#cannot be late to or leave early from events one and three

[like-eachothersghosts]

playing insane levels of google maps chess rn

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part Eleven

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader Summary: You volunteer to babysit Mayday last minute. Miguel, Mayday, and you have dinner. Miguel shares a part of his past with you. Word Count: 25,585 Warnings: I reviewed this twice but I may have missed some errors as I really wanted to update!; mention of verbal and physical abuse; emotional child neglect; mention of rapture and addiction; mention of testing on humans; marital issues; mention of insecurity about physical appearance/features; questioning of self-worth; someone gets hit in the head but nothing serious; fluff then angst, then fluff again; translations for Spanish terms included at the end; I think that's everything without giving too many spoilers. Short A/N: I just wanted to clear up that this part takes place several months before the Thanksgiving drabble. This part takes place sometime in late May, early June - two months after Miguel's incident. So, that's the timeline if you read that drabble, which is not necessary to read! Thank you! Previous Part Masterlist

Part Eleven

“Bye, guys! Thank you for dinner again,” Gwen says with a wave. 

“Thank you for dinner! See you guys on Monday!” Miles calls out with a wave of his own. 

“Bye, you guys be careful,” Peter B. calls out, raising his entire arm to wave goodbye at the two spiderlings.

“Bye, guys!” you say, looking up from what you’re doing to see Miles and Gwen just as a portal opens up.

“Bye!” they call out and with that, they head out through the portal.

You continue to help Mary Jane and Peter B. clean up. It’s Friday evening and everyone has called it a night already due to exhaustion from either school or their duties as superheroes, or both. Peter B. and you are putting away leftovers from dinner as Mary Jane takes care of other things. The sound of her ringtone startles the three of you but elicits a laugh from Mayday. You chuckle at her laugh and shake your head as Mary Jane picks up her phone. 

“It’s our babysitter. Let me take their call. I’ll be right back,” she says with a little frown, hoping it’s not bad news as she heads to one of the bedrooms to let Peter and you talk in peace, yet you can hear her soft voice even from the kitchen. “Hey, how are you doing? I’m doing well, thank you… Oh, I see. Yeah, no, it’s alright. I understand things pop up… Yes, don’t worry. Peter and I will figure something out. Thank you for letting me know and I hope everything goes well. Thank you. You, too. Bye-bye!”

You keep putting food away even as Peter leaves your side, heading towards the bedrooms. Despite your best efforts to give privacy to the couple, you can hear Peter and Mary Jane talking quietly now.

“Don’t worry, honey, we’ll figure something out. There’s plenty of time, right?” 

“Peter… It’s very late. Where are we going to find a babysitter on such short notice? We can’t go. We’re going to have to cancel unfortunately. I’ll let Hailey know we won’t be able to make it.”

You finish putting away the last thing before you wipe the counter clean, trying to help the Parkers as much as possible after they hosted dinner.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s alright, Peter. There’s always next time, right?”

Peter and Mary Jane step out of the bedroom, each giving you a sad smile. You smile back, thinking after hearing some of their conversation unintentionally, since there’s only so much the thin walls of an apartment can block out. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

Peter B. smiles softly and tilts his head side to side. “Our babysitter unfortunately canceled on us for tomorrow.” 

You frown and nod, remembering they mentioned having an event tomorrow that’s three hours outside their city and unfortunately Mayday cannot attend. You finish wiping their counter, thinking and then smile. 

“I can babysit Mayday.”

That catches both of their attentions. 

“Oh no, Y/N. We appreciate it but it’s so last minute and you probably have plans already,” Mary Jane says.

You shake your head. “I don’t have any plans and I don’t mind looking after Mayday, really.”

“Y/N… MJ is right. This is too sudden. We appreciate it but it’s alright,” Peter B. adds.

“I seriously don’t mind. Plus, Mayday likes me,” you say with a small smile. “I’d love to babysit her, seriously. Just leave everything we’ll need and any special instructions. We’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“Mayday doesn’t like you, she loves you!” Peter says with a smile. “But are you sure?”

You nod once again. “Yes, I’m sure! I can come here and pick her up or I can stay here, however you like, just let me know. We’ll be good and you guys can go and enjoy yourselves.” 

After a few more minutes of reassuring the Parkers that babysitting is no problem, you have solid plans to babysit Mayday for Saturday not remembering that you do, in fact, have plans, at least for the evening. 

It has been two months since Miguel’s incident and ever since that first weekend that he invited you to dinner to thank you for looking after him, you’ve been having dinner at each other’s place every weekend, rotating from his place to your place each Saturday. It has become a part of your routines and the two of you attend dinner each Saturday without failure, yet you still remind each other about it with a simple “Dinner still on for tomorrow?” to confirm.

You cannot deny the fact that you love Saturdays for that reason alone. It gives you something to look forward to during the week and there’s also the fact that you enjoy spending time with Miguel outside of HQ and at each other’s places instead, where you can talk freely without possible distractions or interruptions or the lingering gazes of others. Plus, it brings you great satisfaction to know that these dinners mean that he’s not working through the entire weekend like he used to. You know he still goes to HQ in the mornings to check up on things, which you expected. You have a feeling he might never fully stop doing this as the leader of the Spider Society, unless something down the line changes his mind of course but for now, it’s great relief to know he spends his afternoons in his home at least. 

Despite confirming with Miguel earlier before you left HQ for the day, you forget in the moment as all you want to do is help out Peter and Mary Jane. You get back home and prep your place a bit as an attempt to make it safer for Mayday, even though you know it is a lot harder to keep up with her these days with her swinging everywhere. Once you feel satisfied with your place, you go to bed early to catch some sleep, knowing that tomorrow might be a long day. 

★★★

The next morning you wake up early and do some more preparations as you wait for Peter B. to drop off Mayday. He eventually arrives, making several trips to retrieve items as Mayday will be spending the entire day with you, including the night. Even though you insisted on staying at their place, the Parkers decided that it was only fair for you to stay in your universe since you were helping them at the last minute. They said they wanted you to feel comfortable at your own  home. So, you spend the morning and early afternoon with Mayday lounging around your apartment. 

You stick to the schedule the Parkers gave you, making sure that Mayday is comfortable under your care. You feed her during the assigned times, entertain her with toys Peter brought, put her to nap when she’s ready, and all the other little things to keep her safe and comfortable, not noticing the way your apartment has slowly been taken over by her items. It’s not until you lay Mayday for a nap that you stop and look around. There are visible traces of a child in your apartment, something you’re not used to. In fact, you come to the realization that Mayday is the only child that has ever been to your apartment. Back in the day when you hosted parties or dinners with your old friends, no one had children yet and on the family side, neither Peter nor you were close to other relatives that had kids, so there were never any children at your apartment.  

The sight of Mayday’s items scattered around your apartment leads your mind to other thoughts, like how your Peter wanted kids. You had typical worries about having children whenever the topic came up in the early days when the two of you were still in college, given you understood how big of a responsibility a child is. However, your worries were always soothed by Peter. You knew he’d be there with you all throughout it and besides, you could already tell he’d be a great father one day. With a sigh, you silently think about how that’s no longer a possibility. You will never see your Peter become a father or grow old, the way the two of you once envisioned. 

