in particular…

--------

Months Earlier…

“This is either a trick or you pulled some huge strings on the puppet masters of Alexandria,” Negan said as he closed the door to your house behind you. Lydia who was sitting on the couch glanced up from the art book in her hands, something you had found in the garage a few days before and gave to her.

“If you keep questioning Michonne’s decision, she’s gonna send your ass back out into the cold to sleep in the snow,” you warned, taking off your heavy coat.

“I’m not complaining,” Negan said with a grin and a wink. With a sigh, you gestured for him to make himself at home.

“Lydia, did you eat?” you asked as you entered the living room to turn on your newly fixed fireplace.

“Siddiq brought me something,” she said quietly as she stared at Negan who looking at her with curiosity. You gestured between them.

“Lydia, this is Negan. Negan, meet Lydia,” you introduced.

“Nice to meet ya, kid,” he said with a neutral face, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Hi,” she said shyly, folding her legs underneath her on the couch.

“Jailbird here is gonna be staying with us when it’s below zero,” you explained as Negan leaned against the wall near the fire. “So just watch where you step so you don’t step in his ego while he’s here.” Negan scoffed.

“Wow, (Y/N), that hurts,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, so does this,” you said, as you gestured to the fresh wound on your side. “I’m gonna go change the dressing, try not to corrupt her, yeah?”

“I would never!” he called as you climbed the stairs towards your room. However, instead of searching for gauze, you remained on the landing and listened in on Negan and Lydia. “What are you reading?” Negan asked after a moment and you could hear the flipping of pages in the quiet of the room.

“(Y/N) found it in the garage,” Lydia said.

“Ah, Dalí,” Negan said. “I like his stuff.”

“The clocks are cool,” Lydia admitted and you smiled to yourself.

“That they are,” Negan agreed. “How are you doing? I heard life is sort of kicking you in the teeth at the moment.”

“I’m better than I was yesterday,” Lydia said. “At least a little bit.”

“And tomorrow you’ll be a bit better than you were today. Takes time,” he said.

“Nobody wants me here,” she whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear.

“(Y/N) does,” Negan said, “and trust me, coming from them, that means a lot.”

“Why are you locked up?” Lydia suddenly asked and Negan remained quiet. It was only after about a minute that he sighed.

“Do you really want to know? It’s not a pretty story,” he said.

“Neither is mine,” Lydia admitted and then you heard her shifting on the couch, settling in to listen to him.

“Alright,” Negan said, almost reluctantly. “It all started when a man named Rick visited Hilltop for the first time…”

-------

You were knocked out of your memory as arguing reached your ears.

Still reeling from your thoughts, you searched for the cause only to see Gabriel stepping in between Aaron and Negan. Aaron’s morning star prosthetic was already attached and you could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as you rushed over to find out what the damn issue was.

“You need fighters,” Gabriel was saying. “He can fight, you’re taking him.”

“What now?” you asked, already regretting the question.

“Your buddy doesn’t trust me to help him take out Walkers,” Negan explained. “Though, I’ve already expressed my desire to stay here and bury corpses instead of hanging out with Captain Hook here.” Aaron glared at Negan and you were already getting a migraine.

“Seriously?” you asked Gabriel who was already on the verge of giving up. “Fine, I guess I will play babysitter.”

“Fucking perfect,” Aaron swore.

“Hey,” you said, pointing at him, “don’t break the asshole pact,” you said, reminding him of the conversation the two of you had on his porch before you left for the fair. You had finally repaired your relationship with Aaron and you weren’t going to blow it now.

“I know, I know,” Aaron said, getting where you were coming from, “but it doesn’t extend to him.”

“I never said it did,” you defended.

“You want to referee these two?” Gabriel asked, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine, be my guest!” Gabriel stormed away and you turned to both of the men before you with your arms crossed.

“Great, now you’ve pissed off the Priest.”

————

The three of you walked through the thick forest in silence.

Normally, you would have been chatting or joking with Negan about being outside the walls for the first time together, but your romantic getaway was nowhere near as special as you thought it would be.

Aaron dragged his feet alongside both of you. You could hear his feet digging in the mud and you knew he was doing it on purpose to annoy Negan. Jesus had taught him how to move through the woods in silence just as Lydia was teaching you.

This only made you even more annoyed.

“You’re quiet today,” Negan observed, poking at your side. You looked over at him and took his hand, squeezing it a few times before letting go.

“Sorry,” you said, returning your hand to rest on your sword.

“What’s gotten into you?” Aaron asked.

“I’m pissed off, Aaron,” you explained with a huff.

“Well, I can see that,” Aaron said.

“Not helping,” Negan shot back. Aaron just rolled his eyes at Negan’s comment. You pushed on, ignoring both of them. It had only been a couple of days since the satellite fell and while Eugene felt that harvesting the tech from the machine was necessary, you still thought it was foolish.

Your mood wasn’t getting any better no matter what Lydia or Negan tried. If you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a break. All you wanted to do was go away for a while and not think about communities arguing or masked menaces tracking your every mood.

You just needed a moment.

Now with the meeting happening at the Southern border, you didn’t know what to expect. Just as long as Daryl came back in one piece, you would be okay.

For now.

The three of you ended up in a clearing not too far from Alexandria, but far enough to see where the Walkers would be crossing towards the main road that led home.

Aaron gave Negan an old broomstick to handle the Walkers and he wouldn’t give in to your request of giving Negan your knife. It was ridiculous, but you figured it was better than Aaron yelling and Negan making ridiculous comments.

“You have that look on your face,” Aaron observed as he took a swig of his water after taking out another Walker.

“What look?” you asked, unbothered by the blood stuck to your blade. Negan was nearby, always twirling his stick around to amuse himself.

“It’s the same look you had the day Rick and Daryl brought Jesus to Alexandria,” he explained.

“Annoyed?” you asked, staring off into the trees.

“More suspicious,” he said. “Though, I would throw in just a dash of pessimism, too.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“You know, when I met you, I really didn’t like you,” Aaron said and you scoffed.

“Ouch,” Negan muttered.

“There was just something about you that I didn’t get,” he went on. “Rick acted as if you were some kind of boogeyman.”

“This isn’t sounding any better, Aaron,” you said, leaning on your sword.

“What I’m trying to say is that you always seemed like the black sheep of the family and I think we need that kind of thinking right about now,” he said, surprising you.

“I thought you would be on team, ‘cross the border’,” you said.

“So did I,” Aaron said.

“But?” you prompted.

“I don’t know anything at this point. At least, I feel as if I don’t,” he admitted. “All I do know is that we can’t treat these...people like we have in the past with other enemies,” Aaron said and you didn’t miss the glance he threw at Negan. Negan ignored him, but he was still listening.

“Right, and now with Daryl agreeing to meet with these psychos...” you sighed.

“Daryl knows what he’s doing,” Aaron tried.

“Well, out of the three of us here, I’ve known him the longest. I know how blind he can be when it comes to his family and with Carol hurting the way she is, he ain’t gonna stop until Alpha is dead,” you said.

“I remember how he used to be,” Aaron said, but you shook your head.

“You didn’t know him before Alexandria, before the Prison,” you said. “Daryl used to be loud and sharp. After his brother went missing he became standoffish and reckless. Nobody could work with him, not even Rick. The crazy son of a bitch once impaled himself on his crossbow bolt when his horse threw him off. Then, he got shot in the same afternoon on Maggie’s farm cause Andrea thought he was damn Walker. The man doesn’t know when to slow down.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Aaron asked.

“It was when nobody knew him. Nobody knew what to expect. The only people he was even decent to were Carol and Carl.”

“Not you?” Negan asked, hauling another body over to the pile.

“Definitely not,” you said, thinking about all the arguments the two of you would get into. “We were civil, but I think we saw too much of each other in another. I remember Merle, Daryl’s big brother seeing us work together against the Governor. He used to make some really ridiculous comments, but one always stuck with me. Merle would say that we were ‘just two screwed up kids who ended up at the end of the world,’ and hell, he was right.”

------

The three of you worked into the late afternoon, early evening as sweat bloomed on your brows and blood stuck to your boots.

Negan did his best to take out the Walkers with his stick, but he was itching for a blade. If Aaron wasn’t around then he knew that you would give him one without question.

As he watched you, he could see how anxious you were getting. You had mentioned that Daryl never slowed down, but you never did either. You became distant and restless when you didn’t have a target in your sights. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

After taking down another three Walkers, you wicked the blood from the sword that had become a part of you.

“I’m going to get some more water,” you announced. “Try not to kill each other.”

“I’ll do my best,” Negan said with a wink. You ignored him as you grabbed the canteens and headed into the trees.

Negan and Aaron were silent as they continued to kill the Walkers that broke off from the main horde that the others were handling. Without you to be there as a buffer, Aaron began to bite his tongue so he didn’t blow up at the man next to him.

Negan however, could feel the heat coming off him.

“Are you just gonna keep staring at me or are you going to man up and tell me what’s on your mind?” Negan said, turning to face his adversary.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Aaron said.

“Ah, we both know that’s not true,” Negan said. “You’ve been just dying to give me a piece of that mind buried under all those curls. So, come on, lay it on me.” Aaron was quiet for a moment before he let his anger win over his decision to remain somewhat civil.

“You’re not good enough for them,” Aaron said and Negan raised his brows, taking in the words.

“If you think that pisses me off,” Negan began, “then I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the first to disapprove.”

“I won’t be the last either,” Aaron threatened and Negan caught onto what he was saying.

“If this is about Maggie,” said Negan, “then I think you need to take a step back. She can want me dead all she damn well pleases, but the fact is, she had her chance to kill me and she didn’t take it.”

“She’d do it now,” Aaron said.

“Why, because I’m in love with one of her friends? Are they friends? Because last time I checked, (Y/N) never talks about her.”

“You don’t get to dissect every relationship they’ve had. You are the reason that (Y/N) lost two people they really cared about, three if you count Sasha,” Aaron said.

“I had nothing to do with Sasha’s death,” Negan said. “I didn’t kill her.”

“No, you didn’t,” Aaron agreed, “but you are the reason she’s dead.” Negan glared at Aaron, trying to control his breathing.

“It was war, Aaron, or are you forgetting your merry bunch of survivors killed my men as they fucking slept? You pulled the trigger first. You can be pissed at me all you want, but do not look at me and see a monster when you’ve shed just as much blood.”

“You wanna know what I see?” Aaron asked. “I see someone that's pretending.”

“Come on, man, just let it go,” Negan said as he moved past Aaron, going to follow you. However, Aaron was faster, throwing out his leg and blocking Negan’s step, sending him to the ground. “Jesus!” Negan swore. “Did you just trip me? What, are you? Twelve?” Aaron sneered at him, but Negan wasn’t having it. Getting to his feet, he towered over Aaron. “What the hell is wrong with you? I've been puttin' my neck on a block for you people all goddamn day!”

“You don't give a damn about us,” Aaron said, not believing it for a second. “If you gave a shit, you'd leave. That's what everyone needs.”

“I can’t do that and you know it,” Negan said.

“Because you love them?” Aaron asked with a scoff.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Coming from you? Absolutely! They may have forgiven you for all the death and torture, but the rest of us haven’t!”

“Nobody has forgiven anyone!” Negan said. “You think (Y/N) forgives me for murdering their friends right in front of them? They don’t and I haven’t asked them to! Look, I did what I had to do back then.” Aaron was silent then as Negan’s words cascaded over him.

Aaron then tilted his head just as a predator would when watching its prey. “What did you say?” he asked, but Negan remained silent. “No, no, no. Open that up. Tell me why the love of my life had to die,” he ordered.

Negan shook his head, but he took the bait. “Okay. One simple fact. One truth kept my people going... if you don't protect what belongs to you, then sooner or later, it belongs to someone else. That goes for your land, your wallet, your home, your country... everything. It is your job as a man to protect it. That's the story of America, the story of the whole goddamn world. And ain't nothing changing it... not you, not me, nobody,” Negan said, getting into Aaron’s face, but the latter wasn’t backing down.

“Are you saying that Eric's death was my fault?” he asked but Negan remained still. Aaron then shook his head, stepping into Negan’s space even more. “Well, if I failed Eric,” he whispered. “Then you failed your wife.” Negan went still, looking down at Aaron with fury in his eyes.

“Careful,” Negan warned, trying to remain calm, but Aaron wasn’t done.

“Yeah. She died hating you, right? Gabriel told us the story and I know that (Y/N) has heard it, too. Hate to break it to you, but you will never see her again.” Negan’s mouth turned into a smirk as light entered his eyes.

“What? You wanna say something?” Aaron challenged.

“Yeah,” Negan said and then with a quirked brow pointed over Aaron’s shoulder. “Behind you,” he whispered as Walkers converged on Aaron. Aaron took out one in a hurry as another, which was covered in vegetation, fell on Aaron, taking him to the ground. Aaron yelled as the Walker reached for his face, but he was able to hit it over the head with his morning star, killing it easily.

However, something was wrong. Negan was gone and Aaron couldn’t see.

------

By the time you got back to the clearing, it was night.

Of course, this was the time for you to get turned around and have to double back. You pushed into the clearing, ready to get the boys back on track when you were met with an empty space.

“Seriously!” you yelled, throwing your hands up. “I say not to kill each other and they leave me,” you muttered. “No, no, (Y/N) they’ll be just fine, just two people who hate each other. Why should it matter if they both care about you? It’s not like that fucking matters.”

