#fortunately i can skim over it if there’s no context

[cb-writes-stuff]

By the way, if I usually interact with your posts but sometimes I don’t, it’s probably because it had swearing in it and if I see it in context it’ll get stuck in my brain and start triggering me constantly.

Or maybe it just made me uncomfy, idk.

[writetheidea]

A Promise to Hold

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. This time, it involves Max. I hope you find it enjoyable. I think my brain just wanted a reason to scream at Jos. As always, I have anonymous ask available for those who would like to express their opinion anonymously.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x named!female character

Plot: Max has bought a promise ring, Jos disapproves.

Tag: hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending.

Word count: 2326

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

Max stood in the middle of his bedroom, a small velvet box resting in his hands, each moment stretching longer than the last. He had thought about this for weeks, imagining how he would present it, how he would capture the significance of his feelings for Ali. It wasn’t a proposal—not yet—but it felt just as monumental to him. The promise ring inside the box symbolized his commitment, a tangible representation of the life he envisioned with her—a life so different from the one he had always imagined.

With Ali, everything was grounded. Their relationship wasn’t filled with the glitz and glamour he had always known. She wasn’t a celebrity, she didn’t come from a rich family, but that was exactly what drew him to her. After years of navigating a world where every action was scrutinized and dissected, Ali had become his sanctuary. She didn’t care about red carpets or flashing cameras; she was content simply being with him. With her, he didn’t have to wear a mask. He could just be Max.

His previous relationship with Kelly had felt suffocating, a constant performance where he was expected to adhere to an image that didn’t entirely fit him. He had nothing but respect for Kelly, but their love had been overshadowed by the public’s insatiable curiosity. Every outing, every shared moment, had been fodder for gossip. In contrast, with Ali, he could breathe freely. She welcomed him into her world with open arms, a space where he could unwind after the pressures of racing and the relentless pursuit of victory.

Yet, even amidst this serene backdrop, there were shadows looming. His father, Jos, had never been shy about his opinions, especially regarding Ali. To Jos, she was too “ordinary,” too far removed from the high-octane world Max thrived in. Jos had painted a picture of success intertwined with fame and fortune, and to him, Ali didn’t fit the mold of a champion’s partner. Max knew this, but he also knew that his father didn’t truly see Ali—didn’t understand her fierce support and unwavering belief in him. She had taken the time to learn about his world, to understand the highs and lows that came with being a Formula 1 driver, yet she still chose to stand by him quietly, away from the spotlight.

“Max?” Ali’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Startled, he tucked the velvet box back into its hidden corner and stepped out of the bedroom. The sight of her curled up on the couch, a book resting in her lap, filled him with warmth. Yet there was a flicker of concern in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“You okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” she asked, her voice soft yet probing.

“Yeah,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

Ali tilted her head slightly, studying him as if she could read the unspoken thoughts swirling in his mind. “You sure?”

Max took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of the impending conversation he knew would come. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... stuff with my dad.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t push him further. She understood the complexities of his relationship with Jos, the tension that always seemed to hang in the air whenever they were together. Instead, she reached for his hand, pulling him closer, grounding him in the moment.

“Come here,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. 

In her embrace, everything felt right again. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the comforting scent of her hair. It was a brief relief from the storm brewing in the back of his mind.

---

A few days later, the tension in Max’s body was palpable as he sat across from Jos at the dinner table. This was meant to be a simple catch-up before the next race, but Max could feel the storm brewing, could sense the conversation shifting toward the topic he dreaded.

Jos had entered the evening in a mood that sent a chill down Max’s spine. The sharp comments started flying before the first course was even served, his father’s disapproval evident in every critique of Max’s recent races and lifestyle choices. As the night wore on, it became clear that it was only a matter of time before Ali would be the target of Jos' barbs.

“So, I hear you’re planning on giving Ali a ring,” Jos remarked casually, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Max.

Max froze, his hand halfway to his glass of water. He hadn’t shared his plans with his father and hadn’t wanted to. “Who told you that?” he managed to ask, though dread curled in his stomach.

“Does it matter? I hear things,” Jos shrugged, a dismissive wave of his hand. “I thought you’d have learned by now that nothing stays secret for long in our world.”

“Yeah, I am. It’s a promise ring,” Max said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Not an engagement ring. Just something to show her I’m committed.”

Jos scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a condescending smirk. “Committed? You’ve only been with her for what? Two years?”

“Two years is enough time. I love her.” 

The words slipped from his mouth more boldly than he had anticipated. 

Jos' expression darkened, the gleam of disapproval in his eyes intensifying. “Love. Right. And what exactly is that love doing for you, Max? Is it making you faster on the track? Helping you win championships?”

Max felt his jaw clench, a familiar frustration rising within him. “This isn’t about racing. This is about my life.”

Jos’ smirk deepened, a condescending note taking over his voice. “Everything is about racing. You know that. You didn’t get to where you are by playing house with some girl. You got there because you’re focused. You don’t let distractions get in the way.”

Max felt the familiar ache of his father’s words dig deep. He had heard this narrative before, the relentless pressure to be perfect, to never let his guard down. But now, with Ali by his side, it felt even more suffocating.

“She’s not a distraction,” Max said, his voice a low growl, filled with quiet determination. “She’s the one who makes everything bearable. When I’m with her, I can actually breathe.”

Jos’ eyes narrowed, a challenge lurking within them. “And what happens when you start losing races? When you begin to slip because you’re too comfortable? Do you think Schumacher got where he was by worrying about some girl? No, he stayed focused. You think anyone cares about your love life if you start losing?”

Max’s heart pounded. He had always known that Jos' priorities lay elsewhere, but hearing it so plainly stung more than he could articulate.

“I’m not going to start losing,” he muttered, fighting back the anger threatening to spill over.

“Not yet. But give it time. This girl, Ali—she’s too soft. She doesn’t belong in your world. She’s going to make you weak. You need someone who can keep up with the demands of this life, someone who understands what it takes to be a champion.”

Before Max could find the words to respond, Jos pressed further. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’ve been through it, Max. I’ve seen careers go down the drain because of things like this.”

The familiar pang of disappointment settled in Max’s chest, his father’s harsh words becoming a dull throb in his mind. It wasn’t just his words; it was the feeling that no matter how much he accomplished, it would never be enough for Jos.

“I’m not like that,” Max said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not going to fall apart because I’m happy. Ali doesn’t take away from my focus—she helps me stay grounded.”

Jos shook his head, his expression hardening. “Grounded? That’s the problem, Max. You don’t need to be grounded. You need to be relentless. You need to be hungry. That’s what makes a champion, not... this.”

Max stared at the table, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to defend himself, to shout that Jos was wrong, but all he could feel was the weight of disappointment—disappointment in himself for not living up to his father’s impossible standards. The bitterness in Jos’ voice cut deep, a reminder of everything he had endured to earn his place in the world. But this time, it wasn’t just about him. It was about Ali.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Both men turned to see Ali standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, fury etched across her face. Max’s stomach dropped as he realized she had heard everything.

“Ali,” Max started, but she cut him off, eyes blazing as they locked onto Jos.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” she demanded. “Max isn’t weak. Matter of fact, he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And if you think I’m some kind of distraction, you clearly don’t know your own son.”

Jos blinked, clearly taken aback by her boldness. But he quickly regained his composure, his expression hardening. “I know exactly who my son is,” he said coldly. “And I know what it takes to be a champion.”

“Do you?” Ali shot back, her voice unwavering. “Because from where I’m standing, Max is the one with championship wins. All you’re doing is tearing him down. You’re acting like Max can’t be successful and happy at the same time, like he has to choose between his career and his personal life. That’s not fair, and it’s not true.”

Max sat frozen, heart swelling as he watched Ali defend him, her passion igniting a fire within him he hadn’t known he needed. She wasn’t just angry; she was furious, and it was exhilarating to witness.

“Ali, it’s fine,” Max muttered, wanting to ease the tension, but she shook her head, her expression resolute.

“No, it’s not fine,” she insisted, her eyes locked onto Jos. “Your father has no right to say these things about you. Max, you’re incredible at what you do. You don’t need to sacrifice your happiness to prove that.”

Max felt a rush of gratitude as her words washed over him, soothing the ache left by Jos' criticisms. Ali turned back to him, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the fire. “And I’ll never let you think you have to choose between me and your dreams.”

With that, she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to grasp his firmly. The warmth of her touch radiated through him, grounding him amid the chaos.

Jos stared at them, eyes narrowing, disbelief etched across his features. “You think this is the way to handle things? This isn’t how champions are made, Ali.”

“I’m not trying to make him a champion,” she replied, voice steady. “I’m trying to help him be happy. If that means standing up to you, then so be it. He deserves more than this. You are welcome to the door. I would appreciate it if you had left by the time we return.”

With that, she turned away from the table, pulling Max with her, leaving Jos speechless in their wake. As they walked toward the door, the tension of the night lingered behind them, but Max felt lighter, empowered by Ali’s strength.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly as they stepped outside, the night air cool against their skin.

Max took a deep breath, the weight of his father’s words still clinging to him, but there was also a newfound clarity. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Ali turned to him, a small smile breaking through the tension. “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me you won’t let him get to you. You know your worth, Max.”

He nodded, feeling the velvet box pressing against his palm, a promise waiting to be made. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes softened. “I love you too.”

---

The following evening, Max found himself sitting with Ali on the couch again, the tension of the previous night still lingering but fading slowly as they spent time together. He was ready to take the leap, ready to present her with the promise ring.

“Hey,” he began, his heart racing as he reached for the hidden box. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us and where we’re headed.”

Ali looked at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

He opened the box, revealing the simple yet elegant ring nestled inside. “I want you to have this. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s a promise—a promise that I’m committed to you, that I see a future with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the ring, her expression shifting from surprise to pure joy. “Max...”

“I know my dad doesn’t see it, but you’re everything to me. You’ve shown me that happiness doesn’t mean weakness; it means strength. You make me want to be better, to fight for what matters.”

Ali’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached for the ring, taking it gently from the box. “This is beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger. “You deserve this and so much more. I don’t want to hide you, to hide us. You’re a part of my life now, and I want everyone to know that.”

With her free hand, she cupped his face, her expression softening. “I promise to stand by you, no matter what. You’ve shown me what love really means, Max.”

They embraced, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a cocoon. In that moment, everything felt right, the promise of their future unfurling before them like a bright horizon.

They sat there together in the quiet of their apartment, the weight of his world slowly fading away as they held onto each other.

[reyesbignaturals]

Wrote my first fic in a HOT minute with an OC I made specifically for the COD-verse and I love her very much and would love to talk about her much more in detail than is revealed about her in this blurb but here is some writing, I tried my best!

It's a Velikan fic that I'm gonna work on slowly that is intended to be incredibly slow-burn with a lot of hurt/comfort elements. I don't have a lot of free time in my personal life, so I have been just kind of writing as I can and it's been a nice stress relief to add pictures to my Pinterest board cause I've got this story in my head but I don't always have time to write all the stuff down!

But I tried to get some of the story, and character set up done here so idk let me know what to fix, I would like to get better at writing but also this is mostly for fun haha

Fluorescent lights buzzed inside the ceiling beams of the room, joining the sounds of wheels that squealed against the laminate floor and the occasional intercoms that would page a doctor in the infirmary.

The Shadow Company had come back from an operation gone bad with many operatives covered in blood, with some even missing extremities when they'd finally been airlifted back to the base's hospital. Fortunately, there had been no casualties under the medical wing's care so far, and the staff intended to keep it that way.

“Hey, Doc, your next patient is ready to see you over in Room 2,” a nurse, Adrian, called over from the nurse's station, looking over at the doctor in question with a strange look as she exited the previous patient's room.

The doctor gave a tired smile to Adrian and nodded her thanks to the blonde, too exhausted to question her staff's weird expression. She could just be seeing things, having been on her feet for the last 14 hours, trying to keep blood on the inside of people's bodies rather than outside of it.

She readjusted her reading glasses to sit atop her head as she moved over to Room 2, grabbing the chart that had been placed on the wall next to its door. Skimming over its contents, she was relieved to see that her day seemed to have come over its peak and was finally coming down to a more manageable pace; this man was being seen for a follow-up on some stitches he had received some weeks ago.

Something unique in this man's file caught her attention, though; the diagnosis of selective mutism with no other context was listed in medical history. She was curious how he managed to pass selection into the military in general, let alone get into a PMC, but she wasn't paid enough to ask questions such as that. It was going to be more important for her to find out how she was going to communicate with him about his healing status and any questions he may have.

Alexander Manos (operator name: Velikan), the file read.

With two knocks on the metal door, she announced her arrival and opened the door with one hand, the other still holding onto the clipboard as she entered the room.

“Alexander?” She prompted, looking up at what she could only describe as a giant heap of muscle and terrifying armor, trying not to make her initial shock obvious by her facial expression. The man had just come back from a deployment if she was to judge from the faint odor of gunpowder, man stink, and blood alone. His layers upon layers of tactical armor pads made his shoulders appear impossibly wide, and his mask gave the impression of a fearsome red tiger with its painted sabers outreached and ready to bite at any given opportunity.

There was a moment of silence where the two simply stared at each other before Alexander nodded hesitantly in acknowledgment to her question. The fact Kaja was unable to see his face made her uncomfortable given she wanted to be able to interpret his expressions at least if she wasn't able to hear him speak, but she wasn't about to argue with 250+ pounds of pure muscle over it.

“My name is Dr.Magnusson, I'm the new doctor here at Shadow Company. They've put you under my care after Dr.Fort was stationed elsewhere,” Kaja began awkwardly. Having done several dozen introductions over the last week had not made her any better at them.  Truthfully, she wished that she could just skip past them altogether.

Alexander made no indication that he was going to respond to her introduction, so Kaja continued without missing a beat, “It looks like you're being seen today to have your stitches in your arm checked on?”

He made no indication that he had heard anything she'd said, simply looking straight ahead at her. Or, she had to assume he was looking at her, since his mask was still on. If she didn't know better, Kaja would think he was ignoring her deliberately. 

“Are you being seen for your stitches today?” Kaja repeated, enunciating her words a little clearer, curious if she had mumbled them earlier by any chance.

Alexander simply shifted in the hospital chair, moving his head up to look at the ceiling for a moment as he let out an audible sigh of clear annoyance.

"Not deaf," he finally grunted out in a raspy, baritone voice.

“Sorry,” Kaja was taken aback that she had received a verbal response from him at all, “I just want to know the best way I can talk with you. Would a pen and paper help? Would you like to type it on your phone?” 

She was trying to think of solutions the best she could on the fly, knowing she still had other patients waiting to see her as well. Alexander’s head perked a bit once he heard her listing the options that she had listed, but he settled back into his chair quickly, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence fell between them before she continued, “I'll need to see your arm and make sure it's healing properly.”

She moved closer to him at a balanced pace, watching as his covered face came back down from eyeing the ceiling to stare at her again.

“Alexander, I want to help you. Can you help me do that?” Kaja asked softly, reaching her hand out to touch his arm where his stitches were.

He leaned away from her, angling his body off of the bed as if she had some contagious disease. He pulled the arm she was reaching for out of her range and straightened his posture in a clear attempt to intimidate her with his stature alone. 

Now, she was starting to lose her patience. She gripped the pen tightly to her clipboard in an attempt to calm herself down as she took another step towards Alexander and lowered her voice, so no wandering passerby could overhear.

“Hey, I know maybe this situation is hard for you for your reasons, but you are putting me in a really difficult position at the moment for other reasons. If you don't want to be here, I'm not going to make you stay. But it is my job as your doctor to try to help you, and I have seen too many people almost die today from infections. So, if your name comes across my operating table, and it's from your arm wound getting infected, do you know how tempted I'm going to be to just amputate it?”

Was it a professional way to talk to her patient? Not in any capacity, and she definitely would have been fired if anyone had heard about it. Did it seem to resonate with her patient? Enough for him to start removing his gear slowly to display his healing scar.

First, came his helmet. When she saw his face, she almost regretted threatening him with amputation. She had seen he was a few years her senior from his records, but his face certainly reflected it. Loose black waves swept back from his face and greased down from his helmet in an almost mullet-like fashion. He had a haircut she was almost certain would be considered out of regulation, but that wasn't something she was going to fuss over at the moment when he was finally complying with her wishes.

Next, she noticed the years of exhaustion in his eyes that manifested as dark purple circles beneath his dark brown eyes, like freshly watered graveyard dirt, cold and secretive. His expression didn't seem to waver from a neutral stare, despite her attempt to placate him with another gentle smile as thanks.

The silence continued while he continued removing his gear, the display almost comical with just how much he had had on in the first place. She'd never seen someone with so much padding, yet he was still so broad underneath it all, built like a concrete wall. Kaja wondered what his daily regimen for the past ten years had been for him to have been in that kind of shape.

 Once he had removed all of his padding, he was finally able to roll up his undershirt enough to reveal the scar Dr.Fort had previously sewn up along Alexander’s forearm.

“There’s nothing that can be done about it at this point," Kaja sighed with a tone of frustration as she looked up at the man with disapproval, "But, I can tell you didn’t let it heal completely before you went back to duty. It’s healed crooked in a few areas after you ripping back open. Do you see it, here and here?” Kaja attempted to point at the disfigured scar tissue on Alexander’s arms, but he seemed beyond disinterested in hearing about it as he turned away to stare at the wall. 

With a sigh, Kaja removed her hands from his arm and backed away from the patient’s table, giving him some personal space she could tell he would appreciate.

“So when I see you in here when you get hurt, and I tell you to rest, you’re going to go right back to the field, is that it?” Kaja asked in a deadpan tone as she crossed her arms and leaned against the handwashing counter.

Alexander did not respond, instead rolling his sleeve back down to cover his arm and placing his gear into an orderly pile that he would be able to carry once he was dismissed.

“No wonder Dr.Fort had to go,” Kaja teased with a smirk, “He had to leave for his sanity, huh?”

That quip got a small snort out of Alexander.

Being able to make him laugh made Kaja feel a little better about threatening him with amputation earlier, at least.

“Alright, well, Alexander, if you have no other complaints about your health, then you are released from my care for now, and you are free to check out at the nursing station at the front.”

Alexander wordlessly gathered his armored plates and gear into his arms, picked it up, and left the patient room. In any other circumstance, Kaja would have felt incredibly insulted (okay, maybe she still did, just a bit.) 

But, she did manage to get some kind of a reaction out of someone she could have been thoroughly convinced was an android up until the very end of the session, so she had to take her wins where she could get them. 

When she exited the room, she was immediately pulled off to the side by Adrian, the nurse who had called her to the room in the first place. The blonde woman had a look of plain guilt on her face as she held Kaja’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, the other doctor was busy, and Alexander was next in the queue, and I-”

“Adrian,” Kaja interrupted the nurse firmly, “What in the sweet hell are you talking about?”

“We all know Alexander can be really… difficult to handle, and we didn’t want you to have to deal with any of those kinds of cases with you still being so new. I just didn’t have a choice, but I’m still really sorry. Are you okay?” She asked, looking Kaja over, seemingly checking for injuries, much to Kaja’s concern.

“I’m fine,” Kaja laughed, trying to brush off the idea that she might need to be worried about the fact that she could be injured on the job here, “Honestly, I think he kind of warmed up to me at the end there.” 

Kaja stated the end with a smug grin, raising her eyebrows as Adrian’s jaw dropped in disbelief and Kaja simply shrugged.

Over at the nursing station, Alexander watched the display discreetly and rolled his eyes, snatching a single pink hard candy from the infirmary candy jar on his way out. As he walked out of the double doors, he unwrapped the sweet and popped the strawberry candy into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

What a weird fucking doctor, he thought to himself. At least she's kind of entertaining. I guess I'll keep seeing her for now.