As you pick up around the apartment, you recall those conversations you’d have with him late at night. He’d hold you against his chest while his thumb brushed over your knuckles. His body heat engulfed you in the most pleasant way, and he’d do it to warm you up because he knew you grew cold sometimes. 

“Can you imagine - a little you or a little me running around? Not here in this apartment. Somewhere bigger where we’ll have more space. Like that place a few blocks from here,” he’d whisper. 

You’d smile, knowing exactly what place. “The place with three bedrooms and the lovely view.” 

“That one. One bedroom for us. One bedroom for each child.” 

“So you want two kids?” 

“I - Let’s skip that question,” he’d say with a small grin. “Just imagine for now two kids. Two kids and walks to the park so they can play. Trips to the bookstore because if their mom likes to read, surely one of them will pick up the habit. And a bigger apartment means we can have more bookcases. You’ve always wanted a little library, so we’ll have that there. You can go on patrols at night, and we’ll wait for you for bedtime. I’ll tell them stories about Spider-Woman and how I’m the biggest fan,” he’d say, causing you to laugh in the darkness of your shared bedroom. 

“You might have to tone it down or they might start thinking you have a crush on her just like our friends believe. Besides, it’d be a while before we could tell them about my superhero identity.”

“Oh, I know, darling. We don’t want to get calls from their school that they’re claiming mom is Spider-Woman. And hey, it’s not my fault our friends think I have a crush on Spider-Woman.” 

“Well, buying all that merch doesn’t help,” you’d say smiling, turning to face him at last. “Or the way you jump in her defense - or my defense - every time someone says something negative.”

“Alright, alright. Maybe I need to tone it down but you have to admit it’s pretty funny how they try to get you to feel jealous. If only they knew that Spider-Woman herself is my girlfriend,” he’d reply before kissing your forehead. “I’ll try to tone it down for the kids though.”

You’d laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, finding the moment endearing nonetheless as you imagined a future that is no longer possible. You clear your throat and carry on organizing your place until Mayday wakes up. It’s all going well until close to dinner time when you remember. 

“Shoot,” you mutter as you reach for your gizmo, carrying Mayday.

You quickly send a message to Miguel, letting him know you can’t make it to dinner. The sudden change of plans alarms Miguel, who instantly asks if everything is alright before he requests a live hologram. His hologram appears over your gizmo once you approve the request, making it easy for Miguel to put together what’s happening. He sees Mayday wrapped around your body and that you’re at your apartment on your own.

“Hey, I’m so sorry for having to cancel dinner so suddenly. Peter and Mary Jane’s babysitter canceled on them at the last minute last night and I offered to look after her today,” you inform him.

Miguel nods, watching as you hold Mayday.

“Right, I think I heard Peter mention something about an event this weekend,” Miguel says, recalling bits and pieces from Peter telling him about it but he wasn’t paying too much attention at the time because Lyla had just told him you were back from a mission. 

“Yeah, it’s about two hours outside of the city or something like that and Mayday couldn’t go, so I offered to look after her for the day. Please forgive me for just letting you know. I can’t believe I just remembered,” you say, truly feeling sorry. “I was caught up trying to make the apartment safer for her and then you know babysitting,” you add, giving Miguel an apologetic smile.

“Keeping her safe is already a hard task,” he replies, smiling softly as he recalls how hard it was for Peter to keep track of her a year ago when she had less movement, now it’s twice as hard.

“She’s done very well so far, thankfully,” you reply with a relieved smile as Mayday plays with a Spider-Ham plushie, still holding on to you.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad it has been going well.” Miguel pauses for a few seconds as he looks at something in his dimension. As he looks away, you notice the way he’s dressed. The sight of him in normal clothes is a much more familiar sight to you these days since you see him like this every Saturday. In fact, you’ve started to pick up on his style, which has been fun to see since you’ve always found his dimension’s fashion interesting from the beginning. Miguel turns back to the gizmo at last, with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have dinner ready but I know you probably don’t want to leave your apartment with Mayday.”

You nod. “Kind of? I just - I’m not used to doing this. I mean, I play with her and look after her sometimes for short periods of time at HQ or at her universe with either Peter or MJ around but nothing like this on my own. Plus, I’d be bringing her over to your place and… I don’t know if you’d be okay with that and even if you are, your place is so much larger than mine.”

“More ways for her to get hurt and more space for us to cover if she decides to evade us,” Miguel says, fighting the urge to smile at the fact that you’ve thought of everything. “I see what you mean… I can pack everything and meet you at your place, if you still want to have dinner, of course. Or I can drop off some food for you regardless.” 

Even though you’d like to have dinner with him, you start to protest because that would mean making Miguel go through the hassle of packing food and then traveling here with everything but he stops you before you even really begin. “I don’t mind and I made food for two people anyway. Just let me know and I’ll pack everything.” 

After a few seconds of hesitation, you nod and smile. “If it’s not too much hassle for you, I’ll wait for you here to have dinner.” 

Miguel smiles back and nods. “It’s not a hassle. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.” 

You say goodbye and the live hologram call ends. You quickly make sure your kitchen area is cleared up for Miguel before looking around your apartment once again. It’s clean and organized, though there are a few items here and there that belong to Mayday that have been used since you last cleaned up during one of her naps. Besides that, your apartment is presentable. You hold Mayday, who is blabbing to her toy, and take in your apartment. It’s been two months and every time you look around, you can’t help but still feel awe with how different the place looks. 

You moved your furniture around after deciding that a new layout was needed. You also replaced some furniture like your coffee table and its old decorations. Your eyes fall on your couch, the one that you’ve found yourself sitting on more and more these days since you’ve started to get back into reading. Other times, you sit to watch some TV or when you host your friends over, including Miguel. 

You’ve even added new cozy chairs, which have really brought the place together. Your eyes turn to the wall with photographs. Even though it has been two months since you changed it, you’ve added new photos here and there over the weeks, like the one of Miguel and you working on your new bookshelf, which makes you feel amusement now that you recall that day. You were excited to build it since you had your previous one for years. You had it for so long that the middle of the shelves were dented, making you wonder how it hadn’t given up on you with so many books but thankfully it didn’t. You remember Miguel finding it amusing that you were so excited about it but your excitement quickly faded when building it became a struggle.

You were both dismayed when you realized that the instructions were gibberish but thankfully after some trial and error, the two of you pulled through. Now, the bookshelf sits in another area of your living room, organized differently but still storing your books and other decorations, like gifts you’ve received over the years as Spider-Woman. You turn back to the photo, taken by Lyla of course, of Miguel and you on the floor assembling your bookcase. You chuckle softly as you take in Miguel’s frowning and pouting captured in the photo. You swear you’ve never heard him curse as much as he did that day. His string of curses in Spanish were repeatedly followed by apologies to you for cursing in your presence, even after you told him you didn’t mind the first time. You recall trying not to chuckle because you found his reaction sweet each time he realized he was cursing again. At last, after some food and a few more strings of curses from Miguel, the bookshelf was assembled and now it looks all pretty in your living room. 