You continued to talk to yourself as you shone your light on the ground and managed to find Negan’s footprints. “It’s a good thing you’re practically bigfoot,” you whispered as you headed into the trees. You were then very happy that Daryl had taken all that time to teach you how to track or you’d be out there stumbling over Walkers and roots.

The tracks were accompanied by another set. You figured they were Aaron’s considering how precise they were. Walker tracks were more random and uneven. They led away from Alexandria which only made you even more annoyed. “Right, let’s go away from the walls and the warm food. Assholes,” you swore as you climbed over a fallen tree and kept moving.

Eventually, you saw a flickering light in the distance. Stepping over what was either a dead Walker or a half-eaten deer, you arrived at a cabin. Noises of alarm echoed from the cabin and you ran towards it, kicking open the door. You slid into the main room just as Negan finished killing the last Walker with a crowbar. You would have to ask where he got that later.

“What the hell?” you asked, alarming Negan.

“(Y/N)?” Aaron’s voice came in the dark. “Negan?”

Negan looked at you and in the dark of the room with only the moon to illuminate his features, he looked incredibly intimidating. “You alright?” Negan asked Aaron who was looking around the room rapidly. You took a step closer to him, confused.

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “How did you…?”

“Your light switched on,” Negan explained, reaching down to turn off the flashlight that was on Aaron’s belt.

“What’s wrong, Aaron?” you asked.

“I can’t see,” he said, looking around the room, trying to focus on anything, but couldn’t. Negan kneeled in front of Aaron who stiffened as Negan got close.

“Flowers growin’ out of the Walkers is hogweed,” Negan explained, looking at Aaron’s eyes.

“Hogweed?”

“Nasty shit,” Negan said with a glance over at you. “Causes rashes, blindness…”

“Is it permanent?” Aaron asked as you leaned against the wall.

“Sometimes,” Negan admitted. “You wash your eyes out?”

“Yeah, in a stream, but I… I didn’t have,” Aaron tried and then you realized you still had the water.

“Here,” you said tossing the full canteen to Negan who gave it to Aaron. Aaron drank half of it in one go, desperate to quench his thirst.

“Alright, come on,” Negan said as he helped Aaron off the floor and you were surprised to see that Aaron let him. Negan got him settled in the old chair before joining you next to the window.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked.

“We’ll take watch and leave first thing in the morning. That good with you?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said softly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“You two are both idiots,” you said, crossing your arms.

“We know,” Negan and Aaron said at once and you couldn’t help but smirk at that. Aaron settled into the chair, the reaction to the hogweed taking its hold, but he didn’t sleep.

Instead, he listened.

“Maybe don’t run off in the middle of the night when a lot of Walkers are around, okay?” you said.

“Sorry,” Negan said sheepishly. You nodded to him, peering out the windows, letting your mind wander. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“What?”

“You look lost in thought, have all day,” he said with a shrug.

“Uh, I was thinking about Rick,” you said.

“Anything in particular?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment before turning to fully face him.

“I lied to you before,” you said.

“When?”

“When you asked me what the vote was on what to do with you. I told you that Rick just decided. He and Michonne had the final say, but that wasn’t the whole truth,” you admitted. “Rick asked me what I thought he should do.” Negan was quiet for a moment.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing at first,” you said. “I didn’t have an opinion right away. I was angry with you and I wanted you to pay for what you did, but I… I didn’t know if death was the answer. I was conflicted.”

“Why?” he asked and you looked at him with glossy eyes.

“Because of Carl,” you admitted and you saw something shift behind his eyes at the mention of the late teen. “I read the letter that he wrote to you. Michonne let me after she had given me the one Carl left to me. I knew what Carl wanted. He wanted the fighting to stop, he wanted the hate to stop, and he wanted you to be a better man. How was I supposed to deny him that?”

“Did you tell Rick this?”

“Sort of,” you said with a sigh. “I told him that Carl had written to me asking me to take care of him and Judith. Carl trusted me to be the protector of his family because he couldn’t anymore, but he never needed to ask. I would have died for Rick and I will die for RJ and Judith if it came down to it.”

“I know,” Negan whispered.

“I thought about it for hours, the question Rick asked me, and then I told him that it wasn’t up to me and it wasn’t really up to him either. Carl had already made the decision. Rick had already made promises to the people he loved. He promised his best friend, Shane, that he would protect his family because Shane did it first; He promised Lori that he would protect Carl and he did.

“What happened to Carl wasn’t Rick’s fault no matter what he thought. Most of all, Rick promised Michonne that he would build a good life for their daughter, and I had to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to break that promise. Carl had an idea, and if we had killed you, we would have been dishonoring him and everything he wanted to fight for but couldn’t. I had to make a choice and for once it wasn’t for my survival, but for securing Carl’s legacy. You once asked me why I stayed in Alexandria when I felt as if I never quite fit.”

“And you said it was because Carl was buried there,” he remembered.

“Alexandria is strong and still standing because of Carl. It’s not just because his grave is there. It’s because everywhere I turn, I see that kid’s influence. I made a promise when I read the letter he wrote to me. I can’t break it now and I never will.”

“Where is all this coming from?” Negan asked. You wiped at the tears that formed in the corner of your eyes.

“I feel as if I’m starting to lose sight of him, Negan,” you said. “I look around and I don’t see Carl, I see Alpha’s face or Jesus’ blood on my hands. I can’t see the good anymore.”

“There is still good in this world, (Y/N),” Negan promised. “You just gotta search a little harder.”

“I’m tired of searching,” you said. “I try to be there for Lydia, but most days I have no idea what I’m doing. What the hell does she see when she looks at me? I don’t even know what I see when I look at her.”

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at Lydia?” he asked.

“What?”

“I see a scared kid who’s had a shit life and who needs you to look out for her,” Negan said.

“Right,” you said, but Negan wasn’t convinced you were getting it. You then looked up at him. “What do you see when you look at me?” Negan didn’t even hesitate.

“Possibilities,” he said and it threw you for a loop. Looking at him in the dark of the cabin, you could only see the truth pouring from him.

“What do you see when you look at yourself?” you whispered.

“Not much,” he answered.

“Negan…”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve accepted it. You know, when I went back to the Sanctuary and saw what everything had become, I finally got it.”

“Got what?” you asked. Negan reached out and dragged his knuckles along the back of your arm, savoring the feeling as if you were going to fade away.

“That my number was up the second Rick told me he was going to kill me in that clearing,” Negan said, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t know this would be how he’d do it, condemning me to a life of self-hatred,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Why are you saying this to me?” you asked.

“I’m just trying to let you know that it’s okay if I don’t get the happy ending. I was more of a fan of horror films than fairytales anyway,” he admitted.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Just…” Negan trailed off and then pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around you. “Just be still with me right now. Just, be still.”

-------

Negan eventually fell asleep after you convinced him to get some rest.

You were too wired to even think about sleeping. You sat on the floor between Negan and Aaron, your sword reflecting moonlight across the dark room. The next time you heard a voice, it was Aaron’s and not Negan’s.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered. “I didn’t mean to run off.”

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching up to squeeze his hand. Aaron went to say something else then when Negan began talking in his sleep. You were used to it from all the times you spent by his side in bed, but Aaron froze as he listened to the nonsense.

It wasn’t until actual words were formed that Aaron sat up. “Simon,” Negan muttered. “Si…,” he said again and then went back to mumbling before growing silent again. It had been a while since he dreamed about Simon, you realized.

“What the hell was that?” Aaron whispered.

“Negan, he talks in his sleep. He says the names of his victims sometimes.”

“Simon?” Aaron asked, surprised.

“Negan strangled him when he tried to overthrow him. Simon was the one who ordered all the men and boys to be killed at Oceanside. He killed the boy at Hilltop and was the one who massacred Jadis’ people. Negan never knew any of it,” you whispered.

“Makes sense,” Aaron said and you furrowed your brow.

“How so?”

“Negan doesn’t hurt kids,” Aaron said simply.

“No, no he doesn’t,” you said, glad that Aaron understood that.

“He still grinds my gears,” Aaron said.

“I know.”

“And since when is he a fucking botanist? Hogweed, really?” Aaron scoffed.

“He’s been out in the world for a long time,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said and then, “I never knew about Rick.” You sighed, but you figured he had been listening.

“Nobody knew, that was the point.”

“I guess I never realized just how much he put on you,” Aaron said.

“I didn’t mind,” you said, leaning your head against the chair.

“Maybe you should’ve.”

-------

The next morning, Aaron was still struggling with his eyesight, but it was getting better.

Negan slung one of Aaron’s arms around his shoulders to help him walk as you carried the weapons. Rosita pulled open the gate when you got home and yelled for Siddiq as you explained what happened. The doctor came running down the street with worry. Once he saw that Aaron was in one piece more or less, he took him from Negan.

You knew that Siddiq and the new doctor, Dante, would get him fixed up in no time. After making sure Aaron was okay, you began to lead Negan back to his cell. As you approached the Grimes’ house, you noticed Michonne, Daryl, and a very pissed of Carol standing on the stoop.

“Uh oh,” Negan said as he stuck close to you. As you got closer, Carol shoved past both of them and into the house. The look on Daryl’s face made you incredibly nervous considering he had just returned from the meeting with Alpha.

You and Negan stopped next to them and Michonne seemed to relax at the sight of you, knowing that at least you were okay.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Carol shot at Alpha,” Michonne divulged and you sighed, trying to contain your anger.

“Fucking fantastic,” you swore. “How much shit are we in now?”

“She knew we crossed,” Daryl said. “She knew about all of it. The fire, the blizzard, and even when Michonne and Aaron crossed by the river. She’s got people everywhere.”

“So Carol felt the need to light the fire further?”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have?” Daryl challenged but you remained quiet. Daryl shook his head as he walked away. “I need to find Lydia,” he said before heading across the street.

“This is only going to get worse now,” you said to Michonne who nodded.

“I know,” she said. “Get ready for a fight.” Michonne turned and followed Carol back into the house, still rigid from the night before. You sighed, gripping the sides of your head as every fear was coming back.

“Are you actually pissed Carol tried to kill Alpha?” Negan asked.

“No,” you said, removing the keys from your belt, “I’m pissed that she missed.”

AN: Next Chapter is going to be an important one. Hint: Carol becomes desperate and turns to an unlikely ally.

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#the walking dead #walkerwords #savior sessions #negan imagine #twd #twd imagine #negan x reader #negan x gn reader #negan fanfiction

93 notes · View notes

jlf23tumble · 5 years

Note

Agree so much with your post about the teams and fan engagement ! And love the way you articulated all of that. Although now I definitely am interested in knowing what your notes about the specificity of each team/artist cause I feel like they'd be fascinating to read. Hope you'll post them some day, and thank you for sharing your thoughts with us ! 😊

Awwww, that’s very kind! It’s definitely head canon city, I litcherally have ZERO clue what goes on behind the scenes (and I can’t stress this enough, none of us do), so this’ll look hilariously dated when we find out that blah woof was true all along, lmao (me @ myself, thinking of some random Grimshaw interviews from last fall, oh, bless). Let’s dig in!!

For those of you who just stumbled upon this post, it’s related to the one I made last night about how I think the management teams of all these men (mid-20s means = you’re a man, not a boy) are not, in fact, sabotaging them. They negotiate a lot of tricky interconnected arrangements that none of us are privy, to, plus they’re at least trying to achieve the goals their clients are going for. And they’re doing it—the trick is these goals are highly individual and not 100% sensical (at least given our own view from the afternoon, Arctic Monkeys ref, holllllllah!!!).

In addition, these goals constantly shift, as does the music industry itself—I drive my own self loony when I lurk on blogs that are seemingly broadcasting from 2012, confused by why xx’s team is so “terrible” because they aren’t throwing good money after bad to get on a radio playlist, or why they haven’t announced yy “properly,” as if they’re being paid to worry about this level of shit (which fires me up on about five levels, deep breaths in, deep breaths out). I’m much nosier about the signals we’re getting when we hear them talk in their beautifully media-trained way about their musical interests, when we get some of that sweet, sweet fan service with a Gallagher or a Capaldi, when we get that heads up about who’s attending what concert, stuff like that. These signals don’t necessarily indicate future collaborations, but they DO indicate what kind of image these guys want to have, the kind of music they want the public to associate them with.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself…their personalities and goals at the moment are all so vastly different, and I truly do love seeing how their teams are workin’ it accordingly. Again, please @ god, don’t @ me…opinions, massively unpopular opinions, dead ahead!

* Zayn. My read on Zayn is that he enjoys the creative process, loves writing and singing, digs collabing with people, but he doesn’t seem to give two shits about the biz side (and why should he? that’s called living the dream at this particular point in his career). His website recently added “tour,” which EYEBALL EYEBALL, but he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in putting himself back out on stage or into radio/print/etc. anytime soon, and again, why should he? His numbers are HUGE without pushing himself through the anxiety-provoking churn he endured for four years, so there’s no real drive for him to do any promo if he doesn’t want to (see: the netflix-like binge dump of Icarus Falls, which could be “sabotage,” or it could just be, “fineeeeeeee, here’s some stuff for you, enjoy”). What other artist gifts his fans with gorgeous covers of such a wide variety of songs that indicate he’s more interested in sharing them than selling them. Accordingly, his fan interactions seem fairly pure and not all that promo-y: he has a keen interest in fanart, he’s done some fan pop-ups/listening parties that are pretty low-key and *seemingly* fan-focused, and recently (with zero anything to really promote), he’s been posing for cute pics and chatting with randos on the streets of NYC. I recently read that his mgmt team is no longer with him, but that sort of folds into my feeling that he’s not pursuing anything biz-wise, hence no need to jump through those particular hoops (I think he’s also struggled with a lot of demons, so yeah, why add one more). Could he be adrift? Maybe, but the next guy is the posterman for lack of focus….