[jafndaegur]

Things Said and Unsaid

Jumin Han x MC

Mystic Messenger

a/n: now that the zine is long past, here is my story from the Garden of Eden Zine:) Enjoy!

Jumin twisted the flower stem between his fingers as he reclined further against the chair. Waxy pink petals mocked him in a way that he did not appreciate and the bright bloom weighed heavily, leaning forward in his careless grasp. He rested his chin on the back of his free hand, temple twitching at the not-quite perfect amount of wine for a buzz but enough for a headache. 

MC's voice still floated in the air as if she'd just called about her final report for the RFA event.

"All of the flower arrangements are ready for the party," her voice was stilted over the phone even as she tried to be chipper.

Jumin wondered if she felt uncomfortable around him with everything said and done. "They'll look beautiful I'm sure." He reassured. 

The pause and silence between them felt unnatural and constricting.

"What did you pick? For the bouquets." He finally peeped out, his voice rocking with concern. Had they always struggled with communicating? The memory of being able to freely converse with her, speaking of any little trivial thing that came to mind an easy and amusing way for him to pass the time. Surely he hadn’t ruined things so thoroughly during the time she had spent at the penthouse.

MC’s airy and pitched laugh reached his ears in a painful display of her discomfort. "That'd ruin the surprise."

And what a surprise it'd been.

Jumin had been eager, and even anxious, in awaiting her arrival to the party. Afterall they all owed its renewed existence to her. And he himself owed so much to her too. When they had parted the night before, V rightfully helping her return to the apartment, it had been with a tender apology. She'd embraced him—held him close and promised things would work out the way they should.

He wasn’t sure if it had been a lie or her convincing herself. Perhaps some odd adherration of both to her conviction.

The day of the party came, but MC did not.

It was obvious that Seven had hesitated his journey before finally making the reluctant trek to Jumin with a piece of paper in one hand and a tied bouquet of flowers in the other.

The pink camellia had seemed so bright and vibrant in the light of the ballroom. And even now in Jumin's hand, standing stark and vibrant, the bloom dazzled against the rest of his muted parlor decor. It smiled and flourished, and yet here he sat more dejected and more confused than ever.

Somehow, he managed his way back to the kitchen, where the rest of his  bouquet lay abandoned on his dining room table—scattered petals and bulbs strewn across the wood top due to his careless toss of the bunch. He had been angry and frustrated at the time, but now he felt guilt tugging at the span of his ribs when he thought of the disregard he gave to her last gift to him. The note lay innocently next to it, as if trying to appease him with the gentle slope of MC's handwriting.

I've meant everything Jumin. Said and unsaid. I don't regret anything and I hope you won't either. But we both need this to move forward, I think this is what's right...I hope you'll see that. I've left you the best.

-MC

Among the flowers, pink carnations were the easiest to pick out. The petals crimped and wavy, and the blossoms themselves the most commonplace and plain. And yet MC had made sure the flowers had stayed nestled close amongst bushels of goldenrod. Another odd pick for a formal party. His eye for detail made things easy to recognize that beautiful hardworking and problem-solving touch MC made with every  deliberate and precise choice. He knew that much. From the sorrel that warmly held everything together, to the pink camellias blushing prettily at the center wrapped in forget-me-nots.

In times such as these Jumin realized he had one consultant he could count on, a source where information passed easily from itself to him. Where he could learn unhindered and without bias about the best that MC left behind for him. Because surely, she did not simply mean the best flowers from the bunch. She was too clever for that.

He found himself at a library, in the area with the farmer's almanacs and horticulture how-tos. It was an aisle he frequented when seeking answers to inquiries about his vineyard. 

Heavy and cumbersome, he found an encyclopedic tome titled Whispers from the Flowers. It was an odd name but upon opening it he found satisfaction knowing that his assumption on its topic had been correct. The flower language. Something not in a million years he imagined himself researching. But for MC, he would do anything. And his beloved left behind one very, very important clue. "Things said and unsaid." And he hoped it was more than a mere sentimental way of saying she left him behind regardless of whether or not she was able to relay all she wished to. 

Jumin found the index at the back of the book, searching for sorrel first. MC had meticulously ensured that the green and stringy plant entwined itself around the main bouquet like a cradle. It was hardly a flower and yet the vibrancy of it added life and color outside of the thematic pink hues of the other blooms. Affection. Sorrel is the gateway to confessions and the key to unlocking the heart—it lays bare the raw and pure emotion of those who offer it. His fingers danced over the words, tracing the letters with the faintest of smiles. MC's disappearance seemed like a rather large lack of said-affection, but he knew there had to be further explanation. And all answers resided within the little puzzle she had set aside just for him.

Because she knew and understood he had every capability to solve it. He hoped.

Encouragement. Good fortune. Goldenrod offers the same blade with two edges. One of well wishes and the other of outstretched hands. It is an easy flower to convey both farewells and prosperity. 

Jumin’s breath curled within his chest and his fingers hovered. “Farewells.” It was a mutter, something that he dare not speak more than a whisper.  MC left behind hide nor hair of her existence. The memory of her laugh and gilded eyes were the only proof he could offer. Yet somewhere amongst the agonizing pull in his chest as he read the summary over and over again, he feared that she had truly meant her goodbye hidden within these flowers. 

He knew his own faults had greatly weighed upon her decision to leave with Jihyun that day. But had he really ruined things so much that she chose never to see any of them again to escape him? Were all affections between them nullified because of his shortcomings.

Breath hitched and his fists clenched the book. Memories of true love. Forget-me-nots are the staple flower of sweet love. Anyone gifting their sweetheart with these iconic blooms know every moment spent with their true love will be cherished and treasured. Jumin’s brow furrowed. Contradictory. This was all so illogical and contradictory. If he had not just recently gone through a week-long anxiety attack and now the loss of the woman he had planned to propose to, he’d chalk these meanings up to happenstance and throw the book into the closest recycling bin. But everything said had been meant. And everything unsaid had been meant. He needed for his own sanity and for his own comprehension to know if these flowers truly enveloped MC’s feelings for him. Or if he was just a fool trying to pry into a love that was never his to keep.

“I’ll never forget you.” 

A shudder. The words flowed past his lips as he read the phrase mechanically. “I’ll never forget you.” Each utterance a tremor to his heart as the walls constricted and shook.

I’ll never forget you. Pink carnations are easily the most misused and the most misunderstood. Believed to be a simpleton’s flower, the meaning behind this bloom is often lost due to being handed out of context. It’s beautiful and pastel color can often be misleading. It is a mournful flower, often handed at the cusp of goodbye. A beautiful tendril to remember a fleeting yet vibrant romance. 

The search through the index for the last flower was a trembling one.  Jumin’s fingers skimmed the crisp paper gentle against his skin as he tried to account his increasing pulse to apprehension or suspense. He was approaching the last piece of MC’s riddle and good or bad—real or not—he had been able to come to some conclusion about their parting. About their romance. About them. 

His vision blurred and he felt the world spin.

A note had been tucked away close to the spine where the pages parted. It was a small envelope, no bigger than an index card. “Jumin” had been scripted neatly on the front, and on the back, there was a little flower drawn over the edge of the opening flap. He recognized MC’s handwriting anywhere. Impulse struck a chord with his nerves and he plucked the note quickly before forcing himself to slow down. He wanted to finish this mission. 

Pink camellias. Longing for you.

No more waiting. Jumin dropped the book and tore the envelope open. His heart pitter-pattered and he double took the gentle slope of that oh-so familiar handwriting. The gentle sweep and slant of her penmanship was obvious the moment he gazed upon the ink. There before him, tiny and hopeful, was a phone number. He'd arrived at the end of her puzzle with a growing smile, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. His finger brushed the new note.

"You can be greedy, you know," he whispered reverently. "Around me don't worry. Whatever fears or struggles we may have to face, we'll figure them out together. You don't have to hold back for my sake or for yours."

He pulled two business cards from his wallet, placing one in the forget-me-knots section and the other in the section about pink camellias. Satisfied, he closed the book and walked to the front desk where the head librarian sat typing away on the computer. Noticing his approach, they gave him a warm smile. Holding out their hand, the librarian inclined their head.

"Got everything you need?"

Jumin nodded and handed the book over. "I will soon enough. In the meantime, could you place this on hold? A friend is going to pick it up."

"Of course," the librarian nodded. "Name and number."

"Han MC," Jumin decided with a touch of humor, a welcomed break to his multi-day anxiety high, before reciting the number from the note.

The person assured him that MC would be notified and that the book would be on hold for the next twenty-four hours. He bowed his head slightly and graciously thanked them before heading to the car where Driver Kim awaited. There was so little time to get ready but he wanted to make the most of this anticipation that clung to his lungs with baited breath.

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #4 - July 17th to July 23rd

Same briefing, new time! Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from July 17 - July 23, 2022. Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing! 

 Challenges/Prompts:

Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

Stories in the In Another Life: A Josh/Donna Alternate Universe Prompt Fest were revealed in June and the collection is still open for submissions. Learn more here.

The fic drive for reproductive rights is looking for authors to participate in their auction event. Learn more here.

Big Block of Cheese Day is accepting fics for its July 2022 prompts. View them here.

The July 20 prompts in 20 Days are up in the Department of Fanworks Discord. Join the Discord here.

Trope Soup: A Josh/Donna Tropes Fest is open for prompt submissions and claims. Learn more here.

 Photos:

This week in TWW photos! Here’s what was posted from July 17 - July 23.

Janel Moloney posted a pic of her dog Ollie.

Janel Moloney posted a beach selfie.

Donna Moss Daily: July 17 | July 18 | July 19 | July 20 | July 21 | July 22 | July 23

Daily Josh Lyman: July 17 | July 18 | July 19 | July 20 | July 21 | July 22 | July 23

No Context BWhit: July 17 | July 18 | July 18 | July 19 | July 20 | July 20 | July 21 | July 21 | July 22 | July 22 | July 23 | July 23

Best of cjtoby: July 21 | July 22 | July 23

@JanelMilfoney (formerly known as @RareJanel): July 18 | July 18 | July 19  | July 20 | July 21 | July 22 

The West Wing gifs (@twwgifs): July 18 | July 22

Edits/Artwork:

Here’s where we’ll share all the photo edits, videos, and other artwork in the fandom this week!

Debate Camp Josh by @BWBIEdits [VIDEO]

Bradley Whitford Edit by @BWBIEdits [VIDEO]

Bradley Whitford Edit by @BWBIEdits [VIDEO]

how deep the bullet lies by @sinistercherubs [VIDEO]

Shout-Outs:

This is where we shout-out members of our fandom! Got a birthday coming up? Did a friend start their first watch-through of the show? Let us know! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

 Happy birthday to Twitter user @schwifts! Check out her fics here. 

 Editor’s Choice: Christmas in July

We’re aware that at least in the Northern Hemisphere, the weather outside is frightful-hot instead of frightful-cold, but we decided we wanted to share a little holiday cheer with you this week. We’re here with a roundup of holiday-themed fics that will hopefully bring you some joy even though it’s July!

christmas (baby, please come home) by crossingdelancey | Rated M |  C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

CJ thinks, as she skims over the email inviting her to spend Christmas with the Bartlets, that she ought to have told them she divorced Toby a year and a half ago. Or, that he divorced her.

“Fuck,” CJ murmurs, closing her laptop and rubbing her face.

—

in which cj and toby are invited to manchester for the holidays, except she forgot to mention one minor detail: they’ve been divorced for two years. with unspoken, messy feelings, a five year old, their friends all coupled up, and one bed to share, she runs with two words:

“fake it.”

dear donna by swancharmings | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Josh tries to find the words.

sacred new beginnings by mikaylawrites | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

"The rest of your life, huh?"

Donna makes sure she and Josh are on the same page.

Fortune Cookie Wisdom by TheBreakfastGenie | Rated G | Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler (no pairings listed) | Complete

Post-Noel, Toby decides to get Josh out of the house for a Jewish Christmas. Alternate title: Scenes From A Chinese Restaurant

Mistletoe by iwasfollowing you | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn | Complete

short, self-indulgent holiday one shot because i couldn't stop thinking about sam and josh kissing under the mistletoe

Baby It’s Cold Outside by ETraytin | Rated T | Ainsley Hayes/Sam Seaborn | Complete

Sam makes a Christmas visit to Ainsley in the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue and discovers the new decoration above her door. Banter ensues, as does much else. Romantic holiday fluff.

where the lovelight gleams by JessBakesCakes for thefinestmuffins (granger_danger), thefinestmuffins | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

When Donna asked Josh if he would be willing to join her for Christmas in Wisconsin, he didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation. He did, however, confess that he wasn’t quite sure what a big family gathering was like. For the majority of his life, he’d explained, it was just him and his parents. Now, it’s just him and his mother. (And now I have you, he’d added, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.)

[Or, Donna brings Josh home for Christmas and has some thoughts about him in a holiday sweater; takes place during Transition]

by the chimney with care by thefinestmuffins for hufflepuffhermione | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet, Sam Seaborn/Ainsley Hayes | Complete

Josh cracks the door open.

Donna is sprawled out like a starfish on the queen-sized guest bed. The quilt is pulled up to about her waist, but her torso and arms are uncovered, revealing her red and white long-sleeved thermal Christmas pajamas. Her hair is a mess, splayed out all over the pillows, her cheeks all red. She has her fuzzy purple eye mask on and she groans as Josh enters the dark bedroom, his arms laden with provisions. 

It’s terrible that she feels bad, it is, but she’s so cute right now that Josh can hardly help but grin.

When everyone catches a bug during Bartlet Family Christmas, Josh takes care of Donna.

two turtle doves by sam_writes_fics | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Twelve J/D moments during the holiday season throughout the years.

Boyfriends, Beer, and a Stupid Tree by supernatural_mondler (starzinoureyes) | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn | Complete

Josh and Sam get ready to celebrate their first Christmas together

Fics:

Last but not least, here’s your weekly roundup of fics posted in the tag for The West Wing on Archive of Our Own. If you are so inclined, please be sure to leave the authors some love in the form of kudos or comments. Be mindful of posted warnings/tags for each story.

Josh/Donna

Joshua Lyman and the Ballad of Beefcake McRib by eowyn_of_rohan | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

darling, so it goes (some things are meant to be) by mikaylawrites | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

it’s 3am i must be lonely | by sam_writes_fics | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Healthcare Reform by hufflepuffhermione | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Things We Don’t Say In The Dark by KindaTea | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Double Proxy by Benevolent_Atlas31 | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

successors do it in their place by Benevolent_Atlas31 | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

you knock me out, I fall apart (and I thought I was so smart) by fiery_one_18 | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

no disorder but the heart's by fairwinds09 | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

this is the wonder (that's keeping the stars apart) by joshatella (shuuuliet) | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

Don't You Forget About Me by Benevolent_Atlas31 | Not Rated | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

In Her Hands by KindaTea | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

so let’s get married (i don’t wanna walk alone) by hanyolo for scullymuldrs | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

and after all this time (i’m still into you) by JessBakesCakes for scullymuldrs | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

if i piled something good on all by bad (i could cancel out the darkness) by sam_writes_fics for scullymuldrs | Rated E | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Flu Season by hufflepuffhermione for scullymuldrs | Rated G | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete

Things We Don’t Say In The Light by KindaTea | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | In Progress

CJ/Toby

Green. by JediAnnieScrambler | Rated T | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete

why did i fly, why did i roam by Iamsherlocked07 | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete

as we lie in fields of gold by JediAnnieScrambler | Rated M | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler | Complete

 Other Pairings/Gen Fic

Country Over Party by CatLadyLaura | Rated G | Ainsley Hayes/Sam Seaborn | Complete

Moons and Junes and Ferris Wheels by mlea7675 | Rated G | C.J. Cregg, Josh Lyman (No Pairing Listed) | Complete

Wait For Me by imperfectirises | Rated M | Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | In Progress

sturgeon by Benevolent_Atlas31 | Not Rated | Ellie Bartlet, Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | In Progress

Multiple Pairings

The first 100 days by JessARober1501| Rated M | Helen Santos/Matt Santos, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet | In Progress

There are no second acts in American lives (except when there are) by norahb | Rated T | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Sam Seaborn/Original Male Character(s), Josh Lyman/Original Female Character(s) | In Progress

 Call for Submissions:

Our goal is to make the Weekly Press Briefing a comprehensive resource for all things The West Wing, but we’re aware there are corners of fandom we might be missing. Is there an active TWW author whose fic promo tweets we’re missing on Twitter? An artist or fan vid maker we’re overlooking? Is there a daily account, ship account, or fandom resource we’re not following? Have we missed big news from TWW actors? Please don’t hesitate to slide into our DMs if you know of something we should be checking out or see something we’ve missed!

THE WEEKLY PRESS BRIEFING TEAM CAN BE REACHED VIA THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

Twitter: @TWWPress

Email: weeklypressbriefing@gmail.com

And as always, feel free to let us know if we missed something, if you have an event you’d like us to promote, or if you have an item that you’d like included in the next briefing!

That’s a wrap! Be good to yourselves and stay hydrated!

xx,

What’s next?

[thusatlas]

Thanks for the tag @amarillis39!

How many works do you have on AO3?

15

What’s your total AO3 word count?

396687

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Currently, write for the Harry Potter fandom but I've recently branched into the Grishaverse fandom. Prior to this, I dipped my toe into the Marvel fandom, and then way back in the 2010 FFN cesspit days, I wrote for (I am showing my vulnerability here, be kind) the Mortal Instrument fandom and Twilight.

... I know, but we stan personal growth.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) The Fuckening

2) Moribund

3) Bohemian Nights

4) The East Wind Blows (abandoned...maybe)

5) Dangerous Game - Collab with the beautiful @annavek94

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I am so bad at this. I used to reply to every one, but with my job, time isn't a luxury that I have. Sometimes when I have a spare five minutes, I'll try and catch up, but that's rare. I'm thinking that on the final chapters of WIPs I'll do a tour through the comment sections. But yeah, in short, no I don't reply to everyone, I'm useless, but I read and value everyone like gold dust.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

A couple of days ago, I would have said one of the Twilight ones, but they're all gone now. I love leaning into angst, but I don't think I have any angsty endings yet - mainly because the WIPs aren't finished. Of the oneshots, maybe Songbird - it's not exactly a HEA, but a bittersweet broken happiness. The Devil's Strawberry again was an imperfect HEA.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

None and I don't really have any plans for one atm.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Aye, The Fuckening and 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. In the Fuckening there were a couple people who just straight up were like, this is the worst thing I've ever read - which, I mean, I respect the bluntness of it. But one of the other reasons I stopped replying to comments was the insidious gatekeepers, of which, are regulars in that comment section. With TNBC, there were one or two Dramione antis, but mainly a lot of homophobic hate and it was entirely on FFN.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have no idea how to answer this tbh. Yes, I have a couple spicey one-shots and multi-chaps. Moribund and Bohemian Nights were specifically written for this purpose. Everything else is more plot-driven with spice in, and the smut will depend on the context of the story.

With Songbird, it was more about the emotional connection rather than the sex. The small dappling of it in Devil's Strawberry was definitely more abstract and about the magic.

But the other two, they're just straight-up, gratuitous porn.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep, Songbird is currently being translated into Portuguese by a wonderful Kiddo0008.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Dramione yes, definitely the OTP. Nottpott is a very close second thanks to @olivieblake. Further to that, Darcy x Steve Rogers holds a comforting old-timey charm that I love. Darklina is so seductive, I can't even. Sterek and Merthur are definitely darlings. But tbh, I'm open to giving most pairings a try. Love is love.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The East Wind Blows. I still have the plot in my head, I know where it'll go and I think it could be really fun. I'll have to go back over what's already been done because I started it a couple of years ago and my writing style has changed.