Looking at the bookshelf, your eyes move to Peter’s record player which is now placed next to  it. Even when you were looking through your furniture back then to see what needed to be replaced, you knew his record player was going to stay. It’s something you will always keep with you, no matter what happens. You glance at the vinyl records, realizing it has been a while since you’ve played anything. 

“How about some music, Mayday?” you ask, looking down at her. She seems to nod, so you walk over to the record player and bend down with Mayday to give her a view of Peter's collection. “Alright, I’ll let you choose since you’re my special guest this weekend. Let’s see… Billie Holiday - hm, no not her. Not now anyway, right?” 

You scan the spines of the vinyl records, failing to notice that Mayday is getting ready to engage her web shooters that Peter B. made for her. She startles you when she shoots a web, pulling a vinyl record off the shelf your Peter kept them stored in. You sigh in relief after you catch it just in time before she hits herself with it or the record gets damaged. “I guess this is your choice, hm?” you say as you eye it. “How did you know the girl on the cover has red hair, too?” you ask amused, which makes Mayday laugh. “Alright, this one then.”

You put the record on with Mayday’s full attention, seemingly interested in the process, and hum to her as the music starts playing. You grab Mayday’s free hand, since she’s still holding on to her Spider-Ham plushie, and move along as if you were dancing with her. 

“And love is when you try to make it out alive but you can’t turn the radio down and you can’t think of anyone else,” you quietly sing to Mayday, dancing with her while being careful. You start to do a little spin but pause halfway when your eyes land on Miguel. He stands about twelve feet away from you holding a large reusable bag in one hand and your sweatshirt in the other. Your abrupt pause makes Mayday giggle before she starts waving her toy around excitedly, apparently having a great time. Meanwhile, you feel heat on your cheeks as you make eye contact with Miguel, who looks like he’s holding back from chuckling based on how his lips twitch. You end up smiling and hold Mayday closer, figuring it’s too late to play it off anyway.

“A mini dance party was also scheduled for Mayday?” Miguel asks at last, trying to hold back from chuckling for your sake as he can see your embarrassment from being caught dancing and singing. 

You shrug with a sheepish smile. “Something like that.”

Miguel grins at last. “Well… don’t stop on my behalf. I’ll set up while you two finish the song,” Miguel says, unable to stop himself from teasing you a little bit as he places your sweatshirt over your couch before turning to your kitchen. He carefully sets the bag on the counter and starts taking out containers with food, smiling to himself now that his back is to you.

You stand there, feeling hot in the face while Mayday is still having the time of her life waving around her Spider-Ham plushie to the music. You sigh quietly and approach Miguel to help, still holding Mayday.

“I’ll get the plates,” you say as you enter the kitchen, retrieving them quickly and setting them on the counter before grabbing utensils, too. 

While you do that, Miguel watches you as he starts taking off the containers’ lids, taking notice of the way you hold Mayday, and how at ease you look with her. He also notes how comfortable Mayday looks with you, though he’s not surprised. He looks away and continues to set up the food, silently wondering once again if at this point in your life you’d have children of your own if Peter was alive. He has thought about it before, back in the infirmary two months ago when he realized that you probably wouldn’t have been there with him if Peter was alive. For some reason, he believes that you’d be married by now, at least. He can’t help but think about children now though, as you hold Mayday with such care. He has seen you with her before but not quite like this in the comfort of your home as you move around your kitchen, where the gesture feels more personal. He silently tells himself to put away those thoughts as he places the containers’ lids away and pulls out a travel pitcher with agua de jamaica. Ever since you made it for him during his recovery, he has been making a fresh pitcher every few days as needed since you rekindled his love for it. 

Upon seeing the pitcher, you retrieve glasses and also remember to grab napkins. You set everything before you ask Miguel what kind of utensils will be needed to serve the food but he shows you a set he brought along. You smile softly, seeing how prepared he came. Miguel also retrieves a large thermos filled with café de olla and a bag of pan dulce. Along with Saturday dinners becoming a normal thing for the two of you, Miguel has made café de olla and pan dulce a tradition. No matter who hosts dinner, the hot and rich liquid along with the sweet bread are always present for after dinner. So, Miguel places both items on the counter carefully, making sure not to squish the pan dulce with other things before he starts serving food for the two of you. 

Shortly after, the two of you are sitting side by side eating while Mayday sits on her high chair, also brought by Peter because the Parkers wanted to make sure you had everything you needed to make babysitting Mayday a good experience, next to you. You take a small spoonful of food made by MJ to her mouth, making sure to pick up the bits of food that slip out of her mouth carefully. You gently clean her mouth before you turn to Miguel, who seems to have been watching Mayday and you.

“Thank you for dinner and for bringing it here. You really didn’t have to go through all that trouble,” you tell him with a soft smile. 

“Well, I was already done and besides, as soon as you told me you were babysitting, I figured dinner would be one less thing for you to worry about,” Miguel says with a small smile, gazing at Mayday for a few seconds before his eyes meet yours again. 

“It was last minute. I was helping MJ and Peter clean up after dinner when their babysitter called to tell her they were canceling. I could tell they really wanted to go and I got so caught up in the moment with trying to help them that today’s dinner slipped my mind. I’m really sorry for the sudden change,” you apologize but Miguel shakes his head gently. 

“Don’t apologize. You just wanted to help Peter and MJ. It’s very kind of you to help them out,” he says before he takes a drink from his glass.

“I’m just glad they could go. I could tell they really wanted to attend but at the same time they seemed bummed this morning. You should’ve seen Peter. He looked so sad. He said it’s the first time MJ and him are spending the night away from Mayday but at the same time they really wanted to attend this event. I can only imagine their conflicting emotions.”

Miguel nods, surprised to hear that you’re looking after Mayday for the night, too. He thought it was only for the day. “Yeah, I can imagine it’s conflicting,” Miguel says, not really sharing that experience with MJ and Peter. The longest time he spent away from Gabriella was when she was in school but he does recall feeling somewhat sad when she was away, even though she was always so happy to go. Miguel smiles softly at the memories, recalling how he never had any issues with Gabriella doing her homework or not wanting to go to school. His gaze turns to Mayday before he returns it to you. “So, Mayday is spending the night, then?” 

You nod. “Yes. Peter will be back in the morning but so far it’s going to be us two, right, Mayday?” you say as you offer her another spoonful of food. 

Miguel watches the interaction, smiling softly as Mayday happily eats her food, even trying to grasp the spoon on her own. He watches for a few more seconds before he replies. 

“She seems to be more than happy with this arrangement.” 

You clean Mayday’s mouth and chuckle. “It seems so. We’ve been doing great so far but I’m a little worried about her sleeping. Peter and MJ said she sleeps through the night without trouble but I’m a bit worried the different environment might be an issue.”