* Liam. Honestly, I worry about Liam most of all. His post-1D career seems very much adrift, and I like to joke that he’s giving me that tell-all about the D one sentence at a time, but goddamn, are people listening? The struggles with alcohol, the lack of focus on every level, the reliance on his dad’s career advice (which more clearly reflects his dad’s financial class, background, and history than it does Liam’s), and the overall confusion about look, sound, and direction also flow back directly into his team. I get the feeling that they aren’t sure what to do because LIAM isn’t sure what to do or what he wants, so they follow in his wake. He’s agreeable to a fault, so seeing him at a meet-and-greet at an HMV in Birmingham last week felt like a step back into 2010 for no real reason, just like hearing that he was more or less coerced into full nude photoshoots for an underwear ad (the decisions to say yes to both of those—who’s steering this ship? If it’s Liam, he needs to tell the team his overall goal, so they can plot a course he and his fans can follow; if it’s the team, ditto). Like Niall, Liam’s actually pretty good at the SM game: lots of selfies, snapchat filters, outfits, gym service, twitter interactions. But generally speaking, his promo is confusing, and that’s probably because there isn’t much *to* promote at this point, other than a mix of collabs, clothing endorsements, spon con, horse farms, and an album that’s always on the horizon. This might be tied to the general post-1D jolt they all went through, like a plane coming off autopilot and into the hands of someone who’s just learning how to fly it. Zayn debuted at number one, so his bump wasn’t as harsh, but the others are slowly, steadily finding their footing after taking some time to find themselves and their sound, releasing songs/albums, performing (or in Louis’s case, going through unspeakable tragedy). Liam’s still adrift…and somewhat admittedly, which is kind of telling in its own way. Just know that my nervousness on his behalf ratchets up every time he feels the urge to assure us all that he’s happy.

* Niall. Truly the one following the original 1D template, right down to working with most of the same people but with more of the overall control in his hands instead of a faceless management squad. Of any of them, he seems the most ambitious, the most scientific about the sound he’s after and how he’s gonna get there. His promo is a mix of new and traditional—radio shows, talk shows, podcasts, special events, twitter interactions with fans, twitter interactions with entertaining celebrities—and it’s all hustle hustle hustle, build build build, as if he were a new ingenue instead of coming up hard on solo album number two. He’s explicit in his goals, which is refreshing, but it means he walks a weird line with fans: on one hand, he’s done with their bullshit, get ready to get rekt if you start commenting on his boring food seasoning or home décor. But on the other hand, he fully recognizes how much he needs them, which is why we get so many peeks into his “normal” life (yet zero percent of his actual personal life). It’s also probably why the blatant tweets of the last two days seem so jarring to me (I might be alone on this one, but I’m not a fan of directives in general, and asking me to call radio stations on behalf of a rich white man to become even richer just rubs me the wrong way, same with asking me to stream stuff to get you to number one…you’ve been there, buddy, how about you calm down and build some character at number 51). And speaking of calming down, it does fascinate me that both Niall and Louis namecheck Taylor Swift as someone who gets the whole fandom push/pull thing right, so watching them try to reverse-engineer her secrets is fun. Louis nails it (that hotspot treasure hunt: chef’s kiss), but Niall’s heavy-handed easter egg dump in NTMY, she would never!! I think Niall’s team needs to watch “Calm Down” about five more times before they try that again.

* Louis. I think Louis honestly has an AMAZING team in place, and they’re all clearly on his side, which makes for a refreshing change. Like Niall, he has publicly praised Taylor Swift for how she engages with her fans, but I think he’s missing a key point: she doesn’t let her fans dictate strategy, and I HOPE that’s the case for Louis, too. His old team *was* shit, so yeah, encouraging people to do fan projects to get the word out was a good idea, but turning that spigot off to let a good (paid) team step in and take over has been, uh, challenging. He’s dealt with more than his fair share of personal tragedy, but every time he gets some momentum going, it feels like something bts pushes him back off track, and he tends to keep it private, which only makes his hardest-core fans scream “sabotage.” Rightly so, he’s focusing on his personal life, and rightly so, his team is giving him the space to do that, even when it costs cash money and throws a lot of shit seriously for a loop. It makes my heart soar to see the potential of what his team can do/is doing, how much space he’s being allowed to process what he needs to process. Weirdly, that’s an unpopular opinion, and a lot of people want to indulge in an angst wank fest where Louis’s the victim of a terrible team that won’t DO anything (nevermind the fact that he’s probably ASKED them not to do anything), so they undertake a tremendous amount of performative unpaid labor that ends up being counterproductive on just about every front. Even worse, most of them can’t seem to process the fact that losing your mum is a blow, losing your SISTER is a blow, juggling other siblings or close friends handling some serious demons of their own in the aftermath of all of *that* is a blow, let alone handling your own personal coping mechanisms, nope, they want Louis to release release release, perform perform perform, c’mon, what’s holding him back, he *said* he wanted to release an album this year, there’s “no reason” for a delay, gotta be his shitty team, free him. It drives me ‘round the bend because it’s the same talk from late last year, you know, when we later found out that at least one family member was losing a fight with drug addiction. Louis’s fan engagement/promo is therefore hella fraught: he has to balance LouisTM on twitter (Mr. Donny, he’s hard, mate), his werk IG posts, and his constant edging because nobody can remember or trust that he’s got this, that multiple things are in play. But he also knows his fanbase, knows that it’s resistant to any kind of change, so I hope he pushes through and stays true to what he wants to do. I was really encouraged with his last promo round because he seems to have narrowed in on a something solid, he’s got a plan, and it’s not, “hey mr dj, put my record on,” it’s getting his fans to trust that he and his team know what the fuck they’re doing, and spoiler alert, it ain’t radio, but go ahead and keep pissing off djs by sending angry tweets their way. (Related: why is it so bad to avoid the radio when all of us admit that radio music is garbage? Is it because it’s more about you than him? Much to think about.)

* Harry. My very favorite head canon is that Harry is Jeff’s nightmare client: what was perfection at first because the Azoffs are old-school promo all the way (no SM, baby, gimme that sweet, sweet paper), and that dovetailed nicely with post-1D Harry, but it quickly veered into mulish teeth pulling. Low profile can quickly spin into no profile, and that really doesn’t work too well when you’re trying to sell sell sell, even if your brand is Harry StylesTM. HS1 and Dunkirk in their own separate ways worked VERY hard to push past the still-persistent way the general public views Harry as boybander Harry Styles, or more accurately, former boybander Harry Styles who dated Taylor Swift (if you venture out and ask someone who’s not a fan), but what I love about Harry is that much like Zayn, he doesn’t seem to be too bothered by all that. Sure, he’s ambitious, he wants to challenge himself and do things, but he’s no Niall Horan. He’s put in his time! If he gets a number one, then cool, but he’s not gonna chase it. And this is where Harry’s team really reflects his goals and energy: sure, they want him to do some promo (that “Do” tweet, the entire bit about the fan in Australia and Harry Lambert’s follow, goddddd, I loved it, petty Harry, resigned Jeff), but they clearly aren’t forcing him. He drops a song that makes a HUGE splash, and the follow-up is…liking some tweets and going to a John Mayer concert (not a John Mayer fan, so that wouldn’t be my first choice, but I respond to the zero fucks given about the whole thing). The music industry has changed a LOT in just two years, so it’s kind of cool to see team Harry pivoting a bit, seeing more SM interaction, the kindness generator, etc., but that said, the team takes their cues from him, and he clearly doesn’t want to do a whole promo circuit beyond persons a, b, and c, and magazine R, F, and A. Does it make sense to have Rob Sheffield write a profile about Stevie Nicks-blessed shroom-eater Harry Styles when his new song sounds like the Zarry combo of my dreams? NOPE, but that’s okay, Harry wanted to talk to Rob, so that’s what happened. The new song is more streaming friendly, and thank CHRIST, a lot less crusty white dude stuck in the ‘70s, so I can only hope that the rest of the album is thus, but we shall see! We’ll also see if Harry’s fan engagement shifts any further into the active zone…so far, it’s been “I’m gonna follow some larries, like these fun generator posts, check out a few dads” and staged photo ops with the same familiar faces, but I think he’s dealing with his own major bts issues as well (album delayed at least twice; that entire stalking situation). I still contend the album’s coming in the next few weeks, so it’ll be interesting to see if/how any additional promo rolls out in this new world order post-gryles landscape, how many interviews he’ll do, but I like that there’s a strategy that seems less stodgy…kudos to the new SM team, at least!!

Oh man, that got really long! Hope you enjoyed, and YES, opinions opinions opinions, and they’ll be stupid in about three weeks’ time, thanks for coming to my already dated buzzfeed article

#so many long-winded opinions #one direction #yeah #and shout out to kim for always checking my work!!!

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dapperkobold · 5 years

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Rate the Monsters: Alien Bestiary

Why yes, I already reviewed this, but I wasn’t happy with the review. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve concluded why: no one buys monster books for the BOOK. They buy them for the MONSTERS.

So, here’s a different take: I’m going to be rating the monsters based on how they’re presented in the book, on a few different measurements:

Presentation: The image and description of the monster, to make sure everyone knows what it actually IS. You laugh, but we’ve had trouble with that before.

Mechanics: Less intended to be a measure of how balanced the numbers are, more intended to be a measure of how the monster’s abilities will affect an encounter.

Lore: Lore is a measure of the writing about the monster. Note that this is limited to the writing in this particular work! If this book doesn’t really present a monster compellingly, that’s a problem. Especially if the monster is more intriguing in other works!

Roleplay: If you want something more complex than a good fight, something where the players need to talk their way through the situation, this is where you’re going to look. This is going to be related to Lore and Mechanics, but can be more complex depending on the monster’s precise nature. This is also the least impactful one if it gets a low grade: not every monster should be able to disassemble you philosophically before it disassembles you physically. Sure, mindless undead will all score Fs here, but this isn’t what mindless undead are used for. This is counting not only direct interactions with players, but possible impact on campaigns just from the raw mechanics and fluff presented.

This is inspired by Esper the Bard’s Monster Ranking videos for 5e, credit where it’s due. This kind of analysis is a really good way to measure the basic usefulness of monsters, specifically as they’re presented in specific material.

A few notes before I continue:

1. I don’t give points for historical significance, good intentions, or supplementary material. This is a rating of these monsters as presented in this book, nothing more, nothing less. Some of these monsters date back to olden D&D, some of them have been done wonderfully other places. I’m not rating those; I’m rating these monsters as they are here, in this book.

2. Anyone can make something interesting if they’re creative enough. This is less a full measure of the potential of the monsters, and more a measure of the potential of the monsters as they’re presented. A clever enough DM can make anything compelling, but for less lateral thinkers out there, the writing in the books are what they have to work with.

And since there so darn many aliens in this book, for now we’ll just do A.

Aballonian

Ohhh... this is not a good start...

Presentation: The description and image are both pretty generic. A copper robot with multiple legs? Okay. Nothing to imply their special abilities or stand out at all. Grade F

Mechanics: Okay! There’s a lot of special abilities here! A weakness... a limiter on the weakness... communication ability with a very minor upside... a special attack that doesn’t have any damage or effect listed? Defensive ability that has potential but doesn’t clarify the wording... and one variable effect. This is just a mess, I get that it’s supposed to be flexible (including the ability to change abilities with a full-round action) but this set of mechanics doesn’t really suggest any kind of interaction or particular play style. GRADE F

Lore: There’s no lore listed!

Which is dumb, because I know the lore! These are supposed to be the native life form to Albion in the Pathfinder setting! Why didn’t they at least TRY to explain it? GRADE! F!

Roleplay: IT HAS NO LORE LISTED, HOW ARE PEOPLE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HOW TO ROLEPLAY IT? GRADE F F F F F this is making me seriously reconsider my analysis of this book’s capabilities!

Aboleth

Presentation: While the Description is fine, the picture is lackluster. Grade C

Mechanics: Using a mix of manipulative spell-like abilities and surprisingly powerful attacks an Aboleth has potential to be a fairly tough encounter. Charm monster can make it an ally, followed by doing solid damage with normal attacks and the occasional spell level 2 mind thrust. However! I had to calculate that mind thrust is cast as a second-level spell, it’s not stated. The main limiter is that with univeral environment suits, the threats of aboleths forcing you to breathe water or gooping your skin is far less immediate. Still, might have potential if there’s some way to break that armor! Grade B-

Lore: A description of Aboleths scouting, conquering, and then leaving planets to rot? It’s the grimdark realization of the quiet horror that we always knew Aboleths could be! Grade A-!

Roleplay: With a spell list made for interaction (at will detect lies, for instance!), good mental stats, and the lore touching on their psychology, society, and motivations, there isn’t much more you could ask for in Roleplaying opportunities. Grade A.

Aboleth, Veiled Master

It’s a CR 14 Aboleth. GET IN.

Presentation: Has no dedicated picture, and the text description really doesn’t sell me on what kind of emotions seeing it is supposed to illicit. Grade D+.

Mehcanics: Yes, it’s an upscaled Aboleth, but it’s upscaled in a creative way. Suggestion, illusion spells, dominate person bolstered by a special ability, 3rd-leve mind thrust at will and a bite attack that lets it READ MINDS. This thing wants an entourage, to mind control the party heavy, and then blow people’s heads apart with mind thrust, with support from illusions and some suggestion to keep things interesting. Also, it shapeshifts. Grade B+

Lore: It’s an Aboleth that disguises itself as a person to manipulate events in the world. Repeat, it’s a CR 14 Aboleth whose entire job is to manipulate a society without said society ever knowing it. It even touches on their place in Aboleth society. Grade A.