What are your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding - I get lost in the lore quite a lot, hence the word counts. And scene-setting, which ties into worldbuilding. I love going to the reasons why certain places are named the way they are etc. Everything is done with intention.

Tension and suspense - Every time I have a tense scene to write, my English teacher pops into my head. I was very fortunate to have her, she instilled some fantastic lessons, the main one being namely: stick to the rules until the rules no longer work for you. In tension and suspense, the rules hinder. So break them. Art is art, write with emotion, not equations.

The Quadruple P (and pestle) - Purple prose. I like words and I like using prose to paint the scene I'm setting and the world I'm building. I am unashamedly the purple cape crusader.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Scene changes and transition scene - I have to stop myself from writing every minute arbitrary detail like 'he walked up the curb and the looked for the shop etcetcetc'. Skimming over those transition scenes feels weird and like I'm cutting something short, even though it's the best thing to do for the narrative.

Dialogue - ugh, how do people speak.

Being concise - it's a problem. I want to be able to write a 1.5k story.

Plotting - I tried plotting, I can't. I get bored of the story and don't write it. I'm just embracing that I'm a Discovery writer at this point.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Depends. I think dialogue in other languages can add another layer to the story, acknowledging that yes, there are lots of languages out there etc. Particularly if the scene is set in a different country where the native language isn't English, in my case. Granted, I don't think major plot points should be discussed because they might be missed by some readers, but I think it's definitely good to acknowledge the language of the country setting or of the character. I'd even go as far as to do phonetic spelling with accents if the character is a non-English speaker and it lends to their character and isn't a characterisation of the language. Depends on how immersive you want the story to be.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

....

Twilight, but we don't talk about those days.

What’s your favourite fic that you’ve written?

Fuckening mainly because I'm having so much fun with the lore and mythos. It's been such a challenge, but worth it. Bohemian Nights is just pure wanderlust, smutty indulgence and my happy place. Whiskey Whispers was the funniest thing I've written and such a good time. But I think Call to the Void may get into the top 3 if I can pull it off.

Tagging: @simplifiedemotions @andgladly @amixedwitch @priorityskinshipping-blog @underdarkeningskies and anyone else who'd like to

[hopelikethemoon]

The Aftermath (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: The Aftermath  Rating: PG-13 Length: 4000 Warnings: Pregnancy Complications (Ecelempsia, Seizures, lots and lots of medical discussions in this one)  Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set June 1997. This is a really heavy chapter, ya’ll. As always I will assure you that things will be okay. But if you are at all triggered by pregnancy complications, discussion of seizures, medical discussions, or the effects of not being able to breast feed you might want to just skim.  Summary: Javier grapples with the complications around Sofia’s birth.

Taglist:  @grapemama  @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @longitud-de-onda​ @cool-ultra-nerd​ @himbopoes​ @findhimfives @pedrosdoll​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi​ @random066​

“You’ve got to hold it together, Javi.” Chucho told Javier, his fingers curling around his shoulder tightly. “You’ve got Josie and Sofía. They need their father.”

“She needs me too.” Javier hissed out, jerking his shoulder out from his father’s grasp. He knew what his father was trying to remind him. He didn’t want to lash out at him, but fuck. How was he supposed to think about the girls in a context where they wouldn’t have their mother? He couldn’t let those thoughts get to him.

He raked his fingers through his hair, before he rose to his feet. “Where the fuck is the doctor?”

“She’s gonna be okay, Javi.” Steve assured him, looking up at him from where he was sitting. “When has she ever let something like this bullshit get the best of her?”

Javier swallowed thickly, stopping mid-pace. “After all the shit she’s been through…” He really wanted to punch something. But he couldn’t really risk breaking his fucking hand. That wasn’t going to help with his guilt. Fuck. There was so much guilt. So much of the shit that she went through in Colombia had been his fault. 

And the stress. The goddamn stress was all his fault. She wouldn’t be laid up in the hospital if he hadn’t pushed a stressful situation onto her. He should’ve left the DEA shit alone. Somehow he’d managed to fuck up the birth of their second child. God, if he lost her....

The waiting room door opened slowly, a doctor appearing in the doorway. “Mr. Peña?” Javier couldn’t tell if the doctor had grim news or if the son of a bastard was born with that dourer expression.  

Steve stood up, clapping Javier on the shoulder. “We’re here for you.” He said something else, but Javier wasn’t entirely certain what it was. Everything seemed to focus in on the doctor who was waiting for him. Steve and Chucho felt like they were at the far end of a tunnel, the distance obscuring their voices. 

Javier waited for the waiting room door to close behind him before he spoke, “How is she? Can I see her?”

“She’s stable.” The doctor told him calmly, guiding him across the hall to a private room. He’d seen families come out of that same room with bad news. He truly felt like he was going to be sick. 

The doctor waited for Javier to sit, before he continued. “We have her sedated currently. Once we get her settled into her new room, I can take you down to sit with her.” 

He swallowed thickly. “Are we out of the woods?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not yet. Despite our best efforts, there were complications. She suffered a mild seizure, which was to be expected given her condition. Fortunately, the CT scan didn’t show any damage from the episode. We’ll get her scheduled for a MRI and prepped for a PET scan in the coming days.” He offered Javier a sympathetic smile. “As much as I’d love to send the three of you home tomorrow, we’re going to need to keep her for observation for a few more days.” 

Javier nodded slowly, trying to process everything the doctor had just told him. So many scans and the potential for something being wrong. Really wrong. “I just want her to come home.”

“She’s a fighter, Mr. Peña.”

“I know she is.” A brief smile spread over his lips. “She’s fucking incredible.”

“And we’re going to make sure she goes home.” The doctor promised him. “We’ve already started her on some hydralazine intravenously. It’s already started getting her blood pressure under control.” 

“Good.” 

“After she’s released she’s going to have to monitor the hypertension. She’ll be prescribed medicine to help stabilize it, but she won’t be able to breastfeed.”

Javier nodded slowly. At least the doctor was talking about the after. Going home. That sounded positive. 

“Have you been down to the nursery to see your daughter?”

“No.” He rubbed at his forehead. “My pops went to see her.” Everything had been perfect. 

Sofía was gorgeous. 

They let him cut the umbilical cord. They let him be such an active participant in their daughter’s birth. Everything had been going in the right direction. 

But she didn’t look right. 

She was exhausted, which was understandable, but her coloring was all wrong. She looked weak. 

And then the seizure. 

Javier wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to get that memory out of his head. It was worse than watching her bleed out on the ground. 

It had been maybe three hours. Maybe five. 

He hadn’t seen either of them since. 

“When do you think I’ll be able to sit with her?”

The doctor’s brows furrowed as he stared at him. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to call down to the nursery and have them bring your daughter up to her room. That might be good for the three of you.”

Javier swallowed thickly and nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll have a nurse come and get you from the waiting room.”

“Thank you.”

 ——

 It was another two hours before the nurse came to get him. 

Steve had gone home to help Connie with the girls and Chucho looked worn out, he wasn’t easily convinced to leave. Eventually, Javier won out because Stevie needed to be let out and he knew Monica had work. 

It felt wrong to care about anything outside of the hospital, but he knew she’d kill him if anything happened to that damned dog. 

But then the nurse came and he was ushered to her room. The floor was eerily quiet — it was after visiting hours, but the doctor had made special arrangements just for him. Even in the worst situation of his life, at least the hospital was treating him like he belonged. 

She looked awful. Hooked up to machines and monitors. Wires running from her hands, little censors stuck to her temples. 

“We’ve started decreasing her sedatives,” The nurse explained to him. “We’re still waiting for the doctor to look at her MRI—“ That must’ve been why it took so long. “But everything is looking really good, Mr. Peña.” 

The nurse gestured to the burgundy vinyl-covered reclining chair in the corner of the room. “We brought this in for you. In case you wanted to stay.”

“I do.” 

Javier looked away from her then, his eyes drawn to the bassinet Sofía was in. He knew he had to focus on her as well. She needed him just as much as her mother did. 

“When was the last time she ate?” He asked the nurse, moving towards the bassinet to pick up the swaddled infant. She cooed softly as she woke up and his heart melted. “It’s alright, daddy’s got you.” He whispered as he cradled her against his chest. 

“Half hour ago.” The nurse smiled. “Do you have other children, Mr. Peña?”

He nodded. “We have another daughter. She just turned four.”

“What a fun age.” She gestured towards Sofía. “If you need any help or if anything happens, there’s a call button on the bed. You’ll get one of us on the floor in here.”

“Thank you.”

Javier kept Sofía cradled against his chest as he moved towards the hospital bed. It broke his fucking heart to see her like this. There was nothing peaceful about being sedated. He had seen peaceful sleep on her and this wasn’t it. 

“You’ve got to wake up for us, baby.” He said gently as he gingerly curled his fingers around her unresponsive hand. “I don’t think you really got to see how beautiful Sofía is. She’s perfect just like her mother.” Javier looked between the two of them. “She reminds me so much of Josie at this age. She’s so little.” 

Javier sniffed quietly, trying not to cry. But he’d been holding it in for hours now. And there was a lump of emotion wedged in the back of his throat. Raw and painful. How was he expected not to cry when the love of his life was fighting for her life? 

He settled Sofía back down in the bassinet, before pulling the rolling stool over to her bedside. “This better be the last time I have to see you laid up like this, baby. I fucking hate it.” He took her hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles. “We’re not doing this again. We’ve got two daughters. We don’t need any more kids.” He lifted her hand up as he leaned over to kiss the back of her hand. “I’ll get the snip tomorrow, if it means never putting you in this position again.” 

Some machine beeped, making Javier jump a little. He glanced up, brows furrowed as he studied the monitors beside her. “They told me they’re decreasing the sedatives they have you on. I think that means you’re going to wake up soon.” Javier told her, squeezing her hand. “I wish I knew if you could hear me.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. 

Javier stood up, leaning over the bed so he could press a kiss to her forehead, his fingers tenderly brushing over her cheek. “You did such an amazing job delivering her, baby. I’m in awe of you. Your strength.” He let his nose brush over her forehead as he sighed. 

He studied her face, hoping to see some flicker of alertness. He knew she was going to wake up — she had to. But he wanted to talk to her now. It had been hours. He’d lost track of the time. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. This is all my fault.” He raked his fingers through his hair as he sank back on the stool. “I set all of this into motion. I should’ve known better, starting this shit while you were pregnant…” He shook his head. 

Javier pressed his face into his hands, letting the tears finally fall. It had been such an emotional day. The elation of seeing his daughter born, giving way to the fear of losing the woman he loved. 

The reality of the social worker meeting with him. Going over what his role as her POA meant, ensuring he understood what wishes she had made known in the document. His father had listened, because he hadn’t. He had been in shock. 

He couldn’t lose her. He’d lose his fucking mind if he went home to a house that didn’t have her in it. 

And it would be his fault. 

Sofía started fussing in her bassinet and Javier went to pick her up. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” He questioned as he looked down at her. She had the longest lashes he’d ever seen on a baby. A nose just like her mother. 

Javier hit the help button on her bed, waiting for a nurse to turn up so he could tell them Sofía needed formula. 

He sat on the rolling stool beside her bed, feeding Sofía and talking to them both. He told his daughter all about how brave her mother was, how good she was. How much he hoped both of his children ended up like their mother. She was far too good for him.

Javier went through the bag of clothes she’d brought with her to go home. Not tomorrow. Not like they had planned. 

“There it is.” He smiled as he saw the stuffed dog that Josie had made certain she had with her. “Baby, if you wake up I’ll get you another dog. I know how much you love having Stevie.” 

He moved back over to the bed. Javier lifted her hand up and tucked the toy into her palm. “Josie wanted to make sure you had this, baby. It’s Bruno.” 

Her fingers twitched faintly and he swore his heart skipped a beat. 

“I’m right here.” He curled his hand around hers, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “I love you, baby. Just rest, okay?” 

Her fingers twitched again, coupled with her lashes fluttering. 

“Hey.” Javier whispered, staring at her face. Looking for a sign that she was waking up. Three short squeezes, weak but there. 

“I love you too, baby.” He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Her lips parted, inhaling shakily. “W-where is she?” Her voice was hoarse, barely recognisable as her own. 

“She’s sleeping.” Javier brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Do you want to see her?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled, her eyes still closed. “Feel weird.”

“You’ve been through hell the last few hours.” Javier said as he reluctantly left her bedside to pick up Sofía. “She’s beautiful.” He told her as he walked back over to the bedside, brows furrowed as he looked down at her. “You gotta open your eyes, baby.”

“Just wanna... hold her.” She said wearily. 

Javier frowned when she just laid there motionlessly. She was still clearly under the effects of the sedative. 

“I’m just gonna lay her on your chest, okay baby?” 

“Yeah.” 

He carefully maneuvered Sofía, keeping a hand on her back as he laid her against her chest. Sofía opened her eyes, cooing quietly as her little fingers grabbed at the hospital gown beneath her. “That’s your mommy, baby girl.” He whispered. 

“I’m so tired.” She whispered, her lashes fluttered a faint glimpse of her eyes before they fell closed again. 

Javier reached out and took her hand, lifting it up gently to hold it against Sofía’s back. “Do you think you can hold her?” 

Her fingers twitched as she flexed them, spreading them out across her little back. “She’s tiny.” 

“Two ounces smaller than Josie.” He smiled at her as her eyes opened, though they were still heavy and groggy. “You did so good, baby.” 

“Did I?” She blinked slowly, her eyes very unfocused as she looked at him. Her fingers moved again, weakly brushing over the blanket Sofía was wrapped in. “Javi…”

“I’m right here, baby.” 

“Take her. I don’t want to drop her.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Javier leaned over the bed to scoop their daughter up, moving to put Sofía back in her bassinet. He stared down at her, fingers brushing over her cheek as she blinked slowly before falling back to sleep. He remembered how much Josie slept the night after she went home that first night. 

“I feel weird.”

He turned back to look at the bed, “Do you want me to call for the nurse.” Javier was already at her bedside, primed to press the call button. 

“They’ll give me more…” She gestured vaguely to her IV. “Wanna stay awake.” 

“You need to rest, baby.” He insisted, reaching out to cup her cheek. “But I don’t want them to sedate you again either. I missed your eyes.” 

She laughed quietly, sinking back into her pillow. “My eyes?” 

Javier nodded slowly. “Yeah. I was afraid you’d never open them again.” 

“And leave you to raise two daughters?” A weak smirk quirked at the corners of her lips. 

“I wouldn’t be able to cope without you.” 

She raised a brow, even as her eyes flickered closed. “Calm down, Romeo.” 

“Really?”

“Really.” She turned her head towards him and grinned as she opened her eyes slowly. She looked down then, picking up the stuffed dog that was still laying in her bed. “Was Josie here?”

“No.” Javier frowned. “She gave it to you to pack, remember?” 

“Right.” She said distantly as she sat the toy back down. 

“Do you not remember that?”

“Everything is a little hazy,” She admitted, reaching up to touch the nasal cannula in her nose. “I fucking hate this shit.”

“Oxygen is good for you.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“There’s the woman I know and love.” 

“I’d flip you off but....” She taunted, staring at him a little harder then. “You look like shit.”  

“It’s been a fucking awful day, baby.” Javier pushed his fingers through his hair. “But they gave me this hideous chair over there to sleep in.” 

“You should sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He shook his head. “This is about you. You’re the one who scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry.” She reached out and curled her fingers around his where they were curled around the side of her bed. 

“Why the hell are you apologizing?”

She shrugged, “I dunno.”

“Well, don’t.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m gonna get the nurse, alright? I think they were waiting for results. MRI? CT scan. One of them.” 

“Did someone let Stevie out?” 

Javier shook his head incredulously, “Yeah, pops went to stay with her.” 

“Good.” She smiled up at him. “I feel worse than I did when I got shot.” 

“You had a seizure.” 

“I did?” Her brows drew together, confusion marring her features. 

Javier nodded. “Is everything hazy?”

She lowered her gaze, picking at a piece of fuzz on her blanket. “Yeah. Tell them not to give me whatever they’re giving me. I feel really weird.” 

“You just have to stay calm. Okay?” Javier reminded her, reaching you press the button to call for the nurse. “That’s the key thing. Okay? If you keep your blood pressure down you’ll get to go home.”

“Home sounds nice.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Javier glanced at the door as it opened, “She woke up.”

The nurse beamed, “That’s great news, Mr. Peña.” She looked towards the hospital bed then, “How are you feeling?”

“As bad as he looks.” She quipped, looking at him as she reached for his hand. 

He squeezed her hand. “Nurse, she’s having… not memory loss, exactly but… confusion? Is that the medicine?”

The nurse checked her vitals before putting them up on the whiteboard across from the bed. “That may just be the sedation, but there is always the chance that she may also be experiencing side effects from the seizure. The doctor will discuss the postictal phase when he comes down.” 

She looked towards the hospital bed then, “Let’s do a little memory test, shall we?” She tapped the dry erase marker against the board. “Do you know what your daughter’s name is?” 

“Joséfina Peña.” She answered and the nurse frowned. 

“Our older daughter,” Javier explained.

The nurse nodded and wrote the name out on the board. 

“She has an accent above the ‘e’.” She corrected the nurse. “And it’s ‘f’ not ‘ph’.” 

“Do you know your newborn’s name?”

“Sofía.” She rubbed her lips together slowly. “With an ‘f’ and an accent over the ‘i’.” She looked towards Javier there. “We named her after Javi’s mother.” 

“Do you know what day it is?”

She shook her head. “I think… I came in on the thirtieth.”

“Thirty-first.” Javier squeezed her hand, before glancing back at the nurse. 

“It’s June second.” She supplied. 

“Shit.” 

“It’s okay, baby.” 

“When was she born?”

“The first.” 

She laughed quietly. “May first and June first.” 

“Easy to remember.” Javier leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re doing so good.” 

“Do you have any pets?” The nurse questioned. 

“A dog. Stevie Nicks.” 

“Very good.” The nurse wrote the names up on the whiteboard before making a big square around ‘PLANS FOR TODAY’. “It looks like the doctor still wants you to get that PET scan today. Once we get that over with you are one step closer to going home. We’ve just got to keep that blood pressure down.”

“How is it?” Javier questioned. 

“Good. Still a little high, but nowhere near as high as it was when she came in.” 

Sofía started crying and she sat up quickly, looking towards the bassinet. “She needs food. She sounds just like Josie when she was hungry.” 

“I know.” Javier cradled her to his chest, but he wasn’t giving her what she wanted. 

The nurse looked a little anxious. “Now, due to the medicine you’re currently on you’re not going to be able to breastfeed for a little while, okay?” 

“Oh.” She sank back against the pillows, “Can I… is there formula?” She questioned, looking around the room. 

“I can get that.” The nurse excused herself from the room then. 

“I know this fucking sucks.” Javier offered as he passed Sofía to her mother. She seemed stronger now, able to hold her without his assistance. “It’s not at all how we planned it…”

“It never is.” She said quietly as she looked down at Sofía, brushing her fingertips against her forehead. “She’s so little. Is she smaller than Josie was?”

“She is.” Javier rested his hand against hers. “She looks so much like her big sister.” 

“I’m sorry.” She glanced up at him. “I know this isn’t… this isn’t what you wanted.” 

“Hey, hey. No.” He reached out and brushed away the stray tear that slid down her cheek. “None of that, baby. No. All I care about is the two of you being healthy. You could’ve given birth in the back of our car and I’d still be the happiest man alive.” 

She inhaled raggedly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Can you take her?” 

“Of course.” Javier cradled the back of her head as he picked Sofía back up, rocking her gently in his arms. “Baby, please don’t cry. I really don’t fucking care about anything except you, okay?” 

“I’m leaking.” She admitted, covering her face ashamedly. “My baby is crying, my breasts are leaking, and I can’t fucking feed her!” 