“I think… She’ll sleep peacefully. She likes you and seems comfortable here in your apartment. If she wasn’t, she’d make you aware of it. It’ll be alright,” Miguel states with a reassuring tone, making you smile. 

“I really hope so. If not, I guess I can always just travel to their home to soothe her,” you answer, feeling more confident now thanks to Miguel’s words. 

“You can do that and if I can be of any help, let me know,” Miguel adds softly without thinking, not realizing that he’s offering to help you look after Mayday. After losing Gabriella, being around children has been hard for Miguel, so he has never offered Peter and MJ to look after her.

Now, he’s here offering to help to look after Mayday because of you. Miguel looks away with a small and embarrassed smile, wondering if he should count this as part of his progress. Ever since he almost died, he’s been trying just like he said he would by making small changes. The major change has been his sleeping schedule. He’s sleeping better than he has in years thanks to the sound of your breathing and your scent from your sweatshirts. Both things help him immensely, so much that he falls asleep within minutes of climbing in bed. He still has nightmares sometimes, but for the first time in a long time, he can count with his hands the number of times he’s had them over the last two months.

With less nightmares, Miguel now has pleasant dreams more often, which were practically nonexistent before. These dreams consist of Gabriella and Gabriel, with his mom and wife making appearances sometimes. Then, there’s you. You’ve slowly started to make appearances in his dreams, too, in which you interact with Gabriel and Gabriella the most. He hasn’t told you about them. One day he will though. He will tell you how he’s seen you playing dolls with Gabriella and that she always wants to show you every doll she owns. He will also share how Gabriel, you, and him have had café de olla together in his penthouse, and that just like he told you a few months back, Gabriel likes you a lot and has befriended you in his dreams. One day he will tell you but not yet. 

Another small change in Miguel’s life is his work schedule. He returns home most nights at a reasonable time from HQ. The latest he stays now is usually seven, which gives him plenty of time to make dinner because yes, he has also begun to have regular and homemade meals. On the weekends, he only shows up in the mornings to make sure everything is fine before returning home. He’s also tried to be more friendly with the others like your friends, though he still finds it difficult. He has found himself calling Miles “mijo” more often these days though, something that still surprises Miles each time. 

Then, there’s your shared dinners each Saturday. It started with him wanting to express his gratitude to you for everything you did for him when he was hurt, and you ended up inviting him for dinner the following Saturday when he offered café de olla with pan dulce. That Saturday rolled around and he found himself going out early that morning to the Mexican store to buy fresh pan dulce. He bought several pieces to give you options, hoping that you’d love the other types since you really liked the conchas you had back on Dia de Los Muertos night and made the coffee that you seemed to love so much. He brought a thermos and the bag of pan dulce with him that day to your universe and after having a wonderful meal made by you, the two of you enjoyed the coffee and pan dulce. By the end of the night, before he even knew it, Miguel was inviting you for dinner at his place again the next weekend. Now, having dinner with you is part of his routine and though he hasn’t said it out loud yet, Miguel looks forward to it each week. 

He looks forward to it so much that when it’s his turn to cook, he starts thinking about what he’ll cook days in advance. He goes through different dishes in his mind, wondering which ones you’d like the most before he decides on one. 

Miguel wishes he could tell you how much he enjoys them directly. It gives him something to look forward to and much like you, he enjoys spending time with you outside of HQ, where the two of you can talk about anything and everything without anyone interrupting, something that happens often and that Miguel dislikes since he finds it annoying. Miguel knows the changes in his life so far are small but nonetheless, Miguel feels happy about them. He knows he has a long road ahead of him but it’s progress, and he feels satisfied with how he’s approaching his healing journey so far. He knows and understands that there are certain things he might never fully be able to move past or that some days will be harder than others but it fills him with great gratitude and solace to know that he’ll have someone to count on when those days come around. You. 

You smile at Miguel after he offers to help out with Mayday, noticing the embarrassed smile, which makes you wonder but you don’t ask. There’s also the fact that you know Miguel seems to struggle with Mayday around sometimes, so him offering to help warms your heart. “Thank you. Hopefully it’s not necessary but I appreciate the offer,” you reply at last. 

Miguel nods, lifting his glass for a drink. “Always.” 

The three of you continue eating dinner. Mayday happily eats her food and babbles some words here and there, which makes Miguel and you chuckle. The conversation is light and like always, you talk about anything and everything, like how you caught an anomaly on Tuesday and how Spider-Cat and Spider-Wolf had a little feud at the cafeteria on Thursday. You eventually find yourself sitting next to Miguel on your couch with Mayday on your lap. You look at the clock on the wall, noticing the time and remembering that Mayday’s bedtime is in two hours.

You play with Mayday’s hair for a bit before you reach in a bag that MJ and Peter packed for her, and retrieve a hairbrush. You gently brush her hair, noticing she has a few knots here and there probably from her swinging around your apartment earlier. Miguel sits next to you, watching and responding to Mayday as she makes the attempt to talk but the simple action reminds him of the times he brushed Gabriella’s hair. He looks away slowly, remembering this is why he’s tried to avoid being around kids for so long, yet his gaze returns. Such a simple action reminds him of his short time with Gabriella and yet, he wants to keep watching. Miguel can’t help but continue to find the way you treat Mayday with such care so endearing, and then there’s little Mayday, who seems perfectly at ease with you. Miguel is torn between watching and not watching but in the end, his gaze remains fixed on you and Mayday as you continue to brush her hair. You take your time doing this, especially because Mayday’s hair has grown a lot over the last year, so you have a lot more to brush. Meanwhile, Mayday sits comfortably on your lap with her plushie until she offers it to Miguel with a grin. 

Miguel smiles gently and hesitantly accepts it, looking at the Spider-Ham plushie with amusement. You keep brushing Mayday’s hair, obviously noticing the little interaction. Despite finding it cute, you keep your attention on the task at hand. You don’t want to make Miguel uncomfortable or make the moment end too soon, since you’ve hardly seen him interact with Mayday. You obviously know the reason behind it, which is why you’re pretending not to see it, though you hope that these small interactions help Miguel a little. You also can’t deny that a small part of you is enjoying this because you’re seeing a short live glimpse of that side of him, meaning his fatherly side. There are subtle signs of this side of him but nothing quite like this. You can see it in how there are dorms at HQ for members to sleep at or the free food at the cafeteria, along with other resources that are typically welcomed by younger members that need them.

You’ve thought about Miguel as a father a few times in the past, especially when you know so much of his life back then and the things he did for Gabriella. You weren’t there for it but just based on the way he talks about her and the different memories he has shared with you, you know he was an amazing father. Sometimes, you can’t help but wish you were there during that time so you could’ve seen that side of him in person. You wish you could’ve seen his full smiles and heard his laughter, perhaps from him sharing something funny that Gabriella said or did. You wish you could’ve seen him when he was happy. 