Roleplay: It’s an aboleth, with +25 bluff, sense motive +30, and the ability to shapeshift into any small or medium form. If that doesn’t immediately make the players among you shudder in fear and the DMs among you cackle internally, I don’t know what will. Grade A+. Excellent big bad potential, just like Aboleths were always meant to be.

Achaierai

Presentation: The Achaierai has a really bad case of presentation separation. The pictures look derpy, the description tries to be intimidating, and both massively undersell the fact that the thing is constantly oozing acidic smoke. Grade C.

Mechanics: The Achaierai is a fairly straightforward fighter, with solid melee attacks, a passable ranged attack, a breath weapon with some unique rules and an aura of black smoke. The breath weapon not only damages but confuses the target, with a DC 13 save to end that could in theory last indefinitely. The aura itself is a basic damage aura, tied to the low save of DC 13. While it has solid ideas, I’m not sure its powers stand out all that well: DC 13 is in line with the proper DC for a CR 5 monster using abilities that need saves, but all the same a DC13 save is pretty negligible and even rolling every round the penalty for failure isn’t all that high. The breath weapon is a 40 foot cone, but anyone making the DC 13 ref save takes no damage. It doesn’t have enough to be an interesting encounter in and of itself, and even as part of a greater encounter if the dice don’t favor it its unique aspects might be entirely ignored. Grade C.

Lore: The Achaierai’s lore confuses me. Sure, the core idea is cool: A four legged bird monster thing that emits acid smoke. The thing that gets me? It’s an outsider. A native to hell. Why? It would work fine as a magical beast. As a native to hell, it’s immediately near the bottom of the respect pole as a monster that does acid damage in a place where a lot of creatures are resistant to acid damage. I guess I should be happy that it’s more than just another strange magical beast monster but… I’m not. I really feel it would have made more sense as a magical beast. Grade C.

Roleplay: It’s got Wis +2, Cha +3, and speaks infernal. With that said, the lore doesn’t at all list anything that it might want to talk about, or any kind of social structure other than that it has packs. Grade D.

Adamantine Wasp Swarm

Presentation: Wasps made of metal? Cool. The problem is that while it’s a swarm of fine creatures, the flavor text says that each wasp is 1 foot long several times. I assume this is a misprint, and it’s supposed to be one inch long. Other than that, nothing all that incredible. Grade D.

Mechanics: Not all that much. It’s mainly just swarm immunity plus construct immunity plus a special venom on its attacks. The venom is interesting, it turns the target into ice, but that in and of itself isn’t explained in the lore nor condusive of an entertaining, interactive fight scene. They don’t even have DR like would be typical of things made of Adamantine. Grade C-.

Lore: The lore uses a lot to not say a lot. It mentions that they’re made to guard areas, like all constructs, and then goes on at length about how they’re wasps. Grade D.

Roleplaying: To no one’s surprise, there’s no reason to try and talk to the wasps. No, not every monster needs to provide good roleplay opportunities, but all the same it’s worth noting when they’re not present. However, mindless monsters… there’s no reason to expect them to have roleplay opportunities. So for those I’ll waive the grade.

Adherer

What’s up with adherers? Seriously? Why? I feel like back when there was one monster book they would have been a good old skool joke enemy. You know, the kind of thing where the joke punishes predictable adventuring habits and is immediately lethal. But why are they treated as a classic enemy? Flumphs have more lore and mechanics than adherers do!

Presentation: Eh? The picture is nice, but adherers always look stupid. Always. Grade D.

Mechanics: It’s a basic grapple brute. You know the type, attack, free grapple, beat the tar out of the grappled enemy. Adherers have the perk of being able to grapple on the enemy’s turn, but it’s not really going to cause a more complex series of interactions. Ranged attacks with beat them. Magic will beat them. Even melee combat can beat them if they take enough fire damage on a consistent basis! Grade D. Adherers are literally a joke. Making a memorable combat encounter using adherers is indicative of amazing GM skill, not anything innate to the monster’s mechanics.

Lore: Grade F. It’s the kind of token lore that raises more questions than answers.

Roleplaying: Grade D-. It has an int of -3, somehow speaks Aklo, and has no complex motivations nor society to speak of.

Aetherwarped

Presentation: An interesting picture and the visual elements of the templates description are effective enough. Grade B.

Mechanics: As a template, it must be kept in mind that these mechanics are in addition to other things. As thus, a blindsense variant, a strange mobility power, and a basic ranged attack aren’t all that solid of a foundation. They’re interesting by all means, but it doesn’t give the altered creature a new or definite spin on their combat style. Grade C.

Lore: It’s fine. Exposure to aether radition over time, a reliance on it, appreciation for music, it’s a bit token but not objectionable. Grade C.

Roleplaying: As a template… it doesn’t really add any roleplaying potential. The reliance on radiation might, but it also take a fair amount away. Grade D.

Akata

It’s not as good as the variant in the Alien Archive 2.

Presentation: Fine? Eh. Grade B.

Mechanics: A basic brute with a minor disease, it lacks the depth of mechanics that the official version has. Has an Alpha Akata that’s just a CR2 version. Grade D.

Lore: The most predictable variation of the parent trope, they’re alien animals that want to reproduce parasitically and make zombies as an in-between step. The problem is that they don’t have the cunning of the original alien, and at CR 1 they’re not really the most dangerous creatures. The lore says that outbreaks of Akatas can become big problems, but CR 1 or 2 monsters that reproduce through a special ability with a fort save of 10? Seriously, the local law enforcement or monster hunters need to be weak and incompetent to not take these things on. If they were CR 5, that would be one thing. But here, they’re CR 1. Grade C-.

Roleplaying: They’re dumb animals. As in, literally, they’re at int -4 putting them at animalistic intelligence, but they also don’t have any kind of social structure and no sense of self-preservation. So, not only are they animals, they’re particularly stupid ones. Grade F.

Akata Host

It has the same grades as the Akata. It’s just the zombie stage between the infection and the chest-bursting. They can do some strength damage, and on a CR ½ monster that is worth note. Just not enough to make a difference. Seriously, chryssalids are scary. These things? They’re just weak.

Alchemical Ooze Swarm

Here’s a CR 1 monster worth remembering!

Presentation: Though the image is a bit confusing, the description of a riotous mass of bubblelike oozes is very well done. It even has a consistent description of the size of the component parts. Grade B.

Mechanics: Making good use of the swarm type, the Viscous and Chemical Slime abilities add both mechanics and flavor to the swarm. Enemies hit by the swarm’s attacks can be entagled, and then start to suffer additional effects based on the chemical compounds in the oozes. It’s a very interesting idea, and though I feel the DC is way too low at 10 or 11 it has potential to be a memorable dungeon hazard or a part of a greater encounter. In addition, what secondary effect the swarm has also affects the swarm’s weaknesses and resistances. This means that the monster can be used multiple times without being too easy for the players to cheese, while still following an internal logic that the players might be able to learn and use. If anything, I feel it’s a shame this is wasted on a CR 1 monster! I’m definitely going to upscale this at some point. Grade A+!

Lore: It’s a basic ecological aesop, but the idea itself is worth some respect. The explanation to why there’s four different variants works well enough, and it gives the entire thing a feeling of slightly comical menace. If you play even a little loose with the lore, there’s lots of ways this swarm can be used in stories. Grade B.

Roleplay: Mindless.

Allip

Presentation: My response to the picture and description is a deadpan ‘ok.’ It’s not really the most evocative of description in any case, but it works. C-.

Mechanics: Babble plus touch of madness isn’t a bad setup. Definitely more made to seriously inconvenience the party than actually be a solid threat, could be better as part of a larger encounter or as rescource-stucking filler. Certainly unique, and the Madness ability is a nice fluffy addition. B.

Lore: Coming back from the dead for vengeance isn’t really a compelling story in D&D/Pathfinder/Starfinder. Half the undead want vengeance, and Allips are no exception. This is honestly just ‘exists’ lore: It opens no awkward questions, but it also doesn’t answer any interesting questions. C-.

Roleplay: It has Int +1 and Cha +4, but its entire thing is that its crazy. It’s not technically a mindless undead, but in some ways it might as well be. D-.

Amalgamite Swarm

It’s like grey goo, but big enough to punch.

Presentation: Pretty solid. Nothing to really send home about, but hey. B.

Mechanics: Interesting. A little ranged attack, a stealth ability, and a common combat feat adapted to work for a swarm. There’s clearly thought put in here, and it should all result in a very interesting back-and-forth. A.

Lore: Eh, it’s not quite generic. A little bit of extra thought put in. Nothing amazing, but I appreciate the effort. B.

Roleplay: Mindless.

Amerta

This is another monster I think is an original, made to go with the specific Aetheria setting.

Presentation: Neat. Gives an idea of the thing’s scale and has fair detail even if the design itself is a little simplistic. B.

Mechanics: It’s a Colossal CR 18 monster with a mix of melee damage, a breath weapon, and some utility-focused spell like abilities. There’s some creativity here, but nothing that really makes me jump. B.

Lore: It mentions details specific to the setting, but the basic idea isn’t hard to get. I will say that I think it leans on historical significance more than current-day significance, which can make it difficult to integrate into campaigns in interesting ways. B.

Roleplay: It has telepathy and can talk to plants, and there’s a seed of it in the Lore, but nothing that really grabs me. C+.

Amoeba

This entry is the giant amoeba and the amoeba swarm, but I’ll rate them together to save us all time.

Presentation: Eh? Not much to see, not much to say. Not ugly. C-.

Mechanics: These two creatures are basically two versions of the same one, one’s a generic swarm and the other is a generic small ooze. Literally, I can’t find anything special about them. Also, the giant amoeba references the ‘constrict’ universal rule, but at the time of this writing (before Alien Archive 3 comes out) there is no such rule! F.

Lore: None of note. Seriously, I’m impressed how little is communicated here. F.

Roleplay: It’s a mindless ooze.

Animated Object

I feel like this entry is unfitting as either the original idea of the animated object, a Starfinder implementation for the animated object, or the implementation for the enemies actually presented in the book.

Presentation: The description is meh, and the image is amazing up until you realize it’s out of scale with the sizes in the state blocks. And one of the things has no image or personalized description at all. D+

Mechanics: Presented here in the Animated Object blurb is not generic stat blocks usable for various animated objects, but instead two specific animated objects that could have worked perfectly well as robots. And they’re both boring. One has con damage attached to its grappling, the other has trample. D-.

Lore: No fluff text. F.

Roleplay: Mindless.

Ankheg

Presentation: The description is a little generic, and the image is derpy-looking. D.

Mechanics: The idea is that it’s a bite n’ grab monster, with a bite attack that also does acid damage. However, it has an area attack that disables the bite attack’s acid damage when used. Sound interesting enough? Yeah, it doesn’t work as written. The damage is listed as “P & A,” so even parts piercing and acid. The deactivation clause in the Spit Acid ability says that it loses out on the “additional acid damage”, which leaves it unclear how much the damage is reduced. Is it halved after rolling? This could work, but it’s not made clear in the text: when I read that I expected to see something like “+1d8 A”, clearly differentiating the additional damage. Also, the bite attack has the burn critical effect, which reflects things bursting into flames. Even if you replace that with the corrode effect, the rules text doesn’t say to remove it with the acid spit. The monster simply does not operate as intended and needs another pass. F.

Lore: The lore text is effective enough, but has some mechanical notes in it that don’t fit in the fluff text well. They really should either be included in the stat block somewhere or left vague, how they make their tunnels doesn’t matter as long as it happens off-camera, right? C-.

Roleplaying: Normally, as a non-social monster, I’d just flub it. However! It’s specifically mentioned that it could be used as a mount, and its temperament as a mount, meaning it could indirectly affect another role play encounter in an interesting manner. C-.

Aoandon

Presentation: The description and picture are interesting. There’s enough flourishes and detail to intrigue, with a little bit of artistic flair. Hm! A.

Mechanics: It’s got touch of madness, a suite of nasty spell-like abilities, constant true seeing, and it’s incorporeal. Intriguing, no? Not the most outstanding of mechanics, but could still pose a reasonable threat. C+.

Lore: So, it looks like a hologram, it has a touch of madness, and it casts spell like abilities. Just what is… the Aoandon? I’m gonna read it!

“An aoandon is an incorporeal outsider formed from the spirit of a woman who died pursuing some ill-fated relationship.”

...what?

Dead people don’t form outsiders! They form undead! Why isn’t it undead? Native outsiders are a wonky bunch in any case, but this is literally an undead blurb! It doesn’t discuss her combat style at all, it’s literally just the undead hatred against those who wronged her! F!

Roleplaying: I don’t care that it speaks 5 languages and it has Int and Cha +4. It’s just another undead that hates stuff. D-.

Asquenti

Presentation: The description is good enough, but the image really doesn’t sell the ‘Tauric crustacean’ idea. To the point that I don’t think the artist knew what it meant. C-.

Mechanics: Seem effective enough. The ability descriptions could have used another pass to better clarify the abilities and fit to the standard style of monster entries. A skilled editor was really needed here. C-.

Lore: Eh, nothing amazing, nothing bad. Just enough to keep it from feeling hollow, but nothing really that stands out. C.