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” She crossed her arms across her chest, trying to hide the damp spots forming. 

The monitor beside the bed started beeping and the nurse appeared seconds later with the formula and a look of concern. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t feed my baby.”

Javier’s heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest. 

“I’m going to need you to calm down.” The nurse said lightly as she passed the formula off to Javier. “You can still feed your baby with the bottle, okay? But I’m going to need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to have to sedate you again.” 

“Please don’t.” She whispered, hastily wiping away her tears. “Please. I don’t want to feel like that again. Please don’t sedate me.” 

“Are you going to calm down?” 

Javier kinda wanted to yell at the nurse for the vague condescending tone she was speaking to her with. But that wasn’t going to do anyone any good. “Her breasts… are leaking.” He told the nurse, trying to intercede for her. “Can you get her a fucking pump or something? Please.” 

The nurse just glared at him, before she backed down. “That’s probably a good idea.” 

Sofía started crying louder, which only seemed to make the dark stain on her mother’s hospital gown grow darker. “Shh. Sweetheart, your mommy’s going to help you. Okay?” 

How would he have done this without her? How could he handle Josie and Sofía on his own? The mere thought made him want to join in with his girls and sob his fucking heart out. 

Once again he helped her take her daughter into her arms, nestled safely against her chest. He passed her the formula, watching as she brought the bottle to her lips and waited for her to latch on to it.

Javier sank down onto the rolling stool, head in his hands while she fed Sofía. He was so fucking tired and so fucking tired of feeling helpless. 

If his father and Steve hadn’t been there with him… he would’ve lost his fucking mind. He couldn’t imagine dealing with this in Colombia. There was no way in hell he would’ve been able to go back to the DEA and work, knowing she was incapacitated. She was a fucking fighter and it made him want pull the world apart knowing that she was hurting. There was nothing he could do. The decision he had made had gotten them into this situation. 

It was all his fucking fault. 

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Hello hello to all the new followers! However you came across this blog, thanks for being willing to put this on your dashboards. I still have half of this chapter left to go, but hopefully I’ll be able to knock out a larger chunk of it since it’s gonna flow better… at the least, I’ll try to get to where Episode 1 of the anime cuts off.

...huh, damn, now I’m curious about exploring differences between anime and manga… I don’t have time for that, this manga thing is already more of a time-eater than expected… plus considering how many chapters I need to get through… yeah no, I will leave anime-manga comparison to others.

Anyways, into today’s pages! I wanna get this chapter done this week!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

...you, I’m gonna translate you.

[transliteration of sign: 頭上 (zujou) [overhead] 注意 (chuui) [caution, being careful, attention (heed), warning, advice]

[Translation: caution, overhang 2m]

I mean, it’s obvious because of the context, but now I know how to pronounce it! And I guess you guys can as well. No, I will not be ashamed of spending fifteen minutes on this. I’m probably gonna stay in the habit of translating stuff as I come across it.

Anyways, to the chapter itself. Izuku doesn’t do that ‘All Might impression’ thing here like he does in the anime, just basically hypes himself up with grit teeth and determination. Which is a shame, but it makes sense since that sort of thing would look/turn out better in animation anyways. Still a little weird he had a flashback there, but like whatever, it’s supposed to give readers context into the setting and character, this whole opening chapter’s gonna be a bit weird like that.

The villain comes up out from the holes in the sewer grate, and holy fuck does this come off as just a bit of a horror manga, if I saw that I’d be terrified.

You know, out of context this is REALLY disturbing… no wait, in context this is disturbing too, nevermind. But yeah, look at that terrified kid, that is not the face he was wearing earlier against Katsuki, making it even more obvious that he wasn’t scared at that point.

The villain pounces on and envelops Izuku, covering his nose and mouth and making Izuku realize he’s been attacked by, you know, a villain. Which I would share the image of, but honestly it’s graphic as hell, if you wanna see it go look at the manga yourselves.

Yeah, it’s a wonder Izuku didn’t have nightmares for months after this, or have issues with water or potentially drowning/suffocating. Also, honestly, with this hijacking the body thing, I’m looking at the amount of mass of the sludge and the size of Izuku, and I have to remind myself again that this is a shounen manga with urban fantasy magic, logic isn’t a concern here.

But yeah, the villain is super vague about who the ‘he’ he’s avoiding is, while Izuku is frantically trying to scrape at the sludge to no effect. Also, after being in the sewers, that HAS to be some nasty gunk, yikes, how did Izuku not come down with something?

Izuku’s struggles makes him drop his charred notebook while panicking about his death and begging someone to come save him. The book flips open to his conceptual hero costume, which we know is going to end up the ‘first’ version of his costume, though obviously it’s going to undergo some revisions as the series progresses (which is a small thing I like about the series a lot). If I recall right, this is also what prototype!Izuku’s costume was going to look like!

Fortunately for Izuku, in the next page All Might punches his way up out of the sewers, letting both the villain and Izuku know he’s there, and- god, I wouldn’t trust those groceries for any sort of safe consumption, even if they are… two bottles?? That’s it?? What-

Sure, whatever, two bottles of soda, I guess, isn’t that not good for people who have had their stomach removed because of too much sugar or something? Is him being down a stomach even actually canon or just popular fanon? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

Anyways, All Might showed up and punched the villain away from Izuku, basically only hitting with the shockwave to avoid hurting the kid too much. Also, we get this gem of a face:

Incredible.

Izuku passes out, and wakes up a bit later to All Might slapping his face, which like, sir, sir, that’s not how you take care of a victim of a villain attack that definitely isn’t an allegory for another kind of assault. But yeah, All Might is sort of out of ‘character’ while waiting for Izuku to get up, and then shoves himself back into it once Izuku’s awake, which is… interesting, and makes sense.

Izuku naturally freaks out, and All Might does a pose while apologizing for his mistakes and explaining his sloppiness with the villain - he’s new to the area, and besides that, he’s ‘off camera’. Which, yeah, you really get the sense this is his TV persona pushed forward. He also thanks Izuku for success in finally containing the villain, and Izuku gives us this hilarious gem:

Ah, meta jokes. Izuku looks around for his notebook for an autograph, only to see it’s already been signed. He bows enthusiastically and says he’ll keep it as a family heirloom, and All Might heads off to take the villain in and to ‘catch him again on tv’.

Izuku wants him to wait, because he still has something to ask, but All Might says he’s got no time, and crouches to jump away, with just a shot of Izuku’s desperate face before All Might takes off, the ‘thanks for your support’ dragging after him like the words themselves couldn’t keep up, and again that is just a cool fucking effect and use of shape and warping to give effects otherwise not possible in text and just- gah, I love comic/manga art for these reasons, so freaking cool!

You’re an all star.

Sorry not sorry. But yeah, the bottles are still there in his pockets - his definitely totally secure open pockets. Honestly, with or without Izuku, he might have dropped those bottles because what the fuck All Might. 

All Might tries to shove Izuku off until Izuku reminds him that he will die if he falls, which gets him to pause and go ‘true enough!’ Izuku says he’s got a lot of things to ask, and All Might asks him to close his eyes and mouth to avoid the wind drag. All Might coughs and grunts, with a drop of blood escaping from between his teeth, and him swearing about it.

Onto the next page, and we have some background kanji that I am definitely going to waste time translating, because that’s just who I am.

Top windows/hanging sign: 卜 (uranai) [divination, fortune telling] 黄葉 (kouyou/momiji) [autumn/fall colors, leaves changing color, layered colors in garments (resembling autumn colors)] 

[rough translation: fortunate garments / lucky coloring.]

I’m gonna assume this is something to go with Japanese culture and their beliefs around what certain colors mean. 

Middle banner/hanging sign: Su/Ta/De [study] 

Not confident at this one but I cannot grok how messy those katakana are and so I just have given up on that for now. If someone can confirm, that’d be sweet of you.

Lower windows/hanging sign: [事]務所 (jimusho) [office]

Lower banner: Ma/a/ke/t/to [Market]

Shop overhang: Fu/ra/shi/[mu?] [Flashy] 喫茶 (kissa) [teahouse/coffee shop/cafe]

Flashy Cafe makes sense, but I’m not confident in the katakana when we can only see three of them and no way to know about modifiers,,,

Victory.

Alright, now that I’m done crying over that, onto actual chapter analysis. We get the ‘whoosh’ of something falling, before seeing the POV of the sludge guy coming back to consciousness, frustrated with All Might, and we also get a peek at some kids approaching… aka Katsuki and his minions.

First off, the branding on the can is hilarious and weirdly suited to the situation. Secondly, you can just see Katsuki kicking the bottle in the bottom left corner there, which probably knocks it open for, you know, the upcoming events. And huh, both of the minions smoke, which Katsuki chastises with displeasure in the panel after next. 

So Katsuki blames Izuku for ‘messing with him’ and that Izuku being ‘full of stupid dreams like when they were kids’ pisses him off. Which he emphasises by blowing up the can in his hand. I wonder if that’s meant to be a reference to him thinking Izuku’s just paying lip service to being a hero just to annoy Katsuki, at least in his POV?

But yeah, Katsuki shakes his hand after that - which meant he DID feel some backlash for blowing up a can in his hand, or perhaps the superheating of the metal before it went? Either way, backlash! He turns back to yell at the two about their smoking and how it’d go on his record, and the two freak out and point behind Katsuki, before we go to their POV:

But yeah, another decent stopping point here. There should only be two posts after this for chapter 1, based on my skimming of the rest of the pages. I really want to have the All Might convo separate, and then the whole sludge fight and aftermath… but we’re getting there! :D

[wehavethoughts]

Eco-Chic Home Review!

Eco-Chic Home: Rethink, Reuse & Remake Your Way to Sustainable Style By Emily Anderson Photography by Seth & Kendra Smoot Skipstone, 2010

Eco-Chic Home bridges interior decorating with contemporary sustainable living movements, and contextualizes lifestyle and style choices in the broader history of over-consumption. Anderson offers plenty of DIY projects to reuse objects that we traditionally think of as waste, urging readers to reimagine their relationship with material objects. The book falls shy of a perfect score, as some projects are difficult to understand, and that the decoration suggestions don’t quite respond directly to the environmentalist facts presented throughout.

5 of 6 plump geese!

Eco-Chic Home is a book on decorating, not designing. The distinction is made regarding function. An interior designer needs specific education and often collaborates with an architect to plan how a space works, feels and looks. Decorators furnish a space with pretty things but work within its pre-existing functionality. This doesn’t at all mean that decorating is shallow or mindless. Anderson emphasizes three key points in her messaging: rethink, reduce, and re-purpose. 

Anderson’s book has readers rethink how they engage with objects. While the majority of the book is filled with detailed DIY project instructions, the Introduction serves to guide sincere reflection on personal practices as they relate to the world at large. She gives a brief expositional history, describing 1950’s post-War developments of plastics as a catalyst for modern America’s wasteful tendencies. In short, though cheaper options allowed for more people to have more things, it altered the collective psyche into neglecting how much waste those flimsier products produce. While this isn’t a comprehensive history book and those unfamiliar with this history have to take Anderson’s word for it, I really appreciate this context in an interior design book. (Citations for recycling information and environmental facts are referenced at the back of the book, but the historical survey is presented as general historical knowledge.) Her design offerings are not based on aesthetic whims, but are rooted in the understanding that our well-being is connected to the well-being of our planet.

A huge part of Anderson’s message requires us to reduce what we consume. From textiles to food packaging, production leads to waste production. There is no “away” when we throw something away, so by consuming less, we contribute less to that waste. This can be owning fewer items, for example shirts or toys. It can look like bringing our own shopping bags to the store and reusable water bottles out in our day. Perhaps we select items made from more durable materials so they last us longer. Anderson informs us about different materials in her Introduction, as well as strongly suggests that we buy second-hand. When we buy something already used and that doesn’t require new production, we increase the life of that object, avoid participating in using resources to produce new things, and at least half the number of that item being tossed when it’s worn out.

“Even if you never buy a single eco-friendly product in your life, buying less stuff in general means you are making one of the greenest choices possible.”

The majority of Eco-Chic Home focuses on how to re-purpose what we already have. After listing useful tools to have (if possible), Anderson divides her DIY projects into chapters: Entryway, Living Room, Kitchen, Dining Room, Bedroom, Lighting and Holidays & Gift Giving. Every project has a list of tools and sequenced instructions, like a recipe, although not all the projects have pictures. I found that, at times, it was hard for me to understand what I would be doing without seeing the finished product. The ideas incorporated the ideas from the beginning of the book: re-imagine how to use less and use better. Projects ranged from turning old sweaters into pillow covers, building room dividers from found materials, to even making your own paint! (I was personally skeptical about the paint, which comprises skim milk, lime powder, and white vinegar...apparently it’s a thing that doesn’t go sour, but I would still worry about mold, no?) Homemade milk paint would produce a white creamy color, and you could add lime-proof pigments for color. Lots of options all around. 

For the most part, the projects are unique to this book, Anderson really designed a curated selection of remaking projects. The photographed examples all share a styled vibe: kind of an earthy flea-market style, “eco-chic” I guess! Fortunately, she doesn’t make overbearing mandates on which prints to pick, focusing instead on any materials being sustainable or ethically-made or locally-sourced. The book concludes with a plethora of resources: information about the tangible need for a more sustainable society, credits to makers featured in photographs, options of websites or flea markets to start your individual search. As someone who is invested in making more sustainable lifestyle choices, this book was reassuring: other people want this for their homes and lives too.

Eco-Chic Home falls short of 6 luscious geese for a few reasons. Anderson stretches to combine lifestyle with decor, and sustainability with design. Including facts about production and waste on a large scale ultimately is disconnected with a book that rethinks individual life. These serious problems would be much better addressed by companies and countries whose damaging impacts on the planet are far greater than any one person. The book falls into the trap of suggesting that “you can make a difference with small adjustments” without insisting that more powerful entities take responsibility and commit to less-harmful practices. Of course, it’s true that anything helps, and I like that Anderson stresses that money and time are valuable, and that these projects shouldn’t deplete you of either. My realistically doable actions will have a positive ripple-effect: “oh, did you make that?” or “this is delicious, you said it’s from a family-owned store around here?” But we need to go beyond sharing scary realities to motivate individuals to change their habits. 

Ultimately, Eco-Chic Home is a great contribution to interior decorating because it grounds style with a sustainability mindset. I award it 5 of 6 beautiful, plump geese, and recommend it to readers who are excited to experiment with realizing their commitment to greener living. 

With loving curiosity,

DesignMod

[darkdevasofdestruction]

God’s Snowdrop - Dio Brando (Non Vampire AU)

"Where were you?!" my father's drunk voice rasped from the living room as soon as I entered the house. "Mother's funeral..." I muttered, trying to slip away to my room. "That gives you no excuse to get home empty-handed! You think we can go by daily with no money?! You think I, alone, can support the both of us?! You are 10 years old, you should bring money by now too, you lazy bitch!" he yelled, before the sound of a stumble was heard, and I locked myself in my bedroom before he could reach me. "Honestly...Not even on her funeral day can you be decent...Fucking pig..." I growled, staying on the window pane and continuing my book reading. 

The next day, after I was able to sell all the flowers and matchboxes, I was able to sit at the foot of a tree and study the same medicine book that I've been reading for this whole year... The one my mother bought me om my birthday, just before she died, as she knew my dreams were of becoming a doctor. Dreams... That's all they will be... Only far away dreams... But at least I can try. 

It's not like I have anything better to do. I didn't realise how time passed, until a blond boy with a scowl on his face stood above me, snapping me from my studying.

"What can I help you with?" I asked in a soft voice, looking up at him with a tired expression. "You're in my spot! Move over!" he growled in rage, and I could only nod. "Okay, sorry about that, I didn't know." I picked up the basket near me and decided to leave home, before he grasped my wrist tightly, turning me around. "What are you? A sewer rat, or a rich bastard? I can't tell and it's annoying me!" he sneered, but in a way he seemed to be thinking something else entirely. "Something in between, I guess? My mother was a tailor and used to work for upper and middle class people, so she would always make pretty dresses for me and made sure to always look my best. On the other hand, I suppose with how the house is almost collapsing on us, we're not too far away from actual alley rats." I shrugged nonchalantly, looking up at the pink evening sky. "How old are you? You seem to have the audacity to speak like a much older and noble snob." he scoffed, glaring at me. "I am 10 years old. My name is Katrina Stark, since you seem to be asking quite a lot of questions. I'm nobody important, just the girl who sells flowers and match boxes so her father can have enough booze to pass out faster. Now, may I go home, Mister I-Have-No-Name?" I tiled my head to the side slightly, waiting for the seal of approval. "What an ill-mannered woman, you don't even ask for my name. I am Dio Brando, you better remember that name! Despite how rude you are, it seems you are capable enough to read? Whatever could someone like you be able to read? Nursery rhymes?" he laughed condescendingly as he snatched the book from my grasp. "Not quite what I would call nursery rhymes..." I muttered, looking away, slightly uncomfortable. "You...You...Read medical textbooks...? A mere 10 year old dumb little girl? And you wish to tell me you understand the words written here? And how these apply to the human body?!" he stared at me with a lowkey angered expression, shifting his expression from the book to myself. "My mother bought me that book. She suffered from an unknown illness and I vowed to discover a cure for said illness. Tell me what you want, it's not like I care in particular, but nobody's words are going to stop my ambitions and dreams. And, for the record, yes, I do understand what it is written here. I could read since I was 5, and I'm not that stupid as to not be able to corelate the text to real life." with a deadpan expression, I snatch the book away from the boy who seemed to be almost double my height, and turned around to go to my home, hiding the book at the bottom of the basket and counted the money.

I muttered a curse as I realise I could only buy 4, instead of the 5 bottles of liqueur that father wants, and I was short 1 coin... But I had no more flowers nor match boxes. Damn it. What could the odds of him being asleep be, I wonder? Maybe if I wait outside long enough, he will fall asleep? Or maybe I can somehow find something to sell? But what? I then realised that I kept 2 oranges in the basket, as a lunch, but I was much too absorbed in my lecture to realise my hunger, and I could sell them for that coin... But now... Who would want oranges? It's already dark outside and it's pretty dangerous on these dirty streets of London... And yet, it's much more dangerous inside. Soon enough, wandering the strewts, trying to avoid any drunk or scary men, I find a policeman, so I rush to him, tugging on his sleeve, with a puppy face.

"Mister policeman, please, would you please buy these oranges? Just one coin! I can't go home if I don't sell everything." I beg him, putting my hands together, fingers intertwined as if praying. "A little girl like you shouldn’t be wandering these streets at such an hour. Go straight home, alright?" the policeman smiled kindly at me as he put the coin in my hands. 

Tears welled up in my eyes as I thanked him and rushed back home - Home that was glued to a bar, and bought the usual delivery from the bartender since he knew I would just give it to my father, not without seeing the pity look in his eyes. When I arrived home, I put the 5 bottles next to his bed, but I had no idea where he was...Until a crash came from the kitchen and I knew I had to run to my room. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough, and he caught me by the neck of my dress, slamming me on the ground. 

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SO LATE?! DID YOU SLACK OFF AGAIN?!" he shouted at me. "P-People didn't want to buy today, I'm s-so sorry! But I got the 5 bottles! They're in your room!" I tried to stutter out defensively, but no excuse was enough for him to forgive me, so I bitterly accepted the beating...Not that it was anything new.

The next day, just as usual, I went to the field after making sure I got all the coins, and started reading, however, on my way there, I noticed a few kids playing, but one was on the ground, his pants torn at the knee, with his skin scraped, crying.