Unfortunately, Miguel’s life changed. Gabriella and his wife are no longer here, so your wishes are impossible now but if you could, you would give anything to see him with his family. Perhaps that means that you wouldn’t be close with him like you are now because you’d be experiencing different things but you’d give this up in a heartbeat if he could have Gabriella and his wife back at least. 

You smile sadly to yourself as you brush Mayday’s hair, knowing very well that if Miguel hadn’t lost his wife and Gabriella, he wouldn’t be here now. It’s a Saturday, and you can only imagine that he’d definitely be with them, out for dinner. You can almost picture them at some restaurant, maybe Gabriella’s favorite place to eat, celebrating the win of her soccer match at this very moment. You most likely wouldn’t be friends but… Yes, you’d give this up in a heartbeat if it meant Miguel would have his family back. If it meant that he’d be happy again. Yes, you would do it, even if the mere thought of your friendship not existing triggers a deep sadness that leaves you breathless for a second. You would do it. For Miguel. For his happiness. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel something soft hit the side of your head, making you close your eyes in surprise. You open them again and lean back, just as Mayday moves her arm down after hitting you with her plush. You look over at Miguel, who looks like he’s trying to hold back from smiling. The sight makes you forget your line of thinking from just seconds ago.

“I think that’s her cue that she’s done with the hair brushing,” you mutter, smiling a bit and finishing up with her hair. 

You look over at Miguel again, noticing the amusement in his eyes but still holding back from smiling or laughing for your sake. 

“I know you want to laugh, so just go ahead,” you say, trying not to laugh at yourself while you hold Miguel’s gaze with a feigned annoyed expression. 

Gazing at each other for a few seconds, you can see Miguel’s lips twitch as he tries to hold back but ultimately fails when he sees your own lips form into a smile. He chuckles, louder than he usually does, which is a surprise on its own but it doesn’t stop there. You watch as he throws his head back with closed eyes, still chuckling and oh, the sound of it along with the sight, makes you wish you could record this moment and safekeep it forever. It brings you so much happiness to see and hear him like this and yet, it also leaves you longing for more. If the sound of him chuckling like this is so delightful, you can’t help but imagine what a true laugh from the man sitting next to you looks and sounds like.

Still smiling, you release a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding before you chuckle along with him. 

“I’m sorry - I was going to warn you and stop it but she moved so fast,” Miguel says, his tone still full of amusement as he meets your gaze again. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” he asks, sounding concerned in the midst of his amusement. 

“No, I’m alright. Just took me by surprise,” you answer, shaking your head in disbelief, smiling. 

“I gave it back to her and she randomly lifted her arm. I didn’t think she was going to do that,” Miguel says apologetically but you shake your head. 

“She didn’t mean to. She’s been carrying this plushie around all day and gets really excited with it,” you reply, feeling unbothered since you know Mayday didn’t mean to and besides, it gave you the little moment with Miguel chuckling. You almost feel like thanking Mayday, even if she wouldn’t understand what she’s given you. 

For the next hour, you entertain Mayday by bringing out other toys Peter dropped off while music still plays in the background, creating a peaceful and cozy feeling in your apartment. Miguel sits on your couch, watching from a few feet as you sit on your living room floor with Mayday. You show her an action figure of Peter B. himself but Mayday doesn’t seem too interested in her own father’s action figure. Instead, she picks up yours, which you didn’t even know Peter had, and shows it to you. You chuckle and nod at Mayday, despite still wondering how Peter acquired everyone’s action figures. 

“That’s me,” you say, earning yourself a happy nod from Mayday before she picks another action figure. “That’s Miguel,” you continue as you observe his action figure, noticing how much taller it is than the other ones, truly highlighting how much taller Miguel is compared to the rest of you. 

Miguel continues to watch, also feeling surprised by the fact that Mayday has an action figure of everyone in your friend group, including himself. He’s surprised not only by the fact that he’s included, but also wonders how Peter got his hands on all of them, considering currency is different in each universe. He decides not to think about it and shrugs it off, focusing on Mayday as she holds both his and your action figures in the air now, babbling something that is not comprehensible just yet, so the two of you nod. 

“Yes, that’s Miguel and I. Really cool, right? Look, here we have… Miles,” you say lifting Miles’s action figure. “And here’s Hobie Hobie Brown,” you say in a fake British tone but quiet enough so Miguel won’t hear you. 

Despite your attempt to be quiet, Miguel hears you anyway. He hides his grin subtly by resting his elbow on the couch’s armrest and covering his mouth with his hand. Mayday laughs at your fake British accent but she still refuses to pick any other action figure. She continues to hold on to Miguel and you, showing the action figures to you once again. You watch in amusement until she makes both action figures clash face to face. 

“Mwuah!” Mayday says loudly with a giggle. 

Your grin falters as you hear that sound coming from her. Heat immediately rises to your cheeks as Mayday giggles again, dropping the action figures at last. Before you know it, she shoots a web towards Miguel. You try to catch her before she flies off but you’re a second too late, thanks to your embarrassment, and by the time your hands reach for her, she’s already halfway across the room, landing right in Miguel’s hands. You sigh in relief that she landed safely, forgetting for a second what happened before you remember again. You try to search Miguel’s face quickly for any signs of discomfort, but he holds Mayday up just as fast, hiding his face from your view. 

Miguel intentionally hides his face from you so you won’t see the pink that’s formed in his cheeks because he played dolls with Gabriella more than plenty of times to know what that sound means. Kissing. Mayday accidentally, or maybe not so accidentally, made your action figures kiss. Right in front of you two. 

You start picking up Mayday’s toys, using this as an excuse to hide your own face as you hear Miguel talk to Mayday. You carefully listen to his tone for any sign that he’s upset but there’s no indication. His tone is soft and gentle. You quietly get up and walk over to the toy bag Peter dropped off, gently placing each action figure back. You look down at your hands, noticing the last two action figures are yours and his. You put them away as well but waste time by pretending to rearrange what’s in the backpack to give your face some time to cool off. At last, you zip up the backpack and look around your living room and kitchen to make sure no toys are left behind. You spot the Spider-Ham plushie and pick it up, walking slowly to the couch where Miguel still sits talking to Mayday. 

You sit as far as possible and watch while you hold the plushie Mayday hit you with earlier. You subtly search Miguel’s face now, silently sighing in relief as his face reveals nothing. In fact, he turns to you and grins softly as he still holds Mayday up. You grin back, feeling the tension in your body evaporate as you come to the conclusion that either he didn’t notice or it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

You watch as Mayday reaches with her small hands towards Miguel’s mouth, making him turn his face back to her.

“She’s always interested in my fangs,” Miguel mutters as he watches Mayday’s hands move around, trying very hard to reach for his mouth but of course, he keeps her away. On rare occasions he lets her see them but he contemplates doing so right now, since you’re also here. 

Despite your time in the society, you don’t see his fangs often. Of course, sometimes you see them on missions but usually from a far and not for long since those missions are typically fast paced. You can count the times you’ve been close by to get a decent look with one hand. Twice. Only two times and both times Miguel immediately closed his mouth or retracted them once he saw that you were nearby. You’ve wondered if Miguel doesn’t like members seeing them. 