Roleplaying: There’s certainly potential here, but we don’t get into their culture enough to really spark the imagination. C.

Assassin Vine

Presentation: The picture doesn’t mesh with the description at all. D.

Mechanics: Nothing too startling, though I’m not sure how the entangling plants aura is supposed to work. I’m also unsure if keeping the resistances from the original was a good idea; in Starfinder, it’s possible that a party could have no physical damage at all (if unlikely) making energy resistance/immunity more powerful. C-.

Lore: Eh? It’s fine. C.

Roleplaying: Mindless.

Asteroid Worm

Presentation: A full splash page illustration and a description that causes me to feel actual emotions. A+.

Mechanics: The worm’s gimmick is effectively that it’s a larger than colossal enemy, and whoever wrote this entry sells it really well. The abilities are straightforward enough and still do what they set out to do, while giving the DM amazing chances for description. I’m unsure how well this monster would work as a straight fight, but it would make a wonderful set piece. A+.

Lore: It’s got it. It’s effective enough, if not really riveting. C+.

Roleplaying: Mindless. There’s a lot of these in this book, huh?

Atoth

Presentation: Both description and image are sufficiently spectacular. A+.

Mechanics: Well… this is very interesting. The idea is that when someone uses teleportation or the like, this monster shunts the target into a pocket dimension where it uses a mix of melee attacks with Con drain and some basic spell-like abilities to murder them. It’s the kind of thing that a good chunk of a campaign can be based around, especially since the range is one million miles. How far is that? Easily enough to cover one planet and its moons, but not enough to cover multiple planets (I checked). The fight looks interesting, and part of me wishes it was slightly lower CR so I might be able to run it sometime. A.

Lore: Hm, some points docked for the hungry undead trope, but it has a unique enough situation that connects to a different monster in the book. It’s pretty okay, but I would have liked to see more about how it operates. B.

Roleplaying: The primary appeal here is not as roleplay with it, but instead to roleplay around it. Imagine a world terrified to use teleportation because then the Atoth will get you. I definitely think there’s potential there! C+.

Aurumvorax

Presentation: Good picture, and the description isn’t bad. B+.

Mechanics: Very durable, and the setup is one I recognize from Pathfinder monsters: Natural attack with Grab, into Rake. The problem is that Starfinder doesn’t have Rake as a universal monster rule, and instead of adding it in manually the creator didn’t give them anything. This neuters the entire setup, the Aurumvorax can still do more bites to keep the grapple but it doesn’t get that sweet bonus Rake damage. C.

Lore: It’s the same as usual. An angry, heavy, badger-like thing that chews gold and fools. A few interesting notes. A-.

Roleplaying: A nice little mention that they can be trained if they’re picked up young, giving them a little bit of potential. D+.

Azaka

Another group that I’m going to all lump together, but this one is new. To me, at least.

Presentation: There’s a definite shared theme, good art, fair descriptions. A-.

Mechanics: The Hive Mind is an interesting take on the mechanic of the hive mind, and the mechanics of the creatures themselves seem effective enough. The Thoughtseeker is a caster, and the Warrior is a combatant, and both have fitting abilities. A-.

Lore: Hm, interesting enough, but very connected to the specific setting they’re made for. No real context on why and when they interact with the rest of the universe. B.

Roleplay: The hive mind is smart, but they’re just angry zerg-like creatures that want to enslave others and eat radioactive rocks. Not a lot to really RP with. D-.

Final Thoughts

This has been a trip. Some great examples, some absolute failures, a few great endgame monsters, a great CR1 monster, and this is only the first letter of the alphabet. Hit and miss, by all means, and an unusual amount of mindless creatures, but not really a super good claim toward or away from buying the book. This is a mixed bag, and for some people the good will be enough to make it worth it.

#Rate the monsters #Alien bestiary #Starfinder #I pasted this in from a word doc #not sure if that'll mess with the formatting #I feel like this book needed another editing pass #Editing isn't just proofreading #it's checking and cross-checking to be sure everything works together #and it's hard

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feel199x · 5 years

Text

boyfriend!chan

❣ summary: chan is working super hard for his next comeback, and he’s very clingy once he comes back. he’s also very adamant on being the best boyfriend you’ll ever have

❣ warnings: none, i think!

❣ request: yes!

❣ a/n: i kinda,,, went overboard anon im sorry :( i hope u like it ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ masterlist

Your boyfriend was super hard-working, and although you admired him for it, it was both his greatest personality aspect and his worst. Chan was an angel, he really was, but this comeback was absolutely tiring him out. He did his best to keep up with you and give you attention, but as the comeback approached, the messages got scarcer and scarcer. You weren’t upset with him because you knew that he was in an incredibly demanding field of work, and thus, couldn’t always give you his undivided attention. Chan still felt bad though and always spoiled you when he had free time. You scolded him every time, but he could never take you seriously with how flustered you always ended up. Chan was the kind of guy who went all out in everything he did, and this included gifts. For your year and half anniversary (was that even a thing people celebrated?) he had written you a song and given you a matching set of necklaces. Chris was just everything you could’ve asked for and more, he always listened and did his best to make the relationship run smoothly. Even when you had gotten insecure about dating him, thinking that he would fall for another idol or suddenly come to a realization that you weren’t good enough, he always reassured you. It had been nearly two years now, and coincidentally your anniversary was only a couple days after their first comeback stage.

You weren’t too worried about it, Chan always took this sort of thing very seriously. Even if he didn’t do anything too special, you wouldn’t get upset with him. He was a busy guy, and you were aware of this when you started to date him. It was actually Chris who was nervous about dating you, not because of the fans or media but because he feared not giving you the love, care, and attention that you deserved. Even with how understanding you were, you still missed him. It was a good thing exams were coming up because otherwise you would be getting nostalgic rereading the text messages between you and him. And you tried not to do that, you really did but studying was so boring and stressful, all you wanted to do was fall asleep with Chan. You were almost successful with your studying session, but you swore that you had heard your phone buzz. You nearly lept onto your bed, and no there weren’t any messages but, a break couldn’t hurt right?

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: hey babe im sorry for not giving you attention

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: ive just been swamped with work

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: i miss u and im three secs away from abandoning my kids. i am so tired. i love you baby

that rapper from hot sauce i love or smthn: by the way did you change my contact name?

you: its okay chris! dont worry about it, work is a priority. I love you too :(

you: and yes!

you: sent an image

the nice guy whojust has a lot of money: im divorcing u and leaving you with the kids

you: no please im not ready to be a single parent

you: channie please i love u

the nice guy who just has a lot of money: okay for love i guess

the nice guy who has just has a lot of money: i guess...i really am a nice guy who just has a lot of money

the nice guy who just has a lot of money: i have to go, i’ll try calling later but no promises. i miss and love you lots baby

you: oh mYGOD

you: please remember to rest babe, i love and miss u too

You sighed, shutting off your phone and holding it against your chest. He hadn’t called that day, nor since. You understood that he had responsibilities, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, you guess. Their comeback stage was tomorrow, and they were driving over to a city who’s name you forgot. You would’ve gone, if you hadn’t had finals all day and it was hours away. You felt terrible for not being able to go out and support him but Chan insisted that you stayed and rested instead of taking a bus up to their stage. You loved that man, you really did. You glared at the textbook on your desk, hoping that it would suddenly set combust into flames. But alas, you were but a mortal. Before resuming your studying, you pulled at your desk drawer to reread the motivational sticky notes that Chan would always leave around your place. You sighed, looking over the sticky notes that have since lost their sticks but made your face warm just staring at it.

Like mate, stop procrastinating!

If you get better than a passing grade i’ll let you yell at me about sleeping

Do you know how smart you are? You’re like Einstein, if he was hot

I love you but i’ll love you a little less if you fail

You smiled to yourself, your cheeks hurting and flustered from the notes. You must’ve been a patron saint in your past life because he was just, amazing. You really hoped there was a future in store for the two of you, because he made you feel like it was your first time falling in love all over again. He made you weak in the knees, and always made you feel like you were the only one for him. Maybe it was a little silly how those sticky notes motivated you, but whatever worked, right? You continued to review the notes, Chan’s voice nagging you about the formulas you hadn’t quite memorized yet in your head. But eventually, your eyes grew weary and you shut off your desk lamp, collapsing onto your bed.

Exams were, in short, not fun. You were fairly sure you had passed, but only by the hair on your head. Maybe it was the anxiety speaking- you had yet to completely flunk an exam, but it could always happen. You’d worry about that in a couple weeks, it was future you’s problem. Right now, all you wanted was to eat take-out and watch Stray Kid’s comeback. It was fairly late when you got back home, the light outside already dimming and fading to a night gradient. You watched the clock anxiously, waiting for their stage to air on TV.

You were never one to overreact, but something about seeing your boyfriend doing what he loved on stage, seeing all his hard work pay off- it made you yell at the screen. It made you yell in the same way a sports fan yells at the players and refs, and only Chris could do this to you. As soon as his stage ended, you texted him, hyping him up. You knew he’d be doing a live shortly after, but at least he’d see it soon enough. Unfortunately, you collapsed in the middle of his live, exhaustion finally catching up with you. You thought your phone buzzed again but being half-asleep you brushed it off.

“___! ___, get up!”

“Love of mine, light of my life, shh…”

You groaned but laughed as he pulled at your arms. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he pulled you closer. “I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, pressing a kiss on them, “I’m sorry about being gone so much.” You tilted your head, smiling at him. “Hey,” you said softly, cupping your face, “Don’t worry about it, let’s get some sleep. Actually, what time is it?”

“Three am.”

“Chris!”

“Look,” he whined, “You can’t yell at me I drove six hours to be with you.” He threw you over his shoulder, “Plus, we’re going to sleep, like right now. I’ll even sleep in.” He flopped you on your bed and you crossed your arms as he took off his shirt, wiggling your eyebrows. “Wow,” you teased, “He’s hot.”

“You’re so gross,” he murmured, laying his head on your chest but not before leaving butterfly kisses up your collarbone, “How did the test go?” You sighed, playing wth his head of curly hair. “It went okay, I think. But this isn’t about me. Your stage was amazing, you did great. Phenomenal, spectacular, fantastic, ground-breaking-”

“Alright!” he sighed, “I don’t deserve you.” He tightened his arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder again. “Oh, Chris don’t start,” you scolded softly, “You’re the greatest boyfriend ever, and you work really hard. Now, shut up and go to sleep.”

“You have such a way with words, I’m swooning.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“Impossible-”

“Hm? What? I can’t hear you over the enormous amount of sleep I’m getting.”

You groaned, moving to rub your eyes but finding Chan’s arms tightly wound around you. “Don’t even think about it,” his voice was raspy and low, “I got it.”

“Chan,” you whined, “You have to eat, just stay in-”

“Later.”

You sighed again, and Chris pulled you closer pressing lazy kisses up your neck and jaw. His eyes were still closed, and you looked at him dreamily. His hair was messy, and he looked so much more relaxed, muscles less tight and tense. He was under so much stress, and it was good to see him finally take a break, even if it was only for a couple of hours. You fell asleep against his chest, feeling each heartbeat against the side of your face. And maybe you should’ve felt a little bad for waiting until he fell into a deep sleep to wriggle out of his arms (which was weirdly difficult, the guy had a strong grip) to make him breakfast. You weren’t sure what diet he was on, but you were sure that no one would mind if he cheated just a little bit.

“____! Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

You exhaled, biting the inside of your cheek as you heard him step into the kitchen, trying your best to ignore. He hugged you from the back, letting his head rest on your shoulder, kissing the nape of your neck. “I told you we could do it later.”

“Well, it is later, Chan.”

“But we could’ve just ordered something,” he whined, “Come back to bed, please.”

“After I make you breakfast.”

“I really hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

“Come to wh-?”

He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. “Chris put me down or I swear-”

“No,” he sat on top of you, “We’re ordering in, and we’re going to eat in bed and stay here until we become one with the bed.”

“You’re crushing me,” you groaned, “Get off you bum.”

“It’s the diet they’ve got me on, I’ve got hella gains, man.”

“Yeah I saw your thrist trap on insta, you hoe.”

“It’s not a thirst trap!”

“Well, I don’t know about that. Have you read the comments?”

“Now, listen-”

“Shut up,” you propped yourself up and kissed him, and as he leaned into it, you pushed him off.

“You play so, so dirty,” he whined, “Come here and make it up to me.” You snorted but rolled into his arms anyway. “I love you,” you said and stared at him, “A lot. Even with your hella gains, man.” He cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “But I love you most.” You opened your mouth so protest, but he shushed you with a kiss. “Don’t start,” he said in between gasps of deep kisses, “Just let me spoil you.”

It had been a couple days since their first stage, and later that day Chris needed to go back to the dorms to tend to his children. He insisted on staying longer, but Woojin was blowing up his phone. You guessed that the group got themselves in another mess. Your anniversary was coming up, and this was the first time you were scared that he forgot. He was usually much better about this than you, and always went a bit too far with his gifts. You had already got his present, an expensive chain necklace you took extra shifts to pay for, but it was worth it when the jeweler handed you the chain. You loved the idea of people getting their boyfriends flowers, so you got an arrangement made. You even had a photo album made of your favorite moments together, and songs that were attached to those moments. Okay, maybe it was a little corny, but you worked hard on it. Chan hadn’t messaged you since then, and you assumed it was because he was busy, but you were getting antsy.