“Do you want me to fix that?” I asked simply, crouching down next to him. “Can you?” the boy asked, wiping his tears away, as his friends gathered around him. “Of course I can. Good thing I carry ointment and cloth with me, just in case.” I muttered, taking out the marigold ointment I made, I get the water bottle, water the cloth, cleaned the wound, then applied the treatment quickly on the wound and bandaged the kid’s knee. “There, all done. You should be fine by tomorrow.” I shrugged, gathering my things, ready to leave. “Thank you so much, miss! You’re amazing!” he cheered in glee, getting back again and playing with his friends. “Tsk...Lame.” I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see, before I went to read again, careful not sit at the foot of the same tree, so the boy wouldn't bother me again. 

What a joke, though. He would be bothered by something no matter where I'd be, I'll soon come to realise, as today, again, he was there. 

This time, however, he sat down next to me and took the book in his hands, skimming through it calmly. 

"Uhm...Hello...Dio." I mumble unsurely, looking at the boy who acted as if he owned the place. "It's one of the best books on the market. Must have cost a fortune." he speaks, completely out of context. "I...Suppose so. I wasn't able to step into a bookshop...Or a library, for the matter. I will trust your word for it." I shrugged, resting my chin on my knees. "Your mother knows her stuff well. Does she have nurses, midwives or doctors as relatives?" Dio asks, and I merely shrug once again. "I don't know. To be fair, I don't particularly know anything about my family." I spoke nonchalantly, humming slightly. "Why don't you ask her today? I am rather curious." he passes me the book back, but I could only stare at him with a dead expression. "She's dead." was all I said, as I noticed his eyes widen slightly. "I see." his voice went down in realisation. "Her funeral was 2 days ago. He didn't want to come. Said he'd drink in her honour...Tsk, what a joke. Men are such a joke...They charm a woman, steal her from her family, then get married, have a child...Then they stop working, while also demanding their wives to work to death, only to use the money on alcohol...Disgusting..." I took the book from his hands, but I didn't have the power to open it from all the pent up rage I held in my heart. "My mother's disease was actually just stress and body over-exhaustion. That much is obvious...Everyone knows...But nobody wants to say a thing. This society should just burn." I sneered, forgetting for a moment that there was someone next to me. "Your words are bold for someone so young and small." he praises lowly, turning his head to look at me. "...Words mean nothing if you can't do anything about it." I reply simply, tilting my head to look at him dead in the eyes. "Why are still here? You have nothing to gain from hanging around me. I have no way of benefiting you in any way. So, why...?" I asked in a firmer voice, yet it was still light and gentle. "You are right, I have nothing to gain from you. I shall take my leave." he started getting up, but I grasped his sleeve, not raising my head. "Won't you stay for a bit more? I haven't talked to someone in a while. I forgot how nice it is." I explain how I felt, and for some reason, he sat back down with a confident chuckle. "Heh! Of course you'd want to stay around the great Dio Brando! It is fine, I'm in a great mood today, I suppose I can indulge in some time wasting with some common girl." he spoke, pointing to himself, which made me giggle softly. "You're pretty cute, you know?" I smile softly, which earned a smirk from him. "Keh. So even someone like you can see how great I am. Who knows, Katrina, maybe when I become THE most successful lawyer, I might come back and even greet you." he boasted with full pride. "A lawyer, hmm? I can't say I'd see you as anything else. You seem that kind of person who wouldn't be stopped by laws, morals or ethics and would do anything to get what you wanted and be right. It'd be pretty fun, watching you argue until you win." I hum in amusement. "So even someone insignificant like you can recognise that I will be a flawless lawyer! Maybe you're not so bad after all." he held his head high in pride. “I see you like anyone who flatters you. Some may call you vain, you know?” I gave him a side smile. “I don’t care about others. I am the most important person in my life.” he scoffed with a frown. “That’s a nice life philosophy, you know? Maybe one day I’ll think the same too. Until then, I should still hold this wish to save others.” I hummed in amusement. “I saw what you did to that brat. What did you use?” he asked in curiosity. “Just some marigold ointment I made. It can heal wounds like that pretty fast.” I spoke as a matter of fact. “I see...Not bad, for some common wench like you. I guess you can be more interesting than I thought.” he praised, which made me look at him in surprise. “That’s...Very nice of you to say. Thank you, Dio.” I nodded at him, my cheeks becoming slightly pink. “Azaleas in your hair, hellebore in your eyes and roses in your cheeks. You’re like a nice bouquet of flowers that’s going to wither soon if nobody takes good care of you...Or can you prove me wrong?” he asked, getting closer to me, caressing my rosy cheek with the back of his hand. "Well...Unfortunately, I have to go. It's getting late and I don't want to get in trouble with that poor excuse of a father. It was great talking to you...Maybe we'll see each other again." I picked up my basket, hiding the book once again and waving him goodbye, before rushing to buy the bottles for my father, hoping that I won't mess up again for some reason. 

Days passed one after the other, and Dio was nice enough to come see me daily. I wasn't sure why, but I wasn't about to question it either. Unfortunately, despite how nice this day was, it ended horribly, as I noticed my father coming in my direction. 

"Dio...Do me a favour and leave. And take my book too. I'll see you tomorrow, I think." my voice was trembling softly, glaring at the approaching figure. "What?! How dare you-" Dio glared at me, but I snapped my back at him with pleading eyes, which made him look at me with widened eyes. "Just go...I don't know what he'll do. That's my father there...And the worst he could do is burn this book which would ultimately kill me. Please...Just listen to me and go. I don't want to get you in trouble too." I bit my lip, looking back at the silhouette that was so close now. "Fine. But you haven't heard the end of this." he grumbled, taking my book and going in the opposite direction.  "You, whore! So that's what you've been doing?! Whoring around with random boys and slacking off when you could be earning money?! You're a selfish and worthless slut, just like your mother! Get home right now!" father hollered, his voice echoed throughout the glade, yanking and dragging me by the hair back home. 

The whole night was even more than what one would ordinary call a nightmare, but I could at least consider myself lucky to be alive. I guess. Who knows? Of course, the next day I was forced to make money anyway, and I wasn't able to stay more than an hour on the spot with Dio, which angered him quite a lot. When I was leaving, he quickly put his hand on my shoulder with a little more force than he realised, which made me yelp and jump in my skin slightly. "Why...Did you react like that? Are you afraid of me? You think I'd hit you? Think I'd step so low as to hurt a girl?!" he growled in anger, his grip tightening on my shoulder. "No...It just hurt. Sorry to make you feel bad. Last night was...Not the best." I tried to explain in a way that I wouldn't have to say more. "He beat you?" he spoke bluntly, and I could only look away from him. 

He then got furious and lowered my dress from the neck back, revealing the whip marks on my back, still pink and vivid from last night, spreading down my back like the tangled web of a spider. 

"He did this to you, didn't he?" he muttered, close to my ear. "Do you really need confirmation?" I ask, looking down at the ground. "Why do you do nothing about it? There’s one thing to beat up a man, since that’s how you assert dominance, but doing it to a woman is simply unforgivable." he asked once again. "Do what? I'm nothing more than a useless little girl in a society led by men who think they're so powerful. I have no power. No way to save myself. I have no idea how I could even get the money to get myself into Med school." I gritted my teeth, putting back my dress over my shoulders. "Kill him and keep the money for yourself. You can sustain yourself from the money you earn already. There are still a few years before you can apply for University, it's plenty of time." he explains, and I merely shrugged. "Maybe..." I spoke, barely audible. "I came here to tell you that my father died today, and from tomorrow on, I will be living out of London, with a rich family that is going to support my dream financially. Once I become a Lawyer and can afford sustain myself, I will come back for you. Will you wait for me, Katrina?" he asked, getting in front of me and putting his hands on my face, lifting it up so I would look at him. "Why would you come back for me? I'm a nobody." I ask, frowning in confusion and blushing softly. "Because you believed in my greatness." he kissed my forehead gently. "You are mine now, little Snowdrop, so better not let anyone else touch you, got it?" he spoke in a voice that borderlined possessiveness. "I promise." I put my own hands over his own, closing my eyes and enjoying the last few seconds of serenity.

- 10 years later - 

I was able to get into Med school 2 years ago thanks to a legacy that my mother hid away from my father in her Will, at the bank. The down part was that I had to pretend to be a man for the whole duration of the University, but my diploma will be written with my actual name on it. 

One day, during my practice at the hospital, we heard that a group of law students in their final year were to visit and see how practices happen around, so they would understand the laws, ethics, morals and how patients fare. 

Being one of the top students, in my 4th year already, I was allowed to present the most ethically challenging cases to the law students, what we ought to choose, and what the other side of the coin is, all while going in clear medical detail. 

My long red hair was tied with a ribbon and draped over my shoulder, while my fringe was framing my face and the large lab coat was hugging my frame as if I was almost trying to hide.

By the end of it all, after hearing discussions and debates between the students, some of them bound to absolute rule and others bound to be less ethical and moral, I listen carefully to what each of them has to say, particularly the blond boy who spoke with great confidence as if he was unstoppable and untouchable by anything around him. He was beyond everything. I wonder...

Could this be the boy I used to know long ago, when I was still very young and fragile? 

The whole day I ran around the hospital all day, and at evening, I was finally able to go home, tired out of my mind. And yet, as I was walking down the wet, cobbled stone streets of London, I heard a voice call out for the "redhead", and since I knew I was the only one around, I fix the deerstalker hat to hide my face and feminine features, turning around, only to see the blond man from earlier. 

  "Yes? How may I help you" I ask in a voice that was desperately trying to be lower than usual. "You're a woman, aren't you? I know who you are." he spoke with a smirk, as he flicked the front of my hat with his fingers, making it fly away and fall on the ground. "Then, my suspicions were correct. You really are Dio Brando." I nodded, my face still passive, and yet, a smile was creeping rapidly on my face. "It has been 10 years, and you can tell that I am the great Dio Brando. Of course, only someone like you would be able to. And to think you were able to study Medicine, just as you dreamt." Dio chuckled, crossing his arms and looking down at me. "I thought you were tall before...Now I really look up at you as if looking for God. Your name truly fits you." I burst into laughter, trying to stifle my giggles with my hand, as Dio was towering over me like an elephant next to a little Corgi pup. "And you look as frail as a Snowdrop, just as you used to before. You barely changed...Yet you at least look like a woman now. And your hair grew beautifully...Soft like velvet..." he muttered, his hands on my hair, as he untied the ribbon and let it cascade down my back. "Do you really fool anyone with this façade?" he hummed in amusement. "I'm not sure. I enrolled as a man, I will graduate and practice as a woman. It's just formalities...I don't know for sure, but it doesn't matter as long as it all works in my favour, in the end." I shrugged, fixing my hair. "I haven't let it down in quite a while." I smiled softly, unconsciously braiding a small streak of crimson. "I told you, didn't I? I would come for you. I always keep my promises. And what a pleasant surprise to see that you're almost done with your studies as well. Where do you live?" he asks, pulling me closer to him. "At home. I can't afford to live anywhere else." I shrugged simply. "What about that bastard?" he sneered in disgust. "Well, what do you think happened?" I smirked, provoking him. "You killed him? Did you really have it in you to kill him, Snowdrop?" he pulled me away to look into my eyes. "I won't say anything that could possibly incriminate me, Mr. Lawyer. However, should you want to pursue a detective path, I might be persuaded to...Drop a few hints?" I smirked, challenging him. "Now I'm intrigued. My University education is almost over and my foster father said he'll buy me a nice house here, in London. Once I no longer have to live in those wretched student halls, you'll come to live with me, got it?" he smirked proudly. "Oh, and what privilege, Monsieur Dio. Is it because you are burning with curiosity to find out how I got into Med school?" I tilted my head to the side with a foxy expression, but next thing I know, I'm being pulled in a deep kiss that left me shocked, breathless and wanting more. "I love it when you challenge me. The fire in your eyes is as powerful as your hair. It's so lovely that I could break you any time, so easily and nobody would notice." he smirked, stroking a strand of my hair. "This Snowdrop thinks you're beginning to talk like a sociopath. Not that I'm surprised in the least, to be fair. Well then, Dio, till we next see each other again. Good luck with your last year of University...Though, luck is the last thing you need." I wink at him with before turning around on my heel, flipping my long hair back, letting it flow graciously in the wind as I walked home, waving lazily at the blond boy who became a man. 

A year went by faster than I expected and before I knew it, I went to see the graduation ceremony, only to see, not surprisingly, that Dio was the top of his year, with top marks, always got scholarships and now he got a ton of job opportunities in London, all of them extremely well paid.

His speech was very Dio-like, full of pride and confidence, which also inspired everyone to believe in him and go to him for any need. After he got off the podium, receiving his diploma, awards, after shaking hands with all the important people there, he walked to where his class was, receiving praises even there. It was obvious that he managed to get everyone to be his little minions.

After they all threw their hats in the air, they decided to go celebrate, so smiling, I was going to go home, before a hand stopped me, and turned me around, only to see Dio himself. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion "Am I not allowed to congratulate you for being the best, as usual?" I shrugged, with a sly smile in my face. "I wasn't expecting to see Snowdrop around. What a nice surprise. But were you going to leave without even greeting me?" he raised his eyebrow, getting closer to my face. “You were pretty busy, I didn't want to disturb you or anything. Today is your day of ultimate glory. Go out, have fun, do whatever men do when they celebrate and...I don't know, enjoy your day with your minions-...I mean classmates." I quickly cover my mistake with a low chuckle, looking down humbly. “Don’t look down when around me! You’re not like the rest, so don’t act like them. Don’t act like some meek, submissive sheep! It pisses me off!” he growled in annoyance, grabbing my face and making me look up. “It was a plant.” I smirked at him, before I pulled him down in a kiss. “What...?” he blinked in surprise, his cheeks becoming rosier. “What are you acting all blushy for, dear? You wanted a challenge, I gave you a hint. Go ahead and figure it all out, will you?” I winked at him, leaving him awestruck, as I went on my merry way back home with a satisfied smirk on my face.

Not too much time passed and we moved in together and he began working, while I was working and studying all day long, both of us making good money and soon enough, he wanted to bring me to meet his foster father and brother for some formalities.  Apparently, Jonathan - or JoJo, shorter - asked Erina to marry him and he wanted all 5 of us to have a nice dinner together.

It was pretty awkward, to say the least, especially since I wasn’t the best when it came to socialisation, but Dio and Jonathan talked enough so that I didn’t really have to say anything.

“Congratulation, JoJo, you found such a beautiful and gentle girl! She will make a great wife and mother for your children.” Mr. Joestar praised, making both of them blush, and I could feel my heart falling, realising where the conversation was going. “Thank you, father. Erina is the best woman I could ever have the pleasure of meeting. I’m really happy I got to meet her and have her be my wife, and I hope I will make her the happiest person alive, just like she does to me.” JoJo confessed, holding her hands. “Aww, JoJo, you’re so sweet. I love you so much!” she smiled bashfully, blushing furiously. “And you, Dio, this young lady is gorgeous! Did I understand correctly from JoJo that she’s an intellectual?” he asked, smiling at us. “Of course she is. I wouldn’t be courting just any common girl that’s only good for cooking and sewing.” he declared proudly, playing with a strand of my hair. “That’s very rare, but commendable. What is it that you do, dear?” he asked me directly. “I’m a Med student in London and I also practice at the University’s hospital.” I managed to speak in a firm voice, not wavering in any way, thankfully. “You practice medicine? Do you wish to become a midwife or a nurse?” he asked, intrigued. “No. Next year I will get my diploma and I will be a fully-practicing doctor.” I explained, which made him raise his eyebrow. “I didn’t know Universities and Hospitals allowed women to train and become doctors! I can’t believe how fast years passed by me! We truly live in a revolutionary era!” he praised, despite sounding like a double-edged compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Joestar. I suppose when you’re good at something, nobody can turn you away.” I spoke with a bit of acid, which made Dio smirk next to me. “It is a wonderful career to be pursuing, dear, but will you have time for the children? Such a profession isn’t easy for a woman, you know? It’s usually either one or the other.” he smiled fatherly at me, but it only pissed me off. “That’s something for the future, father. We’re still very young, we have the whole life ahead of us. It’s the 19th century, after all.” Dio saved me from this conversation. “You’re right, you’re right, how silly of me! I suppose I miss having you two as children around this place, that it only made me think like an old man, wishing to see his grandchildren running around!” Mr. Joestar laughed nostalgic, and I could only sigh in relief.

The dinner didn’t last long after this, and we were allowed to go to our rooms. I stood by the vanity in my nightgown, braiding my long hair in a side tail, not wanting it to bother me while sleeping, but Dio had other plans, as he picked me up and threw me on the bed, stealing away the ribbon from my hand.

“Uh...Dio? Do you want me to tie your hair with my ribbon, or what?” I asked, looking at him in confusion. “Why would you tie your hair without brushing it?” he asked, shaking his head. “Because...I was tired? I don’t know, I don’t usually brush my hair before bed. I only do it in the morning.” I shrugged, getting in a sitting position, looking up at him. “You’re doing a terrible job at taking care of your hair, Snowdrop. Stay still and let me do it.” he said as he sat on the bed behind me, pulling me closer to him, as he started gently brushing my hair. “You could just say that you want to play with my hair, I don’t mind. In fact, I quite like it.” I giggled teasingly, which only made him pull at my hair. “Don’t be silly.” he muttered lowly. “He was declared dead by heart attack.” was the 2nd hint I gave him. “Asian medicine?” he asked suddenly, and after a few seconds of silence, I spoke up. “Is it how you killed your father?” I asked softly, not moving an inch. “How do you know I kill my father?” he sneered as he pinned me down on the bed. “I didn’t...Until you confirmed it.” I smirked in victory, seeing his wide eyes. “I’ve had my suspicions since that last day when we saw each other years ago, when you suggested killing my father, while also having yours dead all of a sudden, and you getting this opportunity to live with the Joestars. You merely confirmed my theory.” I explained to him, which made me sit on his knees, no longer standing above me, yet still looking down at me. “You’re too smart for your own good, Katrina. He deserved it. He deserved to die an even more painful death than he did, but it can’t be helped.” he sneered in anger, as I got up, putting my hands on his face, no longer trying to provoke him. “Do you want to talk about it, my love?” I asked in a gentle voice, not wanting to anger him. “There’s nothing to talk about. He was nothing more than a fucking waste of space who killed my mother. He was a fuckass, just like yours. I spit on his grave before coming here, that’s how much I loathed his existence. I’m glad I was the one to get him out of this world. He’s the reason my mother died. He overworked my mother to death...Just like your shit head of a father did to your father.” he growled in anger, which made me pull him down on the bed, cradling his head to my chest, stroking his hair soothingly. “You did the right thing, Dio. He deserved to die...And you avenged your mother too. You did really good, my dear.” I tried to sooth him. “So what did you use?” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Belladonna berries. I squished them and put the juice in his wine. They cause involuntary muscle paralysis, including the heart, which is why they thought it was a heart attack. Correlated with the fact that he was a drunkie...Nobody suspected poisoning.” I explained everything that happened, which made him raise slightly, resting on his hand to look at me with a proud smirk. “Can’t believe my little Snowdrop was capable of pulling such a nice trick at that age. I’m proud of you.” he praises, kissing me tenderly, raking his fingers through my hair. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Kitten. Don’t listen to that old fart, he can’t tell us how to live our lives. Together, we’re unstoppable and that’s all that matters. Just finish your education and I’ll make you mine, officially. If JoJo has a well paid job, mine will be a hundred times better. If JoJo has a nice wedding, ours will be a thousand times more fabulous...And if JoJo thinks he has a nice wife...Then he should have realised by now that my girl is an infinite times better than his boring housewife Erina. You are mine, Katrina, and there’s never been a person alive who could excite me the way you do.” he kissed me once again, even more passionately than before, rolling himself so he was on top of me. “I don’t know what’s gotten you in such a soft mood, but honestly, you praising me like that really does things to me that I can’t explain. Do it more.” I smiled at him, bringing him closer to me. “You have to deserve it, sweetheart.” he muttered against my skin, as he started kissing my neck, slowly revealing my shoulder. “You still have those marks from years ago. If I could, I would beat that disgusting cockroach to death...But I promise you, nobody will ever even dare of treating you any less than they would treat a Princess. I am a man of my word, and you know it by know.” he growled against my skin, before he kissed my knuckles and made his promise by putting his forehead against mine. “I trust you, Dio. You know I always have and always will.” I intertwined my fingers with his, squeezing his hand, before kissing him once again, letting all the love flow.