After a few seconds, Miguel decides to indulge Mayday, who gets all excited and tries even harder now to reach for Miguel. However, Miguel keeps holding her steady, ensuring that she won’t end up hurt. You watch, feeling less embarrassment now and enjoying the interaction between Miguel and Mayday. She shows excitement the entire fifteen minutes that Miguel shows her his fangs but with each passing minute, the two of you start to notice that her energy decreases more and more, signaling it’s time for bedtime. You let Miguel know, who nods in agreement since he notices Mayday’s eyes drooping with sleep.

You get up and walk closer, offering your hands to take her. Miguel carefully hands her over to you, retracting his fangs at the same time. Once she’s in your arms, you bring Mayday closer to your body, a gesture she accepts as she instantly buries her head on your chest with a soft sigh. You can’t help but freeze for a few seconds, not used to this but you smile tenderly at her after a few seconds. You gently cradle her head, keeping her steady as you’re reminded yet again that if things were different, you might be more familiar with these moments with your own kids. You turn around, silently telling yourself to not dwell too much on the moment and to focus on Mayday instead. You begin to walk to your room, telling Miguel over your shoulder that he can follow if he wants, to prepare Mayday for bed. 

Miguel thinks about it for a few seconds before he gets up, noticing the Spider-Ham plushie left behind. He picks it up and makes his way to your room, stopping at the doorway to respect your space. Sure, he could enter. It’s not like he hasn’t been in it before but that time was different, so he stops at the doorway and leans on it. He finds you leaning over your bed as you change Mayday into her pajamas and watches from a distance, unable to ignore the gentleness with which you change Mayday, who’s half asleep already. He scolds himself internally, knowing he shouldn’t but he can’t stop himself from thinking that you’d be an amazing mother. He knows he shouldn’t. For all he knows, you and Peter never had plans to have children or you no longer have plans to, even if one day you find love again, but still. The image of Mayday burying her head in your chest flashes in his mind, making him smile softly because he found it sweet. 

You finish changing Mayday and lift her up to your chest again, before walking over to her sleeping set up that Peter also brought, which makes you grin to yourself. Peter really brought everything here when it would’ve been so much easier for you to stay the night in their universe, but they wanted you to be in the comfort of your own home since it was going to be a whole day and night. You gently lay down Mayday and cover her with a blanket. For a moment, you forget Miguel is watching from the doorway and just look down at Mayday, who seems to be drifting off to sleep now. You smile a bit, thinking that this would’ve been nice; that your Peter would’ve loved this. 

You look up at last, remembering that a set of red eyes linger on you along with the fact that Mayday is missing her plushie, the one Peter B. was adamant Mayday needs to sleep with. Your gaze moves over to Miguel, noticing that he has the plushie so you beckon him over, understanding that he didn’t want to enter your bedroom out of respect. Miguel straightens up and walks over to you, seemingly hesitant but reaches your side almost instantly because of the size of your bedroom and his long strides.

“She needs the plushie,” you whisper and Miguel nods, handing it to you. You carefully tuck the Spider-Ham plushie next to Mayday, which makes her sigh softly in her sleep. You smile and look up at Miguel, who has continued to watch. He smiles softly back at you before the two of you slip out of your bedroom. You leave the door ajar while Miguel heads back to the couch to take a seat. The little leftover food from earlier is still out in the kitchen but neither of you think about it as you join him on the couch.

You reach for a baby monitor that Peter dropped off and check it. You’ve been using it throughout the day during naps, so by now you’re using it with confidence and ease. You find Mayday sleeping peacefully, so you set it back on your coffee table, noticing that Miguel is quiet as if lost in thought. You get comfortable on your couch, suddenly fully aware that you’re sitting on your new couch with Miguel next to you. It’s nothing new, of course. More often than not this is where the two of you find yourselves when it’s your turn to host dinner. The same happens in Miguel’s universe, though you sit separately there. So, no, this setup is not new except, you have the sudden realization that you’re sitting on a couch that Peter never sat on to listen to his music with you by his side reading. It’s a bittersweet thought; to think that all the new furniture and pieces of decoration were never touched or used by him. You sigh softly. It’s a sad thought but you know he would’ve been happy you finally replaced some items. It was needed. 

You turn your attention back to Miguel, noticing he’s still lost in his own thoughts. This isn’t strange or new to you either. You find him doing this very often and you know it’s not because of disrespect or because he finds the moment or your presence boring but rather, it’s the fact that he finds your presence comfortable. The two of you sit like this sometimes, finding comfort in each other’s presence without the need to fill the silence, which makes you happy because that kind of silence is hard to find in just anyone. Some people have the need to fill the silence with small talk but every once in a while, you find a person with whom you don’t feel like that. You find the person whose presence soothes your very soul without the need for words. You sigh softly, thinking about how you had that kind of connection with Peter and how it’s nice that you’ve been lucky to find it with Miguel, too.

The two of you sit like that for a little while until your thoughts find themselves going back to earlier when Miguel showed Mayday his fangs. The fact that you don’t see them much comes back and you wonder once again if Miguel prefers not showing them. You silently think it’s a shame since you find them fascinating and so unique, though you’ve also wondered if they hurt in the past, or at least when he first got them.

A little while later, you turn to face Miguel just as he does the same towards you, which is a recurring thing. It’s like you subconsciously agree and communicate with the other when you are ready to engage in conversation again. Miguel smiles softly, thinking about this. He doesn’t know how but it always happens. He secretly pins it to that special connection between the two of you, the one that scares him, but not nearly as much as it comforts him these days. 

Everything about you brings comfort to Miguel though. Your presence. The fact that you exist is comforting. That part scares him but he can’t help it. Everything about you is comforting to him. Even when the two of you are just sitting on the couch, his dimension or yours, he finds it comforting. The peaceful silence that falls - no -  embraces the two of you is comforting. It’s comforting and safe, and it’s the reason why he allows himself to think about his past then. He knows you’re there, keeping him at bay, keeping him grounded. With you near him, Miguel feels like he can safely explore his past the way he was just now. 

You smile back at Miguel with a thoughtful expression, your mind still on his fangs.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, knowing that look on your face all too well. The more time the two of you have spent, which has definitely increased over the last two months, the more Miguel has learned about you, and truthfully, Miguel loves it even if it also scares him a bit. He’s aware that the more he knows about you, the more he learns about you, that it means he’s letting that connection between the two of you strengthen each day. He knows that each passing second he spends with you or every second his mind finds its way to you, which these days is very often, he knows it means that he’s caved in. He’s allowed it to happen and while it terrifies him that he could lose someone, you, again, he still loves it. He loves knowing when something bothers you or when you’re happy about something. Or how he can tell when you’re tired but you’re lying about it. He loves being able to tell that you find comfort in his presence, just like he does in yours, and that fact alone makes him feel - grateful. To be someone that you find comfort in makes Miguel feel special. He also loves being able to tell when something’s on your mind but holding back from speaking your mind, the way you are now. 