And just like you had before, you nearly jumped to your phone when you heard your phone buzz.

iron man in the streets but better than tony: check under your bed

you: ?? okay

You crouched on the floor, pulling out a simple box, and inside of it was silk clothing with a card with an address and time stamp on it.

you: chris

you: what have you done

you: CHRISTOPHER

you: IM GOING TO END YOU

you: YOU SAID YOU WEREN’T GOING OVERBOARD

you: YOU IDIOT YOU HAVE READ RECEIPTS ON

You’d be lying if there wasn’t a stupid grin on your face as you put on your attire. It took you a while to get ready, work and school hadn’t exactly given you room for self-care but you tried your best to look nice. You looked up the address, and much to your dismay, it was an overpriced fine dining restaurant. The cab driver gushed over your date, complimenting you and wishing you the best of luck on your future endeavours, even blessing your marriage. It was a little weird, but endearing. You hadn’t even called a cab, but instead you got a message saying your ride was there.

You expected Chan to be outside waiting for you outside, but instead, you were greeted by a very nice waiter who’s name you didn’t catch. He beckoned you to follow him. The restaurant was pantheon themed, very airy and light colors decorating the entire place. It was definetly the nicest restaurant you’ve ever been to, but you thought the same thing for your year and half anniversary too. You clutched onto your gifts awkwardly, and the waiter helped you carry the bouquet of flowers.

“Any chance you can tell me what else he has planned?” “Afraid not, he warned me about this.”

“Smart man.”

You were sat at a table in the center, the stained glass letting a pool of warm colors illuminate the room and everyone’s faces. The flowers sat delicately on your lap, and the jewelry box laid on tope of the table, your fingers dancing across it’s edges. That’s when you heard the violins start playing, crowding around your table and playing a dainty tune. You felt a blush creep on your cheeks as you rubbed them, trying to smile less. And there he was, on top of the small stage meant for the classical instrument players to sit on. You wanted to glare at him, but all you could do was smile at his gestures. He winked at you, beginning to sing a song. You were about to cry, rubbing your eyes as the song ended.

“Was I that bad?”

“No, god, no,” you pulled out the flowers and handed it to him, “I know that can’t be the end of it, so let me give these to you.” He looked through the photo album, pursing his lips as tears brimmed at the brink of his eyes. He opened the jewelry box, pulling out the fancy chain necklace you had gotten him. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, “Did you pick up extra shifts for these? You shouldn’t have…”

“Chan, literally look at everything you planned, and say that to my face again.” He smiled, pulling the chain over his head so he could wear it with his suit. You decided that he looks best while wearing fancy suits like this. Perfectly tailored to him, even if bits of chest was visible through his half-buttoned shirt. “You’re right though,” he said, “I’m not done.” He pulled out a little box out of a pocket from inside his jacket. “It’s a promise ring,” he said as he slid it across the table, “You are the love of my life, ____, and I think it’s a bit too early to full-on propose to you, but I want to make the promise that I will one day.”

You opened the box, the expensive ring nearly blinding you as the warm light hit it. “God, I hate you so much, Chris,” tears were streaming at your face, a smile glued to your face.

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

“No? We could change it- or replace it? Or-”

“I love it, and you so much.”

“I love you most.”

“No-”

“Shh,” he kissed you, “Don’t start.”

#bang chan #stray kids #chan fic #skz chan

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gg-astrology · 5 years

Note

Hii how about Aquarius Sun, Cancer moon and rising. And my Venus sign is Pisces. Or 1. Cancer in rising and moon. 6. Sagittarius in Pluto and Capricorn in Jupiter. 7. Capricorn in mercury and Neptune. 8. Aquarius in Uranus and Sun. 9. Aquarius in Mars. 10. Pieces in Venus and Saturn. The numbers are the houses. And can you tell me about it or explain it in “everyday” language😅 Thank you😄😄

Hey there!!🧡🧡 I--ah this confused me too kjsndfkfnk 🧡🧡 I usually talk about 1-2 placements, so I can ham in and talk about it/have it be applicable to everyone else too (just to keep in mind🧡) I’ll help clear this out for you (formatting wise?? if thats ok?🧡) just in case you want to ask someone else about it too (for future ref!🧡) :

Aquarius Sun 8H

Cancer Moon 1H/Cancer Rising

Capricorn Mercury 7H

Pisces Venus 10H

Aquarius Mars 9H

Pisces Saturn 10H

Capricorn Jupiter 6H

Aquarius Uranus 8H

Capricorn Neptune 7H

Sagittarius Pluto 6H

Try to go like....one by one, bit by bit instead of all at once ok?? 🧡🧡It can be a lil overwhelming, and if they have an faq please be sure to check it first/abide by it too 🧡🧡

I don’t think I have an ask about Aquarius Sun - Cancer Moon yet (i’m doing a sun-moon combo series btw🧡) so I’ll talk more about those here. I probably won’t focus so much on the houses, but it’ll still be applicable to you i think 🧡🧡

[Below Cut: Aquarius Sun - Cancer Moon 🍑]

What was that saying about ‘not trusting someone as much as you can throw them??’

You proportionate yourself according to how much you can give/take from others --- ‘treat others as how you’d like to be treated’ and maybe sometimes ‘treat others as how you’d treat yourself’ (although u may be working up to that sometimes)

Aquarius/Cancer can be kind, compassionate, caring and nurturing to others-- but at the same time, you’re always very aware of your own limitations, your uncertainty -- you’re very self-aware (too much to the point of self-consciousness) and maybe too cautious as a person (defensive against threats/personal attacks) that you end up sabotaging yourself/your directions.

Watch for paranoia, or social reclusivity/deep-seated insecurities with your own self-image. You can often be very aware of it to the point where it blocks you (amplified insecurities) and thus-- you do not trust/let your guards down ever and works hard to maintain an ‘image’ of yourself that doesn’t let anyone sees your vulnerabilities.

You also have a bad habit of just-- taking more and more stress/hardship/frustrations without letting others help, learn how to let go. Or how to nurture a more healthy mechanism/positive self-image for freeing vulnerabilities. Your greatest strength is your emotionality, yet you often have the wrong side of the bargain and not know how to ‘let go/fully let your feelings flow out’ the way it’s supposed to. Make sure to learn this, as it’ll help your Cancer Moon get more in contact with it’s watery nature than letting it crush you under the weight.

You have great friends and people who supports you, but you need to balance that IQ with good EQ responses!!

With Aquarius/Cancers, although you may judge others, you do so fairly and honestly. You take the idea of ‘treating others’ very seriously, because you do want to improve their lives just as much as you want to improve your quality of life too.

It’s putting the self (cancer moon) in others (aquarius sun) that you get to this, thus you have incredible adaptability and empathy for people. Although you may look stiff and pragmatic sometimes, your greatest strength is in your emotionality/ability to understand others by putting yourself in their shoes.

You are also often very secure in your own sense of comfort, like one of those people who are just at home where-ever they go. Whatever your rising sign is, there’s an inner-depth and serenity within you that people feel comforted by. You become a stability/beacon of ‘home’ to others. Mostly because you hold yourself well, isn’t pretentious and is very down-to-earth in your own intellectually perceptive ways.

Don’t mind those who are intimidated by you, you know you’re much more caring and they’ll learn how to love/understand you eventually.

Those who sticks around will get to know the deeper, sensual side of you. And those who don’t -- well, they’ll see you around probably (their loss)

Short and sweet🧡 But I hope this is helpful! 🧡 As for your houses and other placements, you can 1) send them in one by one (I hope u don’t mind if I take some time before answering them ksdjnfsk im kinda backed up rn) 2) check each of them individually on other posts maybe?? 🧡 or 3) I’m pretty sure other astro blogs might offer short sweet descriptions for all of them 🧡🧡 be sure to check them out too! 🧡🧡

I hope this is helpful! 🧡🧡 thanks again for sending them in! 🧡🧡

#aquarius sun #cancer moon #aquarius #cancer #aquarius-cancer #anon #asks

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class-wom · 5 years

Text

Legion Chapter 22 “Morning After”-Thoughts – SPOILERS!!!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

SPOILER TERRITORY

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, tbh, this one has overwhelmed me a bit (also I’m trying to process the implications of next week’s preview), so it may be a little short this time around. But then, just because it starts short doesn’t mean I won’t add later! 😈 Bwahaha...

1) Okay, so “The World’s Angriest Boy” was actually Gabrielle’s doll?!? that was a cuddle-toy for pre-Farouk Baby David and was somehow corrupted by Farouk, memory, eerie foreshadowing, whatever the heck you want to call it? On the bright side, Harold and the Purple Crayon is a much nicer bedtime story than The World’s Angriest Boy in the World! (Also note Noah Hawley’s favorite device of using color names in the dialogue: “It’s always blue!”/”Follow the yellow bus.” etc.)

2) Funny that all the Charlie Brown music was in last week’s ep. Hero or anti, I’m starting to think now that David really is Charlie Brown, doomed to play right into Lucy’s Farouk’s hands and lose to him no matter what!

And yes, I hate Farouk more than ever after that chilling final image. Who cares if he’s cuddling a baby?!? Remember, this is the same guy that not only fuses Amy with Lenny’s DNA and scoffs in David’s angry, grieving face over it, but is also going to teach Syd to “lie so well that he thanks her when she stabs him in the back”!!! ((shudder))

3) Yeah, I’m starting to think that the well-meaning Xavier may have, intentionally or otherwise, opened the can of worms here by hunting Farouk down in the first place. From the way it was presented, he’s just using “Baby Cerebro” to see if there are “others like him,” he picks up and heads out to “find the other one" (shades of David abandoning Syd for the desert in Chapter 16?) and then gets there and realizes just how in over his head he is before he completely understands the situation?!? Seems to me that’s the event that should have been stopped in order to protect Baby David -- dude, Cerebro can wait! you have a wife and baby to watch TV with! Maybe you can wait until Davey’s old enough to help you out in the lab/shed/whatever and you can schedule a nice little father/son project building that thing while you practice your father/son-bonding telepathy sessions! I’m just sayin’... or keeping with last week’s Peanuts musical theme, “Charlie Xavier, you blockhead!” 😂

4) Which reminds me: Okay, fine, it literally took me a week to come up with this one, but did Marvel and FX get the okay from the Charles Schulz Estate and/or King Features Syndicate for all of those Charlie Brown* refs? I’m guessing so, but you gotta admit that this is one heck of a comics crossover! And now with the Disney/Marvel/Fox merge really altering the entertainment landscape in the near-future for better or worse, does this mean we can now expect the likes of Spider-Man and/or Loki to help Charlie Brown out with Lucy’s darn football? The possibilities are endless at this rate, man, I’m tellin’ ya! 😏 Also, on the note of King Features Syndicate, the Garfield-lover in me is wondering about the potential of that character sneaking into future series, should there be any. Maybe a crossover with the mice from Chapters 14 and 19, since Garfield gets along with mice so well? or perhaps Garfield and David could hang out on the astral plane to potentially discuss the rights of mice over a nice luncheon of lasagna, waffles, and cherry pie? there has to be some potential in the Legion Universe if there’s room for Charlie Brown! or is this merely my own hopeless quest to use original cable programming to relive a more innocent era of network family-oriented TV specials “just because”? I mean, hey, Noah himself has referred to Legion as “a children’s show for adults and an adult show for kids over 16,” or words to that effect, so hey, why not? as long as everything’s kosher legally, that is!

*Okay, it just occurred to me that The Peanuts Movie was released by 20th Century Fox a few years ago, so maybe that’s where FX was able to secure the rights.

5) Also a chilling “Like father, like son”-type of scenario here, since that is literally what David is doing throughout Season 3, this ep included: Jumping into situations he thinks he understands before he has all the facts at his disposal. Reminds me of his wake-up call from Chapter 4, where he wills himself out of his astral plane coma and teleports to rescue Syd...but of course, it’s not Syd!!!

6) Speaking of which, I very much enjoyed this week’s respite from the whole “Syd the Hero”-BS, or whatever the heck she’s supposed to be at this point. Nice week to catch my breath from that, so to speak! I can only stand one Farouk-manip at a time, thank you very much!

7) Poor Gabrielle. Just poor Gabrielle. 😭

Okay, fine -- not exactly short. But hey, for me it is! 😂 Bwahaha!

Anyway, looking forward to seeing "the Folks” again for hinted-at one-on-one confrontations in future eps in hopes of some sort of understanding if not resolution. Seriously, I think that’s what I’m rooting for more at this point than for anyone to actually “win” per se (especially since it appears the only “winner” will no doubt turn out to be SK, and don’t even get me started on that implication! 🤬🤮), for people on all sides to finally reach a sense of understanding and arrive at a halfway-manageable solution/conclusion. In short, I guess I’m right where Noah wants me as a viewer! 😁

#Legion #Chapter 22 #Spoilers

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the-nysh · 6 years

Text

Lines from the dub’s script for Deku vs Kacchan 2

Since Crunchyroll’s subs had several translation errors, I was interested in seeing for myself how much better Funimation would do for the dub. I went in and transcribed most of the notable lines for ref and/or comparison’s sake. (Not for the purpose of comparing the voice acting however.) Also included are some of my thoughts/impressions for particular word choices at the end.

K: Kacchan D: Deku AM: All Might A: Aizawa

Also bolded: important key lines to browse at a glance

K: “When you and I were kids, we both wanted to be like All Might, but I…had the potential. Then somehow a little nobody like you was singled out by the person I admired most, and I didn’t even realize it. That’s why we’re here. We are settling this. Right here, right now.

“I wanna know what made All Might give his power to a loser like you. (1) Lemme see for myself. Is it because you looked up to him more than I did? And if that’s the case…does it mean everything I’ve done to be like him is wrong?