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It is one among the top-rated affiliate marketing books – and permanently reason. It teaches you psychology and shows you ways to use it to your benefit in roughly 200 pages.

What you'll Learn

The book covers tactics which will make your copy persuasive and boost conversion.

It short, easy to read, and supplies powerful insights, making it one among the simplest books to enhance your affiliate marketing skills.

#2 Predictably Irrational

This book is mind-blowing.

The way Dan has explained the marketing concepts by doing the live experiments within the one among the simplest schools within the world like Harvard University , Stanford University are unbelievable.

Predictably Irrational also covers consumer behavior, but the books’ approach is fundamentally different than Ca$hvertising.

Dan Ariely’s ny Times Bestseller supplies insight into how consumers think and explain how consumers genuinely believe that they behave in rational ways.

The book then explains how these behaviors – buying decisions in specific – are neither random nor senseless. they're predictably irrational.

You will find out how the brain is wired to match , and with Dan’s many examples, understand how you'll sell better leveraging this fact.

The book also teaches you that buyers feel an urge to avoid losses whenever possible which your product only sells if the buyer sees it in context.

Towards the top of the book, Dan teaches you ways you'll gain more control over your decision-making, and highlights some psychological traps to which you fall prey.

It gives you plenty of insights that you simply can apply to enhance your affiliate marketing strategy. No wonder it's among the highest 10 marketing books on Amazon!

What you'll Learn

The nitty-gritty details of consumer behavior are highlighted during this 300-page book.

Familiarizing yourself with the consumer’s mindset can assist you position a product better and write a far better copy.

#3 Scientific Advertising

The book was written in 1923 – it's almost a century old. But the insights Claude Hopkins supplies still are very relevant, in fact, more so after internet marketing became an opportunity .

Scientific Advertising is brief – only around 100 pages, but it's crammed with hard facts which will make your copy tons better.

Claude reminds you that the sole reason for advertising is to form sales, and explains why guesswork in advertising are often a costly mistake.

You find out how big of a difference the proper headline can make in sales and the way to write down an honest headline.

The book teaches you the importance of being specific when advertising. Writing a replica with specific facts leaves an enduring impression on the reader. it'll also assist you understand why targeting a selected audience serves tons better than targeting a general audience.

The book is full of powerful insights and techniques – and I’d expected nothing less from the daddy of advertising.

What you'll Learn

Copywriting is a component art, part science. Claude Hopkins will supply scientific insights and teach you ways to regulate your artistry for better sales.

#4 Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion

Chances are, you’ve heard of this book before.

Robert B. Cialdini’s international bestseller helps you study the principles of persuasion.

The book is sure to assist you write a far better copy. Furthermore, the masterful author also teaches you ways to spot the psychological tendencies of persuasion, which may protect you from being misled in your personal life.

It is a classic behavioral economics book, and while the examples utilized in the book may feel dated, the core principles retain their value.

Dr. Cialdini uses his evidence-based research that he conducted over 35 years to interrupt down how influence works. The book highlights six mental shortcuts that you simply can use to influence an opportunity into making a sale .

While it doesn’t directly assist you write a far better copy, it teaches you the foremost effective ways to sell, which may assist you improve your overall marketing strategy. it's one among the simplest books to enhance your affiliate marketing skills.

What you'll Learn

The 300-page book teaches you the six universal principles of influence, all of which are backed by research.

#5 Dotcom Secrets

One of my friends recommended this book to me in 2017.

I ordered it immediately and began getting myself immersed within the learning.

Russell’s fundmentals are billion dollar fundamentals. The way he explained the funnels, the steps, the psychology of buyers, everything during this book may be a complete game-changer.

In fact, I even have made my very own funnels by getting the ideas from this book.

Russell Brunson is an online marketing expert and therefore the co-founder of ClickFunnels. In Dotcom Secrets, he touches on how you'll drive more traffic to your website and goes into detail about how you'll make more sales.

The book first explains the importance of getting a longtime value ladder for your site and teaches you ways to create an efficient sales funnel.

Russell also explains which email you ought to send at what stage of the funnel. He even gives you his scripts to assist you maximize conversion.

The third chapter of the book is crammed with details about funnels – including the various types, and details about which funnel works best in what circumstances.

Every marketer realizes how important offers and discounts are to conversion. Russell sheds light on the various sorts of offers and supplies expertly crafted email scripts that you simply can use in conjunction with discounts to extend conversion.

The last chapter of the book is insightful, but many readers report that since Russell explains the workings of Click Funnels in it, the book finishes up feeling sort of a sales talk within the end.

But is that a nasty thing? i feel not.

What you'll Learn

You will learn to spice up traffic and sales on your affiliate marketing website using funnels, value ladders, and email marketing.

[nicolewrites]

you make me feel (impossible things)

take some purely self-indulgent dimileth fluff. for context, you may want to read:

i’ve never loved (like this)

Rating: T+ Genre: Romance, Friendship Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd] Words: 5,286

“Byleth hates March. She has piles upon piles of marking to get through, packed office hours with confused students, it is raining, and Dimitri is stressed. He apologizes for it almost every day, but Byleth is mad at the circumstances, not him.” / dimileth modern au

AO3 | FFN

Byleth hates March. She has piles upon piles of marking to get through, packed office hours with confused students, it is raining, and Dimitri is stressed. He apologizes for it almost every day, but Byleth is mad at the circumstances, not him. 

Today, he comes home so exhausted and burned out that Byleth takes one look at him and sends him straight to bed, saying she’ll wake him for dinner later, but that he needs to sleep while he can. 

As she stirs the pasta sauce on the stove, she thinks about the chaos that awaits just around the corner for both of them. Exam season starts in April for her, and Dimitri’s job is just exhausting all the time for him. It doesn’t help that she knows what has been in their mail recently and the effect it has on Dimitri. 

Sylvain had texted her the other day, asking for a recipe and she hadn’t even had to ask to know that he was cooking it for Ingrid. Annette had warned them that both hers and Felix’s phones would be off for the day as well. Byleth had called Dimitri in sick and tucked him tighter under their covers so that he could sleep more. He had been annoyed at her, but she has always been good at diffusing his annoyance. 

Dimitri’s phone rings on the counter where he had left it when he went to nap. Byleth turns down the heat on the stove and reaches for it, checking the caller ID before she answers it. She wrinkles her nose at the name, but answers the call. 

“Dimitri Blaiddyd’s phone,” she greets politely.

“Oh, hello,” comes the overly smooth voice that Byleth has grown to hate. “I need to speak with Dimitri.”

“He’s occupied,” Byleth says pleasantly. She wanders back to the stove and stirs the sauce idly. “Can I take a message?”

“It’s Byleth, right? The girlfriend?” 

“Yes,” Byleth agrees. “Now, if you have business with Dimitri, Cornelia, I suggest you actually indicate that with his work hours, not his personal hours.”

“I’m calling about the gala. I need to know if he’s decided on a theme for it or if he just wants to leave it to the professionals. We also need to discuss my rate,” Cornelia says. Byleth hates the smug tone of the woman’s voice.

Cornelia is the party planner that Dimitri’s uncle had hired to take over organizing the Blaiddyd Spring Gala once Lambert and Patricia had died. Byleth had been to three galas with Dimitri: one as friends and two since they’d been dating. She had hated Cornelia’s decor and extravagant, gaudy themes every single year. Dimitri always expresses the fact that his galas will never be as elegant as his parents’ were and Byleth can’t help but hate Cornelia since, according to Sylvain and Ingrid, she was in it to spend as much of the Blaiddyd fortune as possible and to squeeze the grieving son for payment and that she had never cared about the gala itself. 

“Actually,” Byleth says before she can stop herself, “we’ve decided to move forward without you.”

Cornelia laughs shortly. “You’re not very good at telling jokes, Miss Eisner,” she says coolly, switching to Byleth’s surname to be petty. “The Blaiddyd Gala will be a failure without my touch.”

“I disagree,” Byleth says cheerfully, spinning her spoon through the bubbling tomato sauce. “I’m tired of you manipulating my grieving boyfriend into shelling out way more money than necessary so that you can skim off the top and squeeze him into paying you way more than you’re worth with the trashy decor you seem to insist on every year. This gala is a way for Dimitri to honour his parents and I’m tired of you trampling that legacy.”

“Listen here you bitch,” Cornelia snarls, all polite pretenses gone. 

“Goodbye Nessarose,” Byleth says before hanging up the call. 

She turns to place the phone back on the counter and sees Dimitri standing in the doorway, looking between her and his phone. She feels instantly guilty. She just fired his party planner and created more work for him to do on top of the stress he is already managing.

“Dimitri,” she starts, looking to apologize.

He shakes his head. “Nessarose?” he questions. 

Byleth flushes. “The Wicked Witch of the East from Wicked. Elphaba was understood but Nessa was kind of a selfish bitch.”

Dimitri walks towards her until he’s standing right in front of her. His neutral expression breaks into a smile and he cups her face to kiss her deeply. Byleth closes her eyes and relishes in his warmth for a second before she leans back, furrowing her brow. 

“I just made our lives way harder, shouldn’t you be mad at me?”

“Thank you,” Dimitri says instead, kissing her forehead. He takes his phone from her and slips it into his pocket. He glances at the stove where she’s cooking the pasta sauce. “Smells good,” he murmurs. 

Byleth pinches his arm and he jolts, looking back down at her as she frowns. “Shouldn’t you be mad at me?” she repeats.

Dimitri shrugs. “Not when you’re right. Cornelia is expensive, spends too much, and doesn’t even make the gala look good. We’ll figure something else out.”

Byleth sighs and turns back to the stove, poking the sauce with her spoon. “I still feel bad.”

“Don’t,” he suggests. “I trust you, By, it’s alright.”

“Hand me the wine, will you?” she requests. 

He passes her the open bottle of red wine that was on the counter and Byleth pours a generous half-cup into the sauce. Dimitri hums in approval and moves to grab the brown sugar which is on the counter next to where he had grabbed the wine bottle. He offers her the sugar in a trade. 

Byleth lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a drink straight from it before she hands it to him and takes the sugar. Dimitri moves away and she turns back to her meal to finish doctoring up the sauce. She’s stirring in the last of the brown sugar when Dimitri’s hands close over her hips and he bends his head to kiss the side of her neck. 

Byleth laughs breathily as Dimitri presses himself close to her. “That’s not distracting at all,” she murmurs. 

“Try watching you cook in that,” he replies, kissing her neck again. 

Byleth glances at her outfit and notices that she’s wearing shorts and one of Dimitri’s old hockey shirts. “Hmm,” she hums appreciatively, cocking her head so he has more to work with. She lifts a spoonful of sauce up and holds it for him to taste. 

He licks it from over her shoulder, making her giggle, before he hums happily. “Delicious,” he says. 

“Good!” Byleth says, turning the heat off. She places the spoon down on the stove next to the frying pan. 

She spins in Dimitri’s grip, distracting him from his dedication to her neck, and kisses him hard. He pulls her close immediately and Byleth runs her hands through his blonde hair. He deepens the kiss and moves to back her up against the stove, but Byleth steps on his toe to stop him and he pulls back, blinking at her. 

She laughs at the expression on his face. “I know you’re tired, but I don’t particularly want to burn my ass on the hot stove.”

Dimitri’s cheeks turn red immediately as he realizes that they’d gotten a bit carried away. “Sorry,” he says, kissing her chastely once more before he steps away. 

Byleth doesn’t let him retreat, clinging to him so that he takes her with him when he moves. She laughs at him and boops her finger on his nose. “Did you sleep?” she asks. He looks guilty and Byleth feels disappointed. “I told you to sleep,” she nags. “Did I keep you up?”

“No,” Dimitri assures. “Except, maybe, that I’m used to you being there when I sleep,” he adds the last part somewhat sheepishly and Byleth’s heart swells. 

She steps onto his toes and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. This kiss doesn’t have the heat that the previous one did, but it conveys the familiar, deep love Byleth has for Dimitri. The way that his arm winds around her waist as he kisses her back tells her that he knows. She pulls back after a moment, but Dimitri keeps holding her close. 

“That’s adorable,” she tells him lightly. 

He huffs out a breath but kisses her forehead. “We should eat dinner and then maybe we can watch a movie before bed.”

Byleth grins and ghosts a hand over Dimitri’s rear. “Mm,” she agrees playfully. “A movie,” she teases. 

She steps out of his grip before he can carry her away to the bedroom and pulls two plates out of the cupboard. Dimitri groans behind her and Byleth laughs out loud. 

“Tease,” he complains. 

“I love you,” she responds. 

-

Byleth is working on grading papers when Dimitri knocks on her office door. He’s holding his tablet and his shirt is unbuttoned completely and he looks exhausted. She puts her pen down and walks over to him. 

“Okay?” she asks.

He scrubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Do you have a minute?”

Byleth nods and takes the tablet from him. She recognizes this as gala-induced stress, not work-stress so she’s happy to help where she can. The screen is displaying a list of names which Byleth assumes is supposed to be a guestlist. 

“I cross-referenced last year’s list, but I can’t help but feel like I’m missing people,” Dimitri admits. 

Byleth skims the list. She sees all the usual names who were previous business partners and friends of Lambert’s as well as some family members that Dimitri can tolerate. He has marked Felix and the others to receive their own invitations instead of the family invitations. She pauses when she gets to the bottom of the list. 

“What about your friends, Dimitri?”

He frowns. “I invited them.” 

She hands the tablet back and crosses her arms. “No, I mean Edelgard, and Claude, and Marianne, and Raphael.  Your friends , not the ones you’ve known for forever.”

He sighs. “I didn’t know I could invite them,” he says quietly. 

Byleth takes one of his hands in hers and squeezes it tightly. “Dimitri, I understand that you’re trying to honour your parents by keeping it to all the same people they would have invited, but it’s your legacy now too. If you want to invite your friends, then you should. Your parents would never fault you for inviting people you actually want to be around to your biggest social gathering of the year.”

“But,” he mumbles, “El? And Claude?”

Byleth smiles. “The way I see it, it puts the company in good standing with their family businesses. They’re your friends, but it’s also a business opportunity for all three of you.” She wraps her arms around him, underneath his shirt against his bare skin, and squeezes. “You’ll be fine, Dimitri.”

He hugs her back with the hand not holding the tablet and smooths down her hair with his palm. “You’re my voice of reason, By. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she reminds. “Now, do you have anything else to do for this today or can we deal with the other issue?”

Dimitri tenses. “What other issue?”

Byleth presses her palms against his bared abs and gives him a sly look. “You came in here with your shirt open and you didn’t expect me to want to jump you?”

Dimitri laughs and kisses her between the eyes. “I wish we could. But, I do need to figure something out about a decorator and planner. I figured since you so elegantly fired Cornelia, you might be able to help me with that.”

Byleth wrinkles her nose. “Hey, you agreed with me that Cornelia needed to go,” she points out.

Dimitri smiles. “I know, I know, but I thought you might like to help. I’ve been looking on a few job sites at resumes and I’m not overly impressed.”

A realization strikes Byleth suddenly and she brightens. “I have a better idea.”

“You do?”

“You invite the Gonerils every year right?”

Dimitri’s brow creases, but he nods. “I do. Their father did a lot of work with mine.”

Byleth smiles. “Hilda is fresh out of design school and doing the work that she’s doing for her brother is definitely not her cup of tea. I’m sure she would do a great job on the decorations and planning,” Byleth suggests. 

Dimitri considers it. “Don’t you think she might be a bit unmotivated? Claude complains that she is horribly lazy in their apartment.”

Byleth hums in agreement. “Sure, but that’s just because she doesn’t want to do that kind of work. But, if you present her with a design opportunity and let her delegate, I guarantee that she’ll be great.”

“Alright,” Dimitri conceded. “I’ll give her a call and ask for a portfolio.”

“Excellent!” Byleth said. “Now, what’s next on your list of very long unimportant things that you need to do.”

Dimitri glances over her shoulder at the stack of essays on her desk. “Don’t you need to work?”

Byleth rolls her eyes. “They’re fourth year papers. Most of them are excellent and need very little work. I can do them any time. This,” she taps the tablet, “is more on a time crunch.”

Dimitri sighs. “Byleth, you don’t have to plan the gala for me. It’s supposed to be my responsibility.”

She frowns at him. “Then let’s make it our responsibility. Dimitri, I want to help you. I like spending as much time with you as possible, even if it’s just us arguing over the colour of the napkins at a fancy party.” She looks around her office. “Besides, we literally live together in your massive mansion. If I was uncomfortable with any of this, we wouldn’t be living here together.”

He breathes out and stoops so that their foreheads are pressed together. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Byleth giggles. “You bought me a coffee because you thought I looked sad. As soon as you smiled at me, I knew I was a goner.”

He laughs. “I love you.”

“Now,” she redirects, tapping the tablet again. “What’s next on the list?”

“Catering,” Dimitri says. “I know I could let Hilda do that if she takes it on, but I wanted to look into it myself this year.”

Byleth considers. “What about Ashe? His restaurant opened last month, didn’t it? If you call him this week, he’ll have over a month to prepare for everything. We already know the food is good so I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. I had been looking into so many of these fancy catering places Dedue sent me. I didn’t even realize I could commission a restaurant.”

Byleth taps his nose with her index finger and winks. “That’s why I’m here.”

-

Byleth wakes up with a gasp. Her hair is stuck to the back of her neck and she feels entirely too hot. She twists on the bed, sliding out from under Dimitri’s heavy arm, trying not to wake him. She kicks back the covers and sits up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she risks at glance at Dimitri. 

His brow is furrowed now that she’s not tucked under his arm, but the rest of his body is dead still in his sleep. She exhales and pushes off the bed, heading for the adjoining bathroom. She closes herself in the dark room before she turns the light on. 

She curls her hands in the edge of the sink and stares down her reflection. Her skin is pale and she can clearly see the dark circles under her eyes. She rubs her face, but only succeeds in mussing one of her eyebrows so the hairs in it stick out in every direction. 

She runs some cold water into the sink and washes her hands. The water almost burns against her too-warm skin and she shuts it off, staring into the sink as the droplets of water roll off her fingers. Byleth looks at the line of bottles along the edge of the sink: hand soap, her facewash, Dimitri’s shaving cream, hand lotion, her make-up remover, and Dimitri’s cologne. Their things are mixed so casually and completely that Byleth can hardly remember what it was like to have her own bathroom in her tiny apartment before she and Dimitri had moved in together. 

Her dream is still unsettling her and she’s entirely too warm to even consider going back to bed. She fiddles with the silver chain around her neck and rubs her thumb over the looped pendant on the end of it. The metal is warm from resting against her skin and Byleth feels a little lightheaded. 

She grabs a hair tie and pulls her hair into a bun, trying to keep it off her neck, but that doesn’t even give her much relief. She’s still too hot and uncomfortable and tired and it’s awful. Finally, in a last ditch effort, she strips out of the too big t-shirt she had stolen from Dimitri and turns the shower on. 

She keeps the water at a lukewarm temperature because ice cold showers are definitely not super good for the body. She lets her hair down again and runs her fingers through it, pulling through tangles in the mint green locks. She stares at the wall of the shower and watches water droplets roll over the tiles over and over again. 