You smile at him and shake your head slightly. “Nothing.” 

“Come on.” 

You look away and stare at the baby monitor. Despite the nearness between you and Miguel, you still refrain from asking. You don’t want to push him nor disrespect his boundaries. Besides, with all the changes you’ve noticed in him, you feel that little by little, Miguel will share more about himself when he’s prepared. So, you avoid sharing your thoughts for now.

“It’s nothing, really.” 

“I’d like to know,” Miguel says softly, resting his arm on the armrest. 

You stay silent for a few seconds, contemplating. 

“You’re thinking,” he says with such certainty, like he can see the gears in your head working. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he adds, softly. 

After a few more seconds of silence and a sigh, you let the words slip out of your mouth. “It’s about… your fangs.” 

Miguel’s eyebrows raise, feeling a bit surprised but also amused that his fangs are what’s causing you to feel so hesitant. “What about them?” 

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” 

“You can tell me,” Miguel says, sounding hopeful that you’d share your thoughts. He wonders if you find them weird or disturbing, or maybe both. Or maybe you’re okay with them. 

“Well, I think they’re really cool,” you say quietly, looking over at him. Miguel raises an eyebrow. “They are. I mean - they’re fangs. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about because I don’t have them but I think they’re really cool and unique - as are your talons. They’re amazing,” you say, sounding genuinely in awe. “And I was wondering if it hurt, you know, when you first got them.” 

Miguel keeps his gaze on you, pleasantly surprised to hear you say you think his fangs and talons are “cool” and “amazing.” He thinks about it for a few seconds before responding. “I was awake during my transformation. It was a short one.” Miguel pauses, looking down at his hand. “My fingers and toes felt slightly sore from the talons but it was bearable. My fangs on the other hand, made my gums extremely sensitive for a week or so.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I can only imagine… the kind of discomfort and pain caused by your fangs,” you say softly, eyebrows furrowing in concern, though Miguel isn’t in any pain these days. 

“It’s alright. Thankfully it was just for a few days. You know - I had a lot of light sensitivity in my eyes afterward. That was the worst, really,” Miguel shares, thinking back to those days when he had to wear glasses to help.

“Your eyes… Because they turned red.”

Miguel nods, meeting your gaze. “I had to figure out how to hide the new eye color and then on top of that, how to avoid the sensitivity. I used to get really bad migraines,” Miguel explains. “So, I had to use glasses until a few years ago. The sensitivity is gone now, thankfully and I don’t have to worry about hiding their real color… At least not anymore,” Miguel says, thinking back to his time in Gabriella’s universe. 

Miguel looks down at his lap again. “It became an issue again when I was in Gabriella’s universe. My counterpart had brown eyes, like I used to,” he says with a tone that you immediately recognize as sadness, as if he misses his natural eye color. “I had to wear a hologram over my eyes while I was there, though sometimes I just wore contact lenses.” 

You nod, feeling a pang of pain as you detect the sadness in his tone about his eye color. You search your brain, trying to remember seeing Miguel with brown eyes in the pictures hidden by Lyla so many months ago. You faintly recall that, yes, his eyes were brown in those pictures but your brain didn’t capture that detail at the time, as you were caught up in the moment when Miguel was so upset about the hidden file.

“I’m so used to the red, sometimes I forget there was a time they weren’t this color,” Miguel says quietly. “That there was a time when they were normal.”

The soft and quiet emphasis on “normal” makes you frown because it sounds like Miguel isn’t happy with his eye color now. You continue to look at him and before you even realize what you’re going to say, you open your mouth. “Brown or red, they are beautiful,” you say in a tone that leaves no room for debate. You find his eyes beautiful, no matter the color, period.

Miguel looks up, lips parting in surprise and cheeks instantly feeling hot due to the compliment. Recruits usually find Miguel’s eyes scary when they first meet him and even when they get used to them, they still find them odd. In fact, both his talons and fangs tend to scare some of the recruits, a reaction Miguel thinks is understandable. 

Even though you complimented Miguel’s eyes with confidence, because truly, you find his eyes beautiful, you can’t help but feel a little worried as you realize your words might be too much for Miguel. However, you quickly realize that it’s too late to take it back so you decide to smile softly, and hope that it eases any discomfort you may have caused Miguel. To your relief, Miguel smiles softly. 

“Thank you…” he says looking down again, with a slight blush to his cheeks. He stares at his lap for a few seconds before looking back at you again. “So - you think the fangs and talons are cool?” Miguel asks with what you can only describe as disbelief, as if it’s impossible to him that anyone could see his features in such a positive way. 

You nod quickly. “Yes, I do. I… I remember when I first learned about them. I was really amazed,” you say as Miguel listens intently. “I thought they were so unique. I still do,” you say softly, meaning it. 

Miguel nods, smiling a bit. He can’t help but feel appreciation for the fact that you don’t find the very features that make him stand out from the rest of you odd or scary. Back in the early days of the Spider Society, Miguel often felt like an outcast among the other members despite being the founder and leader. 

“I haven’t always been fond of them,” Miguel reveals suddenly, as he looks down at his hands. 

You watch as his talons appear suddenly on command, feeling awe. 

Miguel, however, can’t help but look over at your hand, remembering he scratched you back when he was in the infirmary. He can spot some scars that remain from the talons. He looks away, feeling upset with himself again after all this time.

“You never told me if your suit was ripped from my talons.” 

You smile softly, even though you sense a shift in Miguel. “It had some tearing but nothing I couldn’t fix. You can’t even notice it.” 

“I knew it’d have rips on it…” Miguel says quietly. He knew, of course, from experience in his early days after gaining his spider abilities. “I knew it from experience.” 

“It’s alright. Don’t stress about it,” you reply gently. 

Miguel nods but he cannot help but still feel guilty, especially from leaving scars on your body. He eyes your hand again and this time you notice it, realizing what’s going on through his mind and why there’s a sudden shift in his demeanor. 

“Miguel,” you say softly, trying to get him to look at you. He looks up, meeting your gaze again. “Please don’t stress over it. You didn’t mean to and I promise, it hardly hurt. And these little scars, they don’t bother me. I don’t mind them. I have a bigger scar and I don’t mind it at all. Remember the sword incident I mentioned back when we were at the infirmary?” you ask and he nods, remembering. You lift your top slightly, only revealing the scar on the side of your stomach.

Miguel’s eyes travel down to your bare skin, feeling surprised but also moved by the fact that you feel comfortable enough to show him. He respectfully scans your scar, noticing it’s so light but it’s there, on your soft skin. Miguel remembers you telling him how you refused to go to the hospital and now that he’s looking at the scar, he can’t believe you didn’t seek professional help despite knowing your reasoning for it. His eyes meet yours again as he feels a wave of respect for you, yet again, for refusing medical help when you needed it, all to protect Peter’s identity. He also feels admiration towards Peter for tending such a wound on his own. 

You let your top slide down and shrug slightly, smiling. 

“Please don’t feel bad about them. It didn’t hurt me the way you think,” you reassure him. 