“You were always behind me our whole lives! You were stuck to me; I couldn’t get rid of you. No matter how much I tried you kept coming back! (2)

“Don’t you dare worry about me! Attack me! (3) Why won’t you fight back!? Why did I end up having to chase after someone who was always so far behind me!? Why did a damn small fry like you get strong, and become the number one hero’s sidekick – his favorite!? (4) You got so much better! And I destroyed All Might! I admired him so much…but it’s because of me that he ended up losing his power! (5) If I had been stronger…if I hadn’t been kidnapped by villains, then it never would have happened. All Might knows it was my fault but hasn’t said anything. (6) Everyone has to know though! I can’t get it out of my head! It’s like it’s constantly playing on loop, so what the hell am I supposed to DO!?”

D: “No…he’s been carrying this guilt with him the whole time? Even more than me. He’s been blaming himself, obsessing over it…

“It turned out our fight wasn’t what I thought it would be. It didn’t really matter who won or lost. That wasn’t the point. Even so, I felt like I had to go through with it. Because in that moment…I was the only person in the world who understood how Kacchan felt. (7)

“If I’m gonna do this, I’m going all out! I refuse to be your punching bag, Kacchan! Let’s go!

“He just needed to vent his emotions, and fighting was the only way he knew how. I couldn’t ignore him…or run off, not after everything we’ve been through. Our relationship to one another was totally screwed up: kindergarten, elementary, middle school, high school… We’ve known each other for so long but until that point, we’d never talked about how we really felt.”(8)

K: “Can’t let him think!”(9)

D: “My reaction times have gotten faster, much better than the last time we’ve fought. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…that we’ve both been getting stronger.”(10)

K: “What are you smiling about!? Huh!? I thought you weren’t gonna be my punching bag?! I bet you’ve got some kinda plan up your sleeve! That’s one of the things I hate most about you! (11) I can never tell what you’re thinking…no matter how much I beat you up you keep coming back! It’s obvious you’ve always looked down on me, even when we were kids! You think you’re better than me, but if you seriously believe you’re gonna surpass me as a hero, even with your new power! You better think again, Deku!”

D: “Wait…is that what you actually believed, all this time? Think about it, Kacchan. If I looked down on you I wouldn’t want anything to do with you anymore. But I’m still here. I noticed things you couldn’t all these years because I had nothing at first. There were things I hated about you, sure. But I could clearly see how amazing you were! You had so much going for you that I didn’t have. All Might was my hero, but you were the one actually in my LIFE! (12)

“I thought you were incredible, Kacchan. I wanted to see…what you’d become! That’s the reason…I kept chasing after you!

“I’d never admit something like this to your face, but the truth is…when I get riled up and my desire to win surpasses my desire to save someone…without meaning to, I start talking like you. You’re so mean sometimes, and I hate it, but my idea of victory is so tied to the image of you in my head, that in those moments I can’t help but imitate you. (13)

“You’re the best, that’s why I want to defeat you! I have to, in order to meet the expectations that All Might has for me!”

K: “That’s it. We’re done here, I won this fight. You have All Might’s power, but even…using his strength, even after making it your own, somehow you still managed to lose to me. …Why? How could you lose?

*to All Might* “Why did you pick Deku? It started when the Sludge villain came, didn’t it? So why him?”(14)

AM: “He was powerless, but still more heroic than anyone else. I knew you were strong, that much was obvious. You were someone who could already fight, so I decided that he should have a chance to stand in the ring.”

K: “…But now you know I’m weak too! I always wanted to be like you which meant being as strong as possible! But look what I did to you! Because I’m not good enough…”(15)

AM: “This is not your fault, young Bakugou. I was always going to lose my power. You couldn’t do anything to change that. You are strong, but I focused too much on your physical strength, and overlooked what was important. This isn’t your burden. I apologize; sometimes I forget that you’re children.

“After being a hero for so many years you learn a few things. Striving to be the best, like you, young Bakugou, and caring deeply about people, about rescuing those in trouble, like you, young Midoriya; both of those feelings are necessary in a hero, otherwise they’ll never truly be able to represent justice. That’s why you admire his strength so much, young Midoriya…and I know that’s why you’ve always feared his heart and spirit, young Bakugou. Now that you’ve laid your feelings out on the table, maybe you can understand each other. If you have mutual respect and focus on making one another stronger, I’ve no doubt you’ll become the ultimate heroes, winning and saving people at the same time.” (16)

K: “Dammit…that’s not what I wanted to hear. *to Deku* You…you had the strongest guy in the world lay the groundwork for you. Don’t you dare lose again.

*to All Might* “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone what’s going on. Unlike Deku I can keep my mouth shut. This will stay between us.”

D: “Thanks, Kacchan.” (17)

AM: “I don’t deserve this; I should be down on my hands and knees begging for you to keep this secret for me. Yet here you are being considerate and helping me out. Thank you.”

K: “I’m not doing this for you. It would just be a real pain if this got out and messed stuff up.

*to Deku* “If this got out people’d be confused and they’d start wondering where the power is. You idiot, what were you thinking when you first told me about it?”

AM: “It was my own choice to use up the last of my abilities. I said this earlier, but…that was in no way your fault.”

K: *internally* “Yeah, sure. (18) It doesn’t change what I have to do. Things aren’t gonna be the same though, Deku, you got that? You’ve been watching me and everyone around you, absorbing what you see to get stronger. Well I can do the exact same thing and keep getting better myself! I’ll go higher than even you, chosen one.”

D: “Right…then I guess I’ll just have to be better than that!”

K: “You what?”

D: “I have to go higher than you!”

K: “Dammit nerd! I just said I was gonna be the one to surpass you!”

D: “I know! And now I’m saying that I’m gonna go beyond that level!

K: “What?!”

AM: “They’ve become proper rivals now, in a way that they weren’t before.

*to Aizawa* “It seems young Bakugou has been feeling like he was responsible for my retirement. He had to face the licensing exam with those pent-up emotions and then his inferiority complex exploded, and this happened. It’s all because I didn’t realize I was being negligent. This whole fight was brought about because of the failure of his teacher.”(19)

A: “Who threw the first punch!?”

K: “I did.”

D: “I also went pretty hard. It wasn’t just him.”

*After credits scene*

D: “So…about my Shoot Style…what did you think of it?”

K: “…Your movements are too obvious. Even when you got faster I was able to dodge them. You’re not gonna win any fight that way.”

D: “Oh, right.”

K: “…And when you added in punches it really pissed me off.”

D: “Got it!”

My thoughts, as listed numerically where noted (my sub commentary is here):

The choice to include ‘loser’ here is kinda ‘hmm,’ since it adds another insult to the line that’s otherwise supposed to be his most honest/sincere. The prev line already had him say ‘nobody’ (instead of ‘pebble’) so this one felt a bit unnecessary. Other than that, I’m ok with this line, (actually it gives off a more accusatory/jealous vibe in general rather than genuine incredulity/confusion at the truth), but I do like him questioning ‘everything he’s done’ to show just how lost he feels.

I like how it’s worded here how much Kacchan tried to get kid Deku to stop following him to no avail. Because it’s an important distinction to make vs actively seeking him out (which would be untrue for Kacchan’s behavior). No matter what he did to either avoid or discourage him to stay away, he couldn’t understand why Deku would keep coming back to him regardless.

I like the demand, ‘attack me!’ (as opposed to ‘fight me!’) because just as mentioned in this meta, it gives off the feeling of him seeking self-destructive punishment for his guilt.

The words ‘sidekick’ and ‘his favorite’ used to describe Deku’s relation to All Might are new here! :O I didn’t expect either, (honestly being a sidekick doesn’t seem like a role Kacchan would want to have or be envious of Deku for) but the word ‘favorite’ was delivered nicely painful.

The timing for this line felt off, since the actual ‘wham’ part, and therefore the full impact about destroying All Might, was revealed before the pause where Kacchan raised his head. The part where he bares his face and rawest feelings to Deku then felt a bit lessened/repetitive because of that.

Whoa!?! :O This line punched me in the gut! ‘AM knows it was my fault but hasn’t said anything!’ (vs AM tried to keep it a secret, with ‘it’ being vague) NOW, there’s no doubt what he’s referring to, plus that he believes the person he admires most even blames him for it. That everyone, including AM, gives him the cold shoulder behind his back because they just know it was his fault. Holy fuck yikes, drive that guilt and self-loathing up to 11! D8

Deku’s the ‘only person in the world’ for even more EMPHASIS! 8D

:’))))) I’m emotional. I like how this was worded.

Ah good, the pronoun was fixed where Kacchan refers to Deku.

Oho? Manga had Deku referring to Kacchan, while crunchyroll had Deku referring to himself, now here’s the middle ground with Deku praising them both for their growth. :P

Ah, the first showing of the word ‘hate.’ (1 out of 3) The use of it is kinda eehhhh, but if there’s any solace, it’s only used to refer to traits about the other, rather than directly saying they outright hate the other person. So there’s a distinction (and it’s not that bad).

Hhhh, my heart. ;A; (2nd use of ‘hate’ referring to things about the other) But the ‘I’m still here/you were the one actually in my life’ get me right in the feels. Emphatically proclaiming that declaration to Kacchan’s face is pretty good! 8D

(3rd use) But only about ‘being mean sometimes.’ So as it’s worded, we have Deku disliking when Kacchan’s mean (understandable), yet he unknowingly imitates that same meanness when he strives to win like him too, adapting both his virtuous and unpleasant traits as his image of victory, ayyy. And of course, Deku internally confesses he could never admit this to Kacchan’s face out loud. :P

Oh. ;.; ‘So why him?’ made Kacchan sound so soft and small, like a betrayed and hurt little kid. Oof, that bit got me.

The ‘I’m weak/I’m not good enough’ lines just uurghghhhh hurt so good. Kacchan’s vulnerability/humility in front of All Might is done well. :’)

Ayyyyy, All Might’s speech to motivate them to mutually improve together. :’))) I like how he summarizes the feelings they both have (Midoriya: caring deeply for others; Bakugou: fearing that heart/spirit). It’s clean and heartfelt.

Wah, :O I didn’t expect Deku to thank Kacchan for promising to keep AM’s secret. (AM thanks him too, but still…) It’s like…now they’re both genuinely surprised Kacchan is an honorable man who keeps his word (when, at least in Deku’s case, he should know how much Kacchan values AM and wouldn’t betray his trust, so that kinda thing should already be a given. So Deku thanking him for that, on top of his soft amazement, feels a bit odd???)

Oooh, this bit said internally in response to AM’s reassurance now gives off the impression that Kacchan’s guilt isn’t completely gone/mollified; there’s still lingering doubt in the back of his mind that he caused this, even if he knows now what to do next.

AM’s summary to Aizawa is pretty similar, yet it doesn’t mention mental heath/care, hmm.

Overall: pretty good! :) Worth a watch for those interested in the alternate available official translation! (At least until the subs are officially released on the blurays!) I give props to Deku’s voice actor for his sincerity and range throughout the whole ep. I preferred Kacchan in the latter half when talking vulnerably in front of All Might, since in much of the first half, he seemed to be yelling with sustained anger/frustration rather than choked anguish/pain that I would have liked to hear more. (Ahh, there’s really no comparison to Nobu’s performance, so that’s why I’m not going to discuss the eng vs japanese acting.)

The overall script was clean with several moments of improved polish over the subs that still got me unexpectedly in the feels. (’AM knows it was my fault.’/’You were the one actually in my life!’) Since many lines had to be reworked to fit for mouth flaps too, probably the only unfortunate consequence of that was the timing for Kacchan admitting to AM’s end. Most other additions I was ok with in the sense they weren’t bad, (meaning I can overlook them for the sake of overall enjoyment). Including an extra ‘loser’ and the word ‘hate’ 3 times was pretty ehhhh, but thankfully only used in the context of ‘things they hate about x‘ rather than they hate each other entirely (which would be incorrect). Therefore, the meaning of most key parts were conveyed mostly intact.

Hopefully this will be useful to those interested in seeing (most of) the eng transcript without the means to watch the ep itself (or, according to individual availability/viewing preferences). :)

#bnha #bkdk #anime spoilers #english dub #long post #commentary #ayyy managed to watch and write down all the important lines people might be interested in #(because i was interested in seeing how funimation translated everything)#not going to compare the acting because for most viewers they prefer the version they watch first #i'm just glad we get multiple versions to enjoy depending on availability and accessibility :D

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dracoskullonmain · 6 years

Note

For the writing prompts: she was fearless and crazier than him, she was his queen. And God save anyone who dares to hurt his queen. Its from Suicide squad if u need the ref.

Thank you for the prompt!I’m sorry about how long it took to get to this, the past few weeks have been kinda chaotic. Had a scare about my hard drive failing, but to make up for it, i kinda got carried away with writing this one… I hope you like 6 pages, because oh man i got so carried away…Also, i modified the phrase a bit to suit the moment, hope you don’t mind! This is a continuation of the last prompt, and there will be a third part that covers what was really going on behind the scenes. I Hope you enjoy!

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He had thought everything was going to be alright. Sitting in the darkness of his expansive bedroom, Adrien repeated it to himself over and over and over again.