She thinks of raindrops and the way that it had rained that day. She thinks of blood on her hands and hard pavement beneath her knees. A lump swells in her throat and she sinks to the ground, sitting on the floor of the shower as water pours over her. Byleth looks at her hands and can basically watch the red oozing from them become diluted and run down her arms before draining out of the shower. 

Distantly, Byleth hears the bathroom door open and the shuffling of footsteps. Metal scrapes on metal as the shower curtain is drawn back. The water is shut off and Byleth blinks through the droplets caught in her eyelashes as she looks up. A fuzzy towel wraps around her and she is about to stand on her own when strong arms lift her, soaked and wrapped in a towel, off the ground and out of the shower. 

She tries to complain, but Dimitri doesn’t let her. He sets her on her feet on the bathroom floor and pulls the towel tighter around her shoulders. He grabs a second towel and starts gently wiping her face and neck before he starts on her hair. He wraps the towel around her hair and rubs it, drying her hair with friction until it hangs, only partly wet, around her shoulders. 

Byleth curls her fingers into the towel and looks up at Dimitri. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she mumbles. 

He draws her into a hug and Byleth’s face is practically smushed against Dimitri’s bare chest. He is warm and Byleth realizes that her stifling heat had given way to a frigid cold that permeates her being. Dimitri holds her close and rests his head atop hers. 

“Don’t apologize for that,” he says sternly. He leans back just enough so that he can look into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She sighs and steps out of his arms. She dries herself and tugs her discarded shirt back on. It clings to her hips and chest with residual water. Dimitri doesn’t say anything else, he just watches her dress patiently. 

“I had the dream again,” Byleth finally admits. “I woke up hot and I just needed to cool down.”

Dimitri’s gaze softens and he holds out a hand. She takes it and he leads her out of the bathroom, shutting the light off. In the dark of their bedroom, he tugs her to the bed and sits on the edge of it. Byleth pushes his shoulder back with the hand not holding hers and he complies, lying down. She basically crawls on top of him, tucking her head under his chin as his arms wrap around her. 

Dimitri breathes deeply and calmly and pulls the blankets up over them. Byleth burrows into him and tilts her head so that she can kiss his collarbone. Dimitri’s arms tighten and his fingers grip the fabric of the t-shirt. Byleth loops one of her legs behind one of his knees and closes her eyes. 

It is far from the first night that horrid dreams have awoken one of them. Byleth has nightmares of the night her father was stabbed and Dimitri dreams of gunshots and fire from when the hotel he was at with his parents was attacked.

In the years they’ve been together, they’ve fallen into an easy rhythm of comfort when one of them wakes up from a bad dream. Byleth likes to be close to Dimitri with her head on his chest so that she can fall back asleep hearing the hum of his heartbeat. Dimitri likes to have her run her fingers through his hair and for her to hum and whisper to him until he manages to fall asleep. 

With the stressful few weeks they’ve been having, they had both been mostly too exhausted to dream when they slept, but there is always an exception. 

Dimitri falls back asleep faster than she does and she notices the moment his breathing becomes deeper and his grip loosens a tiny bit. She angles her head until her neck aches and reaches a hand up to brush aside some of his blonde hair. It’s getting long and could probably use a trim soon. She smiles to herself, letting go of the grief that had stricken her from the dream, and just listens to Dimitri’s heartbeat thrumming rhythmically beneath her. 

“I love you,” she breathes into the darkness of the room. 

Unconsciously, his arm twitches around her, and Byleth smiles. She closes her eyes and calls to the darkness of sleep. She doesn’t dream again that night. 

-

In the chaos of the two weeks leading up to the gala, Byleth picks Dimitri’s tux up from the tailor, finalizes the menu with Ashe, writes the cheque to pay the musicians ahead of time, and stays up until 4 in the morning discussing lighting and garland decorations with Hilda. Dimitri is run ragged as well, and most nights they pass out on the bed without hardly as much as a chaste kiss goodnight. 

The gala is in six days and Byleth stares into her closet and realizes her greatest mistake: she doesn’t have a dress for herself. 

She bangs her head against the closet door as she stares at the black dress she wore last year and the white and blue one she wore the year before. “Fuck,” she mutters. 

Dimitri pokes his head out of the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth. “By?”

She waves him off. “I’m an idiot, but it’s fine.”

He disappears for a moment and she hears water run in the sink. She closes the closet door and turns to see Dimitri emerging from the bathroom, pulling his hair into his little hair bun. He’s still looking at her curiously. 

“I’ve spent all this time making sure that the napkins will match the tablecloths with Hilda and I didn’t buy a goddamn dress,” she moans. Dimitri bursts out laughing and Byleth glares at him. “Don’t laugh at my pain!” 

He walks over to her, places his hands on her biceps, and squeezes lightly. “Don’t be mad,” he says lightly. He releases her and walks to his closet behind her. 

Byleth follows him curiously and Dimitri pulls out a white box with a silver ribbon tied around it. Her jaw drops. 

“Dimitri,” she starts. 

He shakes his head. “Please don’t complain about the money, By.” She folds her arms and looks between him and the fancy box. “How did you even figure that I hadn’t bought a dress yet?”

“Mercedes, mostly,” he admits. “She, Annette and Hilda have been keeping me updated. Mercedes said you went shopping with her and Annette, but that you barely looked for yourself. Hilda has also been keeping you off the subject of dresses on purpose, even though she had been dying to style you herself.”

She frowns. “And this?” He smiles at her and holds the box out. “Dorothea and Ingrid picked it out with Hilda’s approval.”

Byleth sighs and takes the box. She places it on the bed and removes the lid. She peels back a layer of tissue paper and takes in the beautiful dress in the box. It’s silver and sparkly and made of a light material that won’t be clunky. She lifts it up and admires the loose long sleeves and the wrap it ties to in the front. It has a deep v-neck in the front and a matching v-cut in the back. It’s absolutely stunning. 

She stares at Dimitri. “I don’t know what to say.” He smiles wider. “Try it on,” he suggests. 

Byleth knows that normally she would have taken the dress and slipped into the bathroom to change, but she’s still almost a little annoyed that Dimitri went behind her back with her friends to get her the dress. She turns her back to him and sweeps her hair over her shoulder, baring the zipper on her shirt for him. 

“Unzip?” she requests. 

He slides the zipper down and steps back, giving her plenty of space to move past him to the bathroom. Byleth hides a grin as she instead slides her shirt off and shimmies out of her work skirt. She turns back to face Dimitri and notices he has gone completely red, but he’s watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Byleth holds eye contact with him as she unclasps her bra and reaches for the dress. She secures the dress, fitting her arms through the draping, sparkly sleeves and fastens the wrap tie at the front. Dimitri is still staring at her. His blush has faded a bit and now there’s a darker, heavy edge to his gaze and Byleth steps close to him and trails her finger down his chest over the white t-shirt he’s wearing. 

She glances down at the dress. It fits her perfectly and it helps that from the angle Dimitri now has, he’ll look straight down exactly where she wants him to when he tries to take it in. 

“I like it,” she says. 

“You should hang it up,” he suggests, his voice low. 

Byleth kisses him and Dimitri pulls her flush against him as he kisses her back. He pulls back after a second. 

“Seriously, take the dress off or I’m going to rip it and then you’re still going to need a dress for next week.” 

Byleth laughs. 

-

“Hey, By,” Dimitri calls from the kitchen. 

She twists on the couch and looks back at him. “Yeah?”

“Can you grab me the wine from the fridge?”

Byleth places the stack of exams she had been marking down on the coffee table and walks into the kitchen. Dimitri is cooking dinner tonight and he’s making some kind skillet chicken with a cream sauce. Dedue had given him the recipe a few months ago and he had made the recipe once before and it was delicious. 

Byleth opens the fridge and grabs the open bottle of cheap white that they’ve been using to cook. She’s about to close the fridge when she sees something that definitely doesn’t belong in the fridge behind where the bottle was. She stares at it dumbly for a moment before she grabs the small black box and takes both the wine and the box out of the fridge. 

She turns the box over in her hand, confused. It’s a black cube with one inch dimensions and a seam along the centre where it can be opened. She places the wine bottle on the counter and studies the box with both hands, feeling confused as well as mildly alarmed. Finally, her curiosity gets the best of her and she pries it open along the seam. 

Inside the box, nestled in what looks like silk is a silver ring with an emerald set in the centre. Byleth almost drops it. 

She spins to face Dimitri, brandishing the box at him and finds empty air at eye level because her boyfriend has dropped to one knee in the middle of their kitchen like an idiot. He’s grinning at her and Byleth wants to hit him. 

“Byleth,” he starts and she scowls. 

“What the fuck, Dimitri!” she exclaims, cutting him off.

He chuckles and reaches for the hand that’s not holding the ring box. “Marry me?” he asks. 

Byleth drops down to her knees and throws herself against him, hugging him as tightly as she can while not displacing the ring from the box she’s still holding. “Of course I’ll marry you, you absolute fool.”

Dimitri entangles her arms from his neck until he can hold both of her wrists in front of him. He takes the ring box from her and removes the ring from the box, holding it out to her. Byleth offers her hand to him and he slides the ring onto her ring finger. Kneeling on the kitchen floor together, Byleth studies the ring. 

It’s beautiful. Now that she’s not completely taken aback, she can appreciate the two little diamonds on either side of the large emerald and the emerald. She had always kind of pegged Dimitri has a gold ring and huge diamond kind of guy, but looking at the ring he picked out for her, she had had him wrong. 

She tears her eyes from the ring and looks at him. “The fridge? Really?”

He shrugs. “I like simple and I know you do too."

She leans forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Still stupid,” she points out.

“You said yes,” he counters. 

Byleth stands up and offers him a hand, pulling him to his feet. “I was always going to. You had to know that.”

Dimitri places a hand on her waist and reels her in, pressing them together, and kissing her firmly. He pulls back after a second to brush some of her hair back. 

“You can’t blame a guy for being nervous.”

She punches his shoulder. “I can, kind of.”

Dimitri laughs and kisses her forehead. “Well, I apologize then.”

She smiles and twists the ring on her finger. “Is this the kind of announcement that you want to make at the gala?”

Dimitri’s expression tightens and he sighs. “No, not particularly.”

Byleth unclasps the necklace around her neck and pools the chain in her hand. She pulls the ring off her finger and slides it onto the chain so it hangs next to her father’s pendant. She rehooks the chain around her neck on a lower loop so that the ring and the pendant hang just low enough that they can be hidden in the neckline of a shirt or dress. 

“There,” she says. 

“Perfect,” Dimitri agrees. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Byleth says. 

She cups his face in her hands and kisses him. For all the chaos of the gala and Dimitri’s work and Byleth’s teaching and the rest of the world, there was always Dimitri. And where there was Dimitri, there was Byleth. 

The ring rests against her heart and Dimitri threads his hands through her hair. As he kisses her, Byleth smiles.

[spadebrigade]

a fortune i couldn’t foresee - a deleted scene from chapter six

Context: This scene takes place after Bokuto hangs up with Kuroo.

Author’s note: i took this scene out because i thought that it made kuroo’s next steps too easy. he deserves to suffer (kill your darlings, right?) but since it’s a whole ass scene, i didn’t want to send it into the abyss. here it is, for your reading pleasure:

Kuroo didn’t know how he’d ended up in the park. He’d left the apartment in a daze, only realizing when he got to the train station that he’d just so happened to be wearing the jeans that had his wallet in one of the pockets; he’d forgotten to check or do anything beyond pull on his shoes before leaving the house. He needed fresh air.

Of course, there wasn’t too much of that in the middle of the city. But this one park, with its green grass and towering trees, was enough to lighten the load that weighed down his lungs.

Having grown up in Tokyo, he didn’t think he’d crave a sight empty of skyscrapers or concrete, but here he was. A solace outside of the volleyball court; a few whisps of white clouds peppered the sky, the slightest breeze swaying the trees’ leaves. His fingers skimmed the edge of the fountain’s water, eyes trained on the pennies on the bottom, distorted by small aquamarine ripples. He sighed, leaning his hands on the fountain’s stone edge--

“Kuroo?”

He blinked, looking up at the source of his name. “...Sawamura?”

Daichi paused, removing his earbuds in one hand and wiping the sweat from his forehead in the other. “It’s been a while,” he smiled. “Enjoying the weather?”

“Ah, yeah.” Kuroo answered, feeling unlike himself. He’d normally be dishing out quips in this kind of situation, totally ready to catch up. But he just felt like shit. “Out for a run?”

“Yeah, but I could use a break. Mind if I join you?”

Kuroo gestured for Daichi to sit beside him. The other took the invite, settling at the edge of the fountain. His eyebrows twitched, mouth forming and reforming words that didn’t come.

“I guess you’ve heard,” Kuroo said dryly, eyes dropping to the ground. “I’m kind of a shit show.” He was sure that his sleep-deprived and fighting-a-headache look only emphasized this.

“A little,” Daichi admitted sheepishly. A stretch of silence passed between them. “I see you came to the fountain. Did you want to make a wish?”

Kuroo snorted. “A wish isn’t gonna fix my problems.”

To his surprise, Daichi laughed. “That’s the right attitude to have.” He paused again, smoothing a hand over his running shorts pensively. “With what I’ve been hearing, I thought that if I saw you, I’d have all of these things to say...But looking at you now, I know that you know.”

A smile played at Kuroo’s lips. “Thanks.” It came out sarcastic. To amend his hostility, he quickly followed it up with, “Can I ask you something?”

Daichi’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Sure!”

“You and Sugawara. Aren’t you two basically married?”

He laughed, red dusting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say that, but we’ve been together the longest out of most couples we know.”

“You’re like, everyone’s mom and dad.”

Daichi hummed, nodding, holding back another laugh.

“How did you get there?” He was sure that his desperation leaked onto his face, trying to look casual even though his temples throbbed.

“It’s not...paradise,” Daichi began, before adding, “I mean it in that things aren’t perfect between us all the time. I’m glad that you see our stability as a good thing. But there are people in our lives who look at us and go, ‘High school sweethearts? You know that never works out right?’ And sure, a lot of them don’t, for whatever reason. But when you find that person who you fit so well with...You can’t just let them go. Because...how does that saying go? The rainbow is worth the rain.”

Kuroo felt the words sink into his brain. Kenma was, and always had been, his person. When they were kids and adults had joked with them about marriage, Kuroo had always imagined a faceless bride, some girl with long hair in a white dress. It had never seemed real to him. When he imagined growing up, spending his life with someone, that person had always been Kenma. 

Kenma, in women’s cat pajama shorts because he’d thought they were nice and hadn’t paid attention to what section they were from. Who always tucked his hair behind his ears when he wanted to focus. Who he took care of, always, because he didn’t know any other way to live.

“You really are an old man,” he teased, eyes sliding to Daichi. “Talking like an expert. When are you inviting me to your retirement party?”

“After your 80th birthday. Isn’t that this year?”

Kuroo smirked as he watched Daichi stand. “I’ll see you, Grandpa Kuroo.”

End note: there will likely be a short daisuga fic inspired by this scene. follow or subscribe to my ao3 for updates (spadebrigade)

[dimensionomicron]

Kestrel’s First Game

Almost 1.5k words.

This a short story about my oc Kestrel’s first apex game. I first wrote this in March (which feels like a year ago now) but now in Quarantine I need something to keep me sane so I revisited the concept! 

This will probably get no likes/reblogs but if you see this I hope you have a wonderful day :)

For context : This is the first game of Season 4.

The first official game is always the toughest. The Apex Arena is composed of some of the most dangerous individuals in the Outlands. Somehow, with much work and effort, Magnolia found herself in the lion’s den. Masquerading as a lion herself, though deep down she knew she was as tame as a house cat.

Out of all the places she would’ve seen herself going, she’d never thought she’d end up here. Surrounded by legends. I’m just an engineer. Here, no one knows who she is. To the other competitors, she is just a rookie with a mask. That was both a relief and hollowing to know.

The combatants play to win. They fought to the death yet death is scarcely permanent in the Arena. Legends bring in the money, no legends no money. 

Some do it for fame, glory, or to protect those they love. 

Why am I here? Magnolia thought to herself as she boarded the dropship. 

No matter how she prepared for the fierce dance with death ahead, she did not expect to see her. Among the mysterious and well-known legends, stood a fiery-haired pirate wannabe. She wore a laser cutlass on her belt and a purple overcoat. She talked to a tall woman who dressed in a uniform. Clearly an experienced soldier.

Should I talk to her?

Saiya’s voice rang in her head. “Stay anonymous. No one needs to know your identity. It can cause complications. “

Magnolia ended up turning to the games after being blacklisted by Hammond Robotics.

She ultimately decided to keep to herself. 

“Approaching drop zone.” Teams appeared on the large clips of the drop ship. On the screen flashed images of ‘Kestrel’, ‘Bangalore’, and ‘Bloodhound.’ Kestrel hesitantly stepped onto the platform with the two legends. “Guess I’ll show you the ropes, stick with me rookie.” “Thank you.” Kestrel glanced at Bloodhound who gave her a nod. They dropped in an unmarked part of the map. Each of them searched their own building. 

Kestrel found a peacekeeper and sentinel. She had a hard time using snipers, but she spent loads of time practicing. Maybe it’d finally pay off.  “Kestrel, enemies move on your position.” Bloodhound’s thick accent rang through the comms. “Thanks for the heads up.” She readied her peacekeeper. A lanky man with a green trail dashed up the stairs, seemingly unaware of her. She fired one shot, he returned fire with an R-99, the pellets skimming her armor. She felt the adrenaline pump through her veins.

Once the fire stopped, she leapt down the stairs and fired a final shot. “One down,” She said over the comms. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bloodhound down another assailant. One who seemed familiar. ‘Wraith’ I always thought she’d be taller. Wraith’s pale eyes met the cold steel of Kestrel’s gaze. She seemed scared. Her haunting gaze made Kestrel shiver. Not that anyone would notice.

“Enemies moving on your position. Retreat.” Kestrel held Wraith’s gaze a moment longer. Bloodhound put their gloved hand on Kestrel’s shoulder. “Come on, felagi.” She nodded, and they moved into the ring, dodging the squad that attempted to third party. 

As they moved into the ring, Kestrel decided to make small talk. “I wish I got a chance to see World’s Edge before Hammond Robotics got their hands on it.” “It was disheartening to see the destruction of such wondrous fauna.” Bloodhound pet their bird. “Artur misses it as well.” “That’s a lovely raven.” Artur cawed at her. “He likes you.” She smiled, although it did not show.  Bangalore chuckled slightly. “It’s refreshing having an FNG who doesn’t try to do the whole tough act.” “I must agree. Pretending has not gotten anyone far.”

Kestrel nodded. “I could never do the whole macho, lone wolf act. I’m a softy at heart.” They continued along to the Harvester. “I’m going to scout up there.” Kestrel pinged the area where she was going to scout. She activated the flight setting on her suit. 

The top of the Harvester was covered in deathboxes. No sign of recent activity. She then heard footsteps. She shot a figure that instantly disappeared. “What th-” Someone knocked her onto the ground. 

As she reached for her peacekeeper, she heard a grisly chuckle.”Beg for your life. It's good for both of us.” The assailant shot her arm. She cried out in pain. She finally met eyes with him. Fight or flight. She could do neither.

The taste of iron filled her mouth. 

His yellow eyes were cold and empty.

He smelt of blood and metal.

She watched in horror as one of his robotic hands transformed into a blade. 

A cold sensation entered her chest as she was lifted from the ground.

A shot rang in her ears as she fell back down onto the cold floor of the Harvester.

Her breathing was heavy, but she was alive. She could feel the adrenaline wearing off. As she felt someone stab a syringe into her chest, she opened her eyes. Bangalore, a welcome sight. “I’m relieved to see you,” Kestrel’s voice was hoarse. 

Bangalore handed her a medkit. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.” Kestrel’s face heated up. I’m glad I’m wearing a helmet. 

Kestrel glanced down at the deathbox of the monstrous being that almost killed her. “What was that thing?” Bangalore shrugged. “Let’s go.”

That murder robot has bad news written all over him.

The last few rings would be closing in on the Sorting Factory.  “Be ready for a fight.” Bloodhound scanned the area. “We probably shouldn’t engage” 

 Over ten people were fighting in the area. Constant gunshots could be heard. "I am Blothhundr!" The masked hunter ran into the main building.Bangalore watched the hunter frustratedly. 

 “Sniper up top, think you can handle em?” “Yeah, I got this!” 

Part of Kestrel was eager to prove herself to the soldier and hunter. She activated Flight on her suit. “Taking to the skies.” She leapt up onto the roof of the building, sentinel in hand. One-shot hit the combatant she downed earlier in the game. No sight of his teammates though. She glided down to a position where she could look at the battle happening below. 

An energy pylon was set down below. Energy pylons disable grenades. Beside the pylon was a combatant, they wore blue and orange. They were trying to heal their health. Headshot. “No!” A familiar voice yelled. Kestrel quickly shot a blue robot. She could hear footsteps approaching her position. 

Kestrel attempted to pull out her peacekeeper. It was knocked out of her hand, a sharp pang entered her stomach. Crying out in pain, she made eye contact with the person who stabbed her. Wraith. “Looking for me? Here I am.” Wraith smirked. Then kicked her. Causing her to fall to the ground. “We all have our reasons... don't take this personally” “Hard not to.” Kestrel said between gritted teeth.

Bangalore and Bloodhound rushed up the stairs, They followed the trails of death boxes to the sight of their squadmate being tossed into the void. Bangalore hip fired her G7-scout. Bloodhound joined in the spray of fire. Bangalore then tackled Wraith, took her gun, and fired a final shot. “2-1” Bloodhound looked at Kestrel’s deathbox.  “I am unable to take our teammate’s banner.” “That’s odd.” Bangalore glanced at her maps. “No respawn beacons in the ring.” 

The duo made mincemeat of the final squad. Champions of the Arena. The two stood proudly on the pedestal. “I wonder what happened to her.” All the legends who competed in the game waited on the drop ship.

Bangalore approached Wraith. “Where’s the rookie?” “She’ll be here.”Temporary exposure wasn’t dangerous but people sent to the void often return cold and empty. Fortunately, Lifeline found medicine to aid those sent to the void, but they needed the victim there to administer it. 

Bangalore was slightly worried. Most FNGs pass out from getting downed. Getting sent to the void? Most would leave and never come back. 

The void was not a pleasant place to be. 

Kestrel looked around. She felt the pain of the stab wound as her whole body shivered. “Where am I?” “The void.” “Saiya?” 

After a few minutes, Kestrel exited a portal in the middle of the drop ship.  A cloaked figure stood behind Kestrel as she fell onto the floor of the drop ship. She still had her wounds from the game and was shivering badly. “Medic!” Lifeline gave Kestrel a shot. “This should make it betta.” The pink-haired woman then took out a drum-shaped drone and it began to restore Kestrel’s tissues and blood. “Thanks.” Her voice was hoarse. The whole scene was quite an ordeal.

“Well, we’re heading back to Solace, winners get free drinks at my bar.” Mirage, a curly-haired man with holo tech, piped up. Trying to improve the general mood. Most of the legends cheered at the suggestion. “Sure, I could use a drink,” Kestrel said, already seeming better. 

 “So are you  planning on sticking around?” Asked Bangalore. “Of course, I didn’t make it this far to give up now.” 

[loopy777]

Here are one highlight from the Spiderman Manga. Hostage taker: Save me Spiderman! Sm: Fuck off! monsters like you deserve to Know what it is like to fear death and then DIE!

Other highlight. Spiderman love interest: he's(Spiderman) going to become a successful scientist, and I'm just a gogo dancer! He won't want a filthy gogo dancer like me!

Another highlight, Spiderman has daydreaming fantasies about conquering the world, beating the shit out of people, and raping his love interests. Feels guilty about that last one, then realised that part of responsibility is not acting out his primal urges. Gives himself a pat on the back for NOT being a rapist.

Yet another highlight. Spiderman about a psychicly manifested tiger: Run wild tiger! Bite all the inhumanly strong to Death! Make the fat who devoured the weak pay with their blood! Kill! Kill!

Yet another terrible highlight! Spiderman: I've had enough of being a hero praised by society! Fuck this hero business!

I admit, I was curious enough before you sent these to look up the books. I found scans that seem to have been published and officially translated by Marvel in the 90s, but I also found what seems to be a big graphic-novel-sized story that was never brought over here. I checked that one out, skimming it quickly, to get a full sample in an easy-to-consume format. It’s a story about a teacher lady with golden eyes who seems to be a witch. Again, I only skimmed it, but based on what I saw, I completely believe every single one of your examples, and I don’t think there’s any missing context that would make them better. This truly is the nature of these stories.

There’s one scene that really made me stop and do a double-take while I was skimming. I re-read it in detail, and yes, my first impression was correct. A classmate is telling Peter about her brother (who’s been bewitched) and how he walked in on her while she was taking a bath and made like he was going to rape her, only stopping when she screamed and brought their parents’ attention to the matter. She asks Peter about it.

Peter knows the dude is bewitched, but doesn’t want to reveal that for Reasons, so he tells the girl that all boys get like that at that age, and her brother will learn to deal with such urges. The girl is happy to hear this, thanks him, and goes home.

I could only sit there with my jaw hanging for a minute. Did the author mean the the resolution to be horrifying? Does the author think something like that is common, or did he intend for Peter to have lied to the girl?

I think it’s rather telling that the story eventually reveals that the witch lady isn’t actually evil or turning people into rapists on purpose. It’s just that, as a witch, her presence naturally brings out the darkest sides of people. Only for some reason we see this mostly as men being awful and women being victims, frequently of sexual assault of some kind. And, of course, it’s a woman who is afflicted with the curse, and the way the problem is resolved is that she catches a stray bullet in the head during a city-wide riot. So a cursed woman has to die so that all the men around her won’t rape their sisters.

Yikes.

I mean, the Wikipedia page said these Spider-Man manga stories have a “darker, grittier and moodier tone and atmosphere,” and ��more tonally mature, adult-oriented, violent, while including obscene content, such as profanity, sexual and gruesome imagery.” But they kind of left out that the stories are blatantly, enthusiastically, and logic-defiantly misogynistic. Fortunately, Japan has an alternate Spider-Man legacy they can offer for more fun mockery.

Happily, the horrible content comes along with objectively bad writing, so we can hate it on both levels. Peter spends most of the story as an observer, accomplishing little other than staying alive (and telling girls that all brothers want to rape their sisters) as he fumbles about trying to solve the mystery. He doesn’t even solve the problem at the end or figure anything out that isn’t pretty much told to him, and of course he doesn’t grow or change as a result of the experience. The ostensible protagonist of the story could be removed to make it better and more streamlined. Obviously, the author wanted to tell the story about the rape-inducing witch, and stuck it in the Spider-Man comic he was contracted to write but probably had little enthusiasm for.

Also, the author doesn’t like Spider-Man. Peter was only dressed as Spidey for about 10 pages of the 200+ page story.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Tie a Yellow Ribbon For Me

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Even death can’t keep him From finding his way back to you.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Angst-ish with a happy ending, many flashbacks handle it, use of ‘sugar’ as a term of endearment for a gender-neutral reader

Prompt: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge​’s February prompt: Spin the Wheel. I landed on “A Dozen Red Roses”. Tagging @archangelgabriellives, @archangel-with-a-shotgun , @archangelsanonymous, @ttttrickster, @warlockwriter, and @revwinchester.

Words: 2459

Special Context Note: For people who might not know: “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree” was a popular song in the seventies (I think?) performed by Dawn feat. Tony Orlando (I do recommend it; it’s a good song). It’s told from the perspective of a man writing to his lover after having been away for a few years. He tells her that if she wants him still, she can tie a yellow ribbon around a certain tree and he’ll come home, but if he doesn’t see it, he’ll assume she doesn’t want him back and he’ll keep going and never bother her again.

A/N: That summary is a little more sinister than I intended. Sorry, no dark!Gabriel here. Or “The Crow” AU. (Though hm, that’s a possible idea.) This is kind of an alt S5 post-“Hammer of the Gods” where Gabriel doesn’t go to Loki et al. This is sort of similar in premise to some other stuff I’ve written so I apologize to the people who follow me. Ironically, despite the title, this story was actually written to repeat listening of “11 Minutes” by Halsey and Yungblud feat Travis Barker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Please enjoy! (PS: In case my formatting gets fucked up, flashbacks are encompassed by tildes (~).)

   You feel like you’ve gotten used to the silence.

Sure, you had periods of it before– spending 24/7 with a sometimes-manic archangel is a pre-requisite for madness– but those quiet moments without him had always felt like in-betweens. Small breaks, or minor reprieves, sometimes purposefully taken, and sometimes just waiting. Gabriel could have popped in at any moment.

Now he can’t.

You can say you’re mostly okay now. Mostly. You’ve lost before and you’ll lose again. It’s the nature of things, just being in the world as it is. Being a hunter in it means you’ll do it over and over and over again.

It doesn’t make it ache any less.

But you’re still going, because it’s what you’ve always done and it’s what you’ll always do. Right now you’re on your way to a small desert town that seems convinced it’s living out the movie “Tremors,” and going by the reports, you can see why. You feel a smile creep onto your lips. Gabriel would have found it funny.

~

“Have you been terrorizing a small city in Wisconsin in your spare time?” you ask and flick Gabriel with your big toe.

“Ooo, Wisconsin. Sounds like a party,” Gabriel says out loud, but the look he gives you asks, ‘Really?’ and he holds out a piece of whatever candy he’s focused on now. You trade him for the paper and take a bite while he skims the story.

He snorts and tosses it down. “Amateur. Credit for style though; there’s worse you could do than a Mel Brooks homage.”

You roll your eyes and finish swallowing. “I’m sure the three victims would agree with you, if they could.” You fold up the newspaper and set it aside from the massive stack of other regional papers that Gabriel had whined about, and yet gotten for you anyway. “I’ll head out tomorrow.”

“So you’re done working now?” Gabriel asks. He sits up and puts a piece of chocolate between his teeth, makes sure half of it is sticking out, and waggles his eyebrows.

You laugh and lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands as you stretch to meet his mouth with yours. Just as you’re about to gently bite on the chocolate, it vanishes, and Gabriel slips his tongue into your mouth instead.

Once you’ve had your fill of each other (for the moment) you can’t help how big you smile. “You’re so cheesy sometimes.”

He grins. “Sugar, you have no idea.”

~

You need a shower.

Badly.

You don’t feel the slime as much as you did when the constructs first exploded, but you don’t count that as a good thing, because it’s still there and you keep getting reminded of that whenever you shift. The day is dry and warm and a wind rushes across the desert landscape. When you step out of the car a strong gust blows past you and you shield your eyes until the air settles back to its steady pace. You get to your room and put your key in the lock when something catches your eye.

All down the sidewalk are cutouts in the concrete, just spaces of dirt that look like they’re supposed to be planters. Some of them have scattered cacti, but most are empty. Yours was empty, you're fairly certain, but now there’s a spindly long-stemmed something, being blown to the side and clinging to the dirt with nothing but tenacity. You kneel down to get a better look and–

it’s a rose.

Your breath catches in your throat. Not even a desert rose; a real, thorned rose, with petals that have obviously been sandblasted for a while and a thin stem that looks sickly.

But a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

~

There are flowers everywhere.

Gabriel really likes this place. He’s been here for a couple of months, and it shows; every day he’s seen you (almost every single day, as of late,) he’s given you flowers– a bouquet of twelve red roses. And, as you haven’t exactly had places to put them, he has graciously offered to ‘keep them somewhere safe.’

So of course there are dozens (of dozens) of roses scattered all around the room, still miraculously alive. Heavy emphasis on the miracle.

“You're the one who said I was cheesy,” Gabriel says and sits down, but puts his drink on the side table. Champagne, of course, and he’s even wearing a ridiculous red and black patterned robe. It’s a testament to how much you like him that you are not making fun of him right now.

But you can admit you do like the roses. The petals are soft and they smell nice. You look up from your bouquet to see Gabriel smiling at you. The softness of his expression throws you off and you hide the lower half of your face in the flowers. “Why always roses?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His smile turns all trickster. “It’s just what they have at the grocery store.”

You hit him with the bouquet hard enough that he falls off the bed. Well, his mad laughter probably helped, but you’ll still take credit for it. Asshole.

~

Someday, sentiment is going to get you killed.

You pick the rose anyway.

The young couple currently having their first date is pretty cute. Now that you’re not annoyed by them blocking the door, you can appreciate the beginning a new relationship. And it’s going to be one; they’re both all soft smiles and longing glances and dumbstruck lovelorn expressions. One of them keeps fidgeting with their hands, and the other shifts an enormous bouquet from arm to arm. You note the roses, of course, but it’s made up of a lot of other flowers too. It’s very pretty– and must have cost a fortune. You smile. Explains the coffee date.

~

“You work too much.”

“You’re a needy guy, aren’t you?” you ask and glance up from the screen. “Five more minutes, Gabriel. Then I’m all yours.”

He huffs and flops onto the table, head in his arms and pouting and grumbling enough to draw attention. You roll your eyes and, while he’s distracted, kiss the crown of his head.

He stops grumbling. But the next time you take a sip of your drink it’s like shoving pure sugar down your throat and you choke.

His smile is almost as saccharine. “I just wanted to make it as sweet as you.”

You stare at him and calmly wipe your mouth. “Twenty minutes.”

He sputters in protest.

“I’ll knock it down to ten if you walk up to the counter, wait in line, and buy me a replacement. With money.”

He starts muttering again. But he gets up.

~

You look at your computer and think about actually trawling for hunts, but, well, your coffee cup is empty and who can be asked to work under such inhumane conditions? You hop off the stool and almost crunch a stray rose underfoot. It must have been dropped by the happy couple by the door. As you pick it up you wonder how you’re going to interject and give it back, but when you stand, they’re already gone.

You look back at the flower. It’s truly lovely; obviously well cared for (and not just shoved in a fridge at a grocery store, Gabriel). You smile at the thought of his indignance, and set the rose on the table. It would be a shame to let it get thrown out, so you’ll take care of it.

Even at the end of the world, there are still mundane monsters to kill. You’re leaving a very shaken family with one less poltergeist and a lifetime therapy to look forward to (at least they have a have a lifetime, now,) when the youngest daughter runs up to you and holds up a rose. “Here! This is for you.”

Though you thank her and take it, the mom echoes your concerns when she asks, “Honey where did you get that?”

“I found it,” the kid chirps, like that’s all you need to know.

It’s a real rose with almost no thorns and a yellow ribbon tied around the stem. That’s an odd thing to just find. But the house has settled and you figure you can burn this and stick around for a day or two, just in case. You thank the little girl again, bid goodbye to her sisters and parents, and as you go you start to tuck the flower away when you see a small embroidered symbol on the ribbon.

An Enochian symbol.

  As you speed away, you barely resist the urge to chuck that fucking flower out the window. You want to. But at the same time, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Fucking asshole.

~

“I need to understand!”

Gabriel shoves you up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but it does stun you– for a second. His grip is too light and his expression too conflicted for him to convince you what a ‘monster’ he is. “You’re not that kind of person,” you say and stare him down. “So why do you want me to think you are?”

Gabriel jerks, but you grab onto his jacket and yank him back in. “What are you so afraid of, Gabriel?” you whisper. “I’m the one thing in the universe you don’t have to fear.”

Gabriel leans in, close enough to kiss. Your eyes shut on instinct. Or maybe it’s Pavlovian.

“You're the one thing in the universe I have to fear the most.”

Air brushes past your lips, the pressure of his body releases, and you open your eyes to empty space.

~

He had come back within a day, as soon as you had asked, and said ‘I’m sorry’ in every conceivable way without ever saying it with his mouth. (Well, verbally, that is.) At the time, you figured it was fine.

And maybe it was. Now that you’ve had a few days to freak out, get your hopes up and down and all around, you feel a little calmer. You have the roses set aside and the ribbon spread out on the bed while you sit with your Enochian dictionary. Gabriel wouldn’t lead you along willy-nilly. You have faith (just a little) that this means something.

And if this does turn out to be some “Drink your Ovaltine” bullshit you are going to find out how to travel back in time so you can murder him with your own two hands.

It takes a while, but you find the word, and then use a few other dictionaries and translation sites to get it into English. You check it five times, in different ways, and then sit, chest swelling with hope that you’re not sure you can handle.

‘Healing.’

You want to believe, but a rough translation boiled down to its essential part can’t make you Mulder. You put the books away and lean back against the headboard, just trying to process, when something ‘thump!’s against your door. You grab your gun and stay alert as you check the outside area, but as far as you can see, there’s no one.

But there are three roses, piled neatly just in front of the door. You smile. Because really– you’re skeptical, but you’re not stupid. You pick them up and put the flowers to your face while you mind the thorns. You’re pretty good at that by now.

“Okay,” you say and nuzzle the petals. “I’ll wait.”

You find five more roses over the next couple of weeks in utterly random places. On your pillow. In a sewer. In your water glass after you turn away for a second. In the basket you grab at a grocery store. On your passenger seat. That last one makes you ache.

That night, when you open your book and find eight perfectly placed rose petals, you almost cry. Twelve roses. It’s always been a dozen, so that means he’s coming back, right? He doesn’t appear right away, but you go to bed hopeful.

Except he’s not there in the morning.

Or the afternoon.

Or the evening. Or…

It’s late on the third day of waiting and hope is fading fast. You hit your forehead on your steering wheel and whisper, “Where are you?” Did you misread things? Was this set up in advance? Did he mean for you to heal? Was someone messing with–

Your radio comes on without any prompting and you jolt up. You’re so busy trying to look for danger that you don’t recognize the song at first.

“–nt me, if you still want me Whoa tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree…”

You blink. You stop being afraid. And start being annoyed. “Are you fucking serious?”

But the song plays on, and the volume even gets jacked up. “A SIMPLE YELLOW RIBBON’S WHAT I NEED TO SET ME FREE–”

“Okay!” You turn the radio off and sit in silence for a few moments before you burst into tears and laughter both. “Fuck; you’re such an asshole,” you say, with wet eyes and a smile full of teeth.

You consider trying to track down a bonsai or some plastic palm tree, but you’ve waited long enough. Still, when you get back to your room you go through all the motions of getting ready to go to sleep. Once you’re actually sitting on the bed, you put the yellow ribbon to your wrist and manage to tie a messy bow.

You lie down, exhausted by days of constant, immense stress, and sigh. As you drift off to sleep you think, ‘I’m ready, Gabriel.

Come home.’

It happens without fanfare. You simply wake to an arm around your stomach, and a morning still dark.

“Hey,” you say, sleep-addled.

Gabriel chuckles. “Hey.”

You’ve never heard anything so beautiful, even as rough as his voice is. “You sound tired.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel presses closer to you. “Almost getting murdered by your own brother is pretty exhausting.”

“Hm.” That’s a conversation for later. Or never, depending on how stubborn Gabriel wants to be. Either way, not now. Not when you’ve got him back. You turn over and wrap yourself around him. “It’s okay,” you say. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

He gives you a wry smile, but whatever snarky way you expect him to say ‘I don’t sleep’ doesn’t happen. He shuts his eyes, and you hold tight. “I’m glad you came back,” you say. “Even if I don’t have a hundred ribbons.”

He shifts with quiet laughter. “That’s all right.” He holds your wrist and places a kiss that straddles the ribbon and your skin. “I only need the one.”