It was going to be alright.It was going to be alright.It was going to be alright

The storm was heavy, rain falling in thick sheets across the parisian sky for as far as the eye could see. Each drop made a heavy beat, conducting a natural orchestra on the rooftops and streets below. From inside his large, dark, empty room, all Adrien could hear was that rain beating on his windows, tapping away to a tune only mother nature could tell. It was maddening.He tried not to think about what he’d done, why he was sitting here in the dark. Why he felt so… disgusting. “”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“`Only two hours earlier he had sat down for dinner with his father, a chipper and happy young man who had everything in the world. A caring if not cold father, a loving but detached partner, a class full of friends and smiling faces and a place away from this cold abode. Striding into the room, he was sure to wipe away the cheerfulness from his face before he sat down, lest his father try to pry into his business. It was a dance he’d practiced every day, every time he came to this room. After this, he would head to his room for piano lessons as was his usual routine.This was not a usual day. Adrien took his seat, and immediately his father entered the room. Something seemed off in the air surrounding the older man. He seemed… happy? Father being happy was such a foreign thing. Two years of his cold existence had wiped away any memory of what Gabriel looked like when he was genuinely happy. It seemed he was less accustomed to hiding it then Adrien was, because he realized his mistake and schooled his expression in a heartbeat. Adrien expected him to sit. Instead he stood behind the chair, setting down his papers before he cleared his throat to talk. “Adrien.” The younger blonde boy turned his full attention to his father, carefully setting his hands in his lap in the image of perfect obedience. “I wanted to discuss with you something. Would you mind if we delayed dinner for a moment?” It was almost hilarious. Adrien knew from years of experience the question was a demand thinly masked as the idea of choice. Still he would not deny his father the courtesy and nodded his consent. “Adrien… Do you… miss your mother?” The question was so tentative, as if he was stretching a foot gently out onto a frozen lake to test the strength of the ice. Was he afraid that Adrien might say no?“Ofcourse father… I think of her every day.” The question of why his father would ask such a thing laced the words, begging for an answer.An answer Gabriel quickly supplied. “So do i… I know this must seem strange to you, but hypothetically, What would you do if you had the chance to bring her home?” Hypothetical questions. Gabriel loved using those. It was a kind of trap usually. What was he looking to gain from Adrien this time? Well, it didn’t hurt to give a good answer. “I’d take it, i would think. Why?” Gabriel seemed to consider the answer carefully for a long moment. He seemed to be mulling over his words like he sometimes did, looking for just the right combination. Adrien got a chance to notice Nathalie in the doorway, a strange look on her usually expressionless face. Was she upset about something?His father’s words brought his attention back to the conversation. “Adrien, I want to confess something to you. For the past two years since your mother’s disappearance, i have been spending most of my time looking into bringing your mother home. It has been a long two years, filled with a countless hours and sleepless nights of research and meticulous planning. I am the closest i’ve ever been to finding her, but i need your help.”Adrien couldn’t comprehend the full meaning of his father’s words, but at that moment he didn’t feel the need to. His mother was close to coming home? He really did miss his mother. Oh how wonderful it would be to see her again! The house wouldn’t be so gloomy if she was here. They could put a real family portrait up again, not that dark drab forced image. Gabriel must have caught on to his enthusiasm, as he pressed on. “But before i can ask for your help, i need to make two admissions.” That did not sound good to Adrien. He gripped onto the seat in anticipation.“First, i know that you are Chat Noir.” Adrien’s heart had stopped for a tick. He knew? For how long?! The question must have broadcasted on his face because Gabriel was quick to answer. “I’ve known for a short while now. A month, give or take. But it’s not important. I’m not upset with you. Actually, i’m glad it’s you. It is wonderful world experience and does wonders for your personal image. But i digress.” Adrien felt his fingers go numb as he struggled to maintain his expressionless position. A cold feeling was settling over him. What could possibly carry behind the news of knowing his secret identity?“Now, i want you to understand, what i’m about to say is a bit… shocking, but i need you to hear me out before you say or do anything, Alright?” Gabriel seemed to genuinely care for Adrien’s response. He sounded downright worried. Adrien on the other hand wasn’t sure what to say or think anymore. He just nodded along. Gabriel breathed a small sigh. “Good. Now… Adrien, I am Hawkmoth.” Everything stopped working. Thoughts began to cram up with questions in his mouth, fighting for the chance to get into open air. He was choking as the world started to spin. Nathalie’s palm found his back, striking squarely between the shoulders to force the air out of him before he took a sharp inhale. She was trying to get him to breath and calm down, but Gabriel was just being… Gabriel. He’d stood up straight again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep breaths to keep from doing or saying something incredibly hurtful. At least Nathalie was trying. But dear gods did the man seriously expect Adrien to just take this news with ease?! Was it April first? This had to be a sick joke. “Adrien, please breath normally and listen for a moment.” Gabriel commanded as he strode around the table to pull the seat out beside Adrien. He casually took the spot with the utmost dignity, as if he wasn’t the pretentious monster that terrorized Paris for two long years. “Adrien, i need you to listen to me for a moment. Do not falter now. I taught you better than that. Now, listen to me. I have made several mistakes in the last two years, but i want you to know /why/. I discovered that, through the combined powers of the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous, it is possible to alter reality. With them, any number of things are possible, and yes, that includes bringing back someone dear. It’s a simple thing really, but i had the wrong idea in my approach. I used the Butterfly miraculous in the hopes of drawing out the other two. But i had a realization. I didn’t need to do any of this. It was all a horrible idea born from desperation and spite. I have no intentions of doing evil with the two miraculous, just getting your mother back. It’s all i’ve ever wanted.” Adrien glanced to Nathalie who now stood behind Gabriel, her expression melting to one of pity and remorse. In it he could see the truth of Gabriel’s words. The long nights awake, the weeks gone from home. The blonde boy knew how Nathalie secretly wished Gabriel would move on, but she would never voice her opinions. He returned his attention to Gabriel, who now slumped forward in his chair, looking at his hands. “Adrien… this is where i ask for your help. I don’t want to take the miraculous by force. I just want your mother back. I am willing to give up the butterfly for this. I’m not asking you to give up your miraculous, or being Chat Noir. I’m offering a solution. Lend me the black cat for a single moment so that i can wish for your mother back, and in turn i give up the butterfly. Hawkmoth slips into obscurity. Nothing will be between you and Ladybug anymore. And your mother, sweet Emilie, will be back home again. Would you be willing?”Adrien feld numb inside. This was all too much. His father was Hawkmoth? He’d been akumatizing people over the years just to bring back Emilie? Gabriel was a smart man, would he seriously stoop to such lows… He knew the answer to that. Adrien had watched his father’s rapid decline since the news had reached home. His father truly loved Emilie with all his heart, and he had always been the type to go the extra mile when it came to anything in his life, especially her. Adrien really couldn’t blame him, could he? Having jumped in front of enough akumas in the last two years to know that he and his father were a lot alike in how much they were willing to give up for the person they loved. Adrien turned his gaze back to his father. The look cast in those sullen eyes spoke of the desperation and hopefulness he had. He needed Adrien now more then ever to help him get back the woman he loved. Plagg remained strangely quiet in his pocket, as if he too was stunned into silence. Or he was just watching to see how this all played out. Adrien could not deny that this was a better alternative than to fight his own father for the miraculous. In any case, he and Ladybug would have to get the miraculous from Hawkmoth somehow. If they just let him borrow them, then everything would turn out for the better. His mother would be back, hawkmoth would be gone, Gabriel would have Emilie to counterbalance his negativity and ease up on Adrien. Without Hawkmoth, Ladybug and he were free to become friends without the occasional akuma getting in the way. Chat Noir would be a hero, he’d finally earn his father’s praise. Maybe he was crazy, but two years of akumas on and off almost every day was taxing enough. Logically, everyone won. And when had he ever known his father to lie to him like this? After All, he’d come clean about being hawkmoth. Now Adrien knew, he could tell Ladybug and Master Fu. All five of the miraculous could come here and force it out of Gabriel if he turned on his word. Adrien drew in a deep breath. “Alright… What can i do?” Gabriel seemed to light up at his response, taking a small handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away some of the tears that had threatened to stream down his usually stone cold face. “Nothing, yet. If you are willing, then i will need to go speak to Ladybug and ask her to come here so that i can borrow the miraculouses in both your presence. Hopefully, it will go as smoothly as our conversation has. If you are alright, it would be acceptable if you take your lunch to your room before you start practice. I will dine when i return.” The older man began to stand, before leaning down to wrap his arms around his son’s shoulders for a warm hug. It felt so meaningful and warm Adrien almost wanted to cry. “Thank you Adrien… I know this must be had for you. So go enjoy your lunch, and soon you can meet Ladybug without pretenses. Alright?” Adrien nodded, accepting the motion gracefully before Gabriel stepped away and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes once more. Nathalie escorted Adrien out of the room, glancing over the boy for a moment to watch Gabriel’s expression harden with eyes cast to the bottle in his hands marked with an eye and a teardrop. Adrien was ecstatic, eagerly chomping away at the mixed salad in his lap as he excitedly stalked the Ladyblog. All he could think of was how close this whole thing was coming to a close! And Ladybug! She would be here! In his house! Unmasked finally! Plagg remained quiet though, which began to niggle at Adrien’s thoughts till he sat the empty bowl beside the still full plate of Camembert cheese. “Plagg? Aren’t you excited?” He asked tentatively. Only then did it occur to him that he had failed to ask his kwami about where he sat in this whole thing. Plagg was one of the kwami involved, he had a say as well. The floating miniature black cat gave him a glance before letting out a sharp sigh. “Kid, look. That wish your father wants to make? It’s not a harmless deal. He was correct, technically. I can’t believe i actually heard all that, but he wasn’t wrong per say. A wish like that is much simpler then changing history, or wishing up an army. One person isn’t so bad… But it still has consequences. Did you even think about that?” With The kwami’s sharp and harsh gaze upon him, Adrien wilted in his seat. “No… I hadn’t. I’m sorry plagg. What kind of consequence would it have?” Plagg seemed to consider that for a moment. “Honestly… i don’t know. I don’t imagine it’ll be reality changing. What’s the saying from that show you watched? “Equivalent Exchange?” Ya. Like that. Something of equal value must be given. Gabriel may disappear for her, or maybe lose all his fortune and business. It’s hard to say. Tikki and I don’t get a say in it. We’re just the power supply.”Adrien could feel the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders, robbing him of his excitement. Did his father know this? Surely not if he was going to go to this much trouble to go through with it. “Does the butterfly kwami know?” Plagg looked a bit surprised, then sighed again. “Doubtful. Tikki and i don’t like to share details of it outside the guardians, as it can get messy if another kwami is forced to reveal anything. We didn’t even tell the guardians that much…”Anxiety and fear mounted inside Adrien’s chest. If his dad made the wish unknowingly, he could hurt himself. But he was going to get Ladybug and bring her here for the wish. That meant Adrien had a chance to explain the situation before anything happens. Maybe if they brought in Master Fu, they could find a better solution. All in all, he’d have to wait till his father came back. Nathalie knocked on the door. “Adrien, if you are done, it’s time for you to practice the Piano. I’m going to accompany your father, so your bodyguard is going to stay here with you till we get back.” Nathalie usually made sure he was doing his lessons, since he’d betrayed his father’s trust when he skipped out to go try to see the last movie his mother was in. Poor Gorilla got akumatized over that… which was a dark thought to think about. ”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”“”`So here Adrien was now, finished with his practice, sitting quietly as he watched the time pass. Every second since his father and Nathalie left felt like a millennia. Worry and doubt plagued his mind as he stared out into the dark skies from his room. What if things went wrong? What if Ladybug didn’t take it well? There were so many things he hadn’t thought of before now. Why had he said yes so easily?!He was supposed to be studying Chinese now, but Gorilla understood his nervousness. Still, his stoic as ever bodyguard insisted that he not indulge in frivolous activities like the computer or tv. He didn’t say it, he just made that usual growl and head shake if Adrien even tried for either. Adrien was growing restless. If Gabriel was going to meet Ladybug, he’d do so as Hawkmoth to get her attention. He’d need the media to broadcast it. There had to be something online about it…Masking any signs of his unease, Adrien politely asked Gorilla if he could use the restroom. Courtesy was still a thing after all. The guard seemed hesitant for a moment, but nodded. Adrien quickly sequestered himself into his bathroom, slipped on a pair of earbuds, and immediately took to the internet to find out what was going on.Pure Chaos. Everything was in pure chaos! Adrien mumbled as swear as Plagg flew in to look over his shoulder. Half of Paris was in chaos, people running in a silent panic as a wave of akuma swarmed about. The other miraculous users were present, doing what they could to stem the tide. Carapace was herding citizens and shielding them from hits, dozens of Rena Rouges were baiting and distracting, and Queen Bee was dancing about, hair messed up and looking royally upset about it as she took her anger out on any akuma with her spinning top. Two akumas floated over the crowds, one looked like a DJ maxed out, pumping out waves of red energy at everything below him. It must have been a noise canceling power. The one beside him was a tall woman dressed in black with a red streak in her hair. Nathalie. The camera turned to the Notre Dame, and zoomed in. There atop the North tower of the church was Ladybug, facing down Hawkmoth in a deadly dance. She was alone with his father, fighting for her life against an opponent who clearly had years of experience on her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Chat Noir was supposed to help close the gap between them!As he watched, anger, disgust, and sadness welling up in his chest until they merged together in an unholy fire that spread through his limbs. He’d been lied to. Gabriel lied to him. Hawkmoth was assaulting Ladybug on the Notre Dame, and where was her partner? Sitting at home, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for a liar to come home!She was fearless, and crazier than him. She was his Ladybug, And no kwami was going to save anyone who dared to hurt his ladybug. Not even his own father.

#Dracoskull ask challenge #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #My hand slipped #My hand slipped very hard.

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