Miguel looks away, nodding slowly. He lets your words sink in, letting them reassure him. There is some relief when he thinks about how he could’ve hurt you much worse while being unconscious. Hurting someone with his talons by accident has always worried Miguel, yet it’s a worry he doesn’t have with himself since the talons retract automatically when he brings them close to his skin. 

With all this talk about his fangs, talons, and red eyes, Miguel can’t help but think about how he got them and how he became Spider-Man 2099. He sighs softly, feeling like maybe he could tell you about it now. Maybe he can tell you about rapture and why he took that mysterious neon green liquid months ago with your help. He noticed the curiosity in your eyes back then but like always, you didn’t ask. 

“I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider like most spider members were,” Miguel says quietly, wondering if right now is a good time. “Like you.” 

You nod slowly though Miguel is looking down at his hand on his lap.

Miguel thinks about it for a few seconds. In order for everything to make sense, he needs to go back. All the way to his childhood. He sighs again, wondering if this is a good time but then again, is there ever a good time to talk about things like these? Miguel frowns to himself. The evening has been enjoyable and relaxing, like they always are, and he really doesn’t want to ruin the mood now. But… It doesn’t have to be ruined, right? It can’t be if Miguel doesn’t let the conversation become a sad or depressing one. It’ll only turn sad if he lets it, and he decides he won’t. Or at least, he will try not to. 

“I was born in the O’Hara household. To Conchata, who you know by now, and to… George O’Hara,” Miguel starts, pausing when it comes to the man’s name. “I don’t remember my early life, of course. To be honest… I can only remember my life from the moment Gabriel was born.” Miguel smiles softly at the mention of his little brother. “I was so happy about having a little sibling and even more so when I found out it was going to be a boy. I knew we were going to be inseparable and we were - until - until his passing, of course. He made my life so much better.”

Miguel pauses for a few seconds, wondering whether he really should talk about this. It’s something that no one else knows about. The other person who knew about it was Gabriel but with him gone… Miguel clears his throat. 

“I have some fond memories from my childhood while others are not so happy,” Miguel admits. 

You narrow your eyes softly as those words sink in, preparing yourself mentally to hear Miguel. For some time now, you’ve put together that his childhood was not always nice but to hear him admit it, breaks your heart even more.

“George O’Hara… He provided the basic necessities, so that was something at least but he didn’t like me. Growing up, I always wondered why. I wondered if I had done something. If I reminded him of someone. If I was just - not a welcomed child because of the timing in his and mom’s lives. I wondered so many times…” Miguel says, clutching a fist as he stares at it. “I wondered if maybe - I wasn’t enough.”

Miguel’s words cut through you like a knife. You’ve yearned to comfort him so many times before but nothing compares to this moment. You feel an incredible pain in your chest as you imagine Miguel as a little kid, wondering if he was enough, something no one should ever question, let alone a child. Unknowingly, your hands are in fists right now as you feel both anger and sadness course through you but at the same time, it’s your body holding back from reaching out and comforting him. 

Miguel notices your fists, instantly feeling regret.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel says, looking up at you with an apologetic look on his face. “This is too much.”

“No, no, no. It’s…” you state softly but trail off. Yes, it’s too much but not for the reason he thinks. It’s too much because of the vulnerability and the upsetting memories he’s telling you about. It’s too much because your heart is breaking with each sentence and all you want to do is comfort him. If you could, you would’ve already thrown your arms around him and held him as he recollects these memories but you know you still can’t because despite the changes in your friend, he’s still learning to move forward and physical contact is off the table indefinitely. So, you settle for a sad smile. “I’m here,” you whisper softly. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, too. You don’t have to.” 

Miguel holds your gaze.”The truth is… I want to. I need to, Y/N.” He sighs and looks down. “I need to because I’ve never talked about it before. Gabriel knew because he was there for it but I’ve never actually talked about it with someone. I’ve just - bottled it inside like I’ve done with everything else,” he says so softly, almost a whisper. He looks up again, meeting your gaze. “And I’m trying…”

You nod, smiling softly in understanding. Miguel hasn’t said it out loud but you know. Ever since his incident back in the spring, you’ve noticed the changes, of course. He smiles and chuckles more often with you. He calls Miles “mijo” more often. Then, there’s the Saturday dinners with you of course, along with the many other signs, like him having a more regular sleeping schedule these days. He’s trying. He’s trying to move forward ever since his incident and that means opening up about other parts of his life. You nod again, encouragingly. 

“I’ll be listening, then. If you need anything throughout it or you need to take a break, please let me know and do so, okay?” you say gently. 

Miguel nods, grateful for your understanding. “If you don’t want to hear anymore, you do the same, okay? Please don’t hesitate to tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings, I promise. I know it may - be too much,” he says with a heavy sigh but still waits for you to acknowledge his request, wanting to know that you understand that you can stop him at any time if you feel uncomfortable hearing what he’s sharing. 

You nod. “I will.” 

Miguel nods and sighs again. “I don’t want this to be some - sad thing. I just need to talk about it,” he says quietly. “It used to hold a lot of power over me, especially in my early twenties. I wasn’t the man I’m now,” Miguel says and then chuckles a bit. “I don’t think you would’ve liked me back then, to be honest. I was very arrogant.”

You smile softly when he chuckles, wondering what he means.

“Yeah, you would’ve not liked me,” Miguel says thinking about it more. He was quite arrogant back then and you, well, you seem like you’ve always been this way: sweet and kind. He shakes his head softly and decides to just get it out. “There was physical and verbal abuse from George. For everyone in the household. Mom and him argued a lot. I hated it so much but especially for Gabriel,” Miguel says looking at you. “He used to get so scared when they argued. If the fighting started and I wasn’t in the room, he’d run to find me. He’d burst into my bedroom, his little face marked by fear and all I could do was just - hold him to calm him down, which always made George angry.” Miguel shakes his head softly at this. 

“We were very close; Gabriel and I, and it made George so furious. I used to think that it was because he wished he had that bond with Gabriel. That he wished Gabriel found comfort in him as well but no. It was just his ego and his ideas. He was the kind of man that believed that boys shouldn’t cry,” Miguel says evenly, remembering the many times George berated him as a child for crying. “He used to scold me for doing so when he… When he hurt me. He probably thought Gabrielito was weak for getting scared when he and mom argued, which just makes my blood boil,” Miguel continues with clear anger in his voice despite the time that has passed. He clears his throat softly, trying to let go of this anger but the memories of little Gabriel clinging to him, shaking in fear are still too painful. Gabriel’s voice echoes in his mind then. 

“Is everything going to be okay?” he’d ask Miguel, and of course, Miguel would say yes for his sake. 

Miguel goes quiet for about a minute, trying to calm down. He reminds himself you’re there, nearby, and that it’s okay. He’s okay. 

You sit still by his side, listening respectfully and letting Miguel take his time to navigate through these memories until Miguel sighs softly, nodding to himself. 

“After many years of living like that, mom finally divorced him. He ended up marrying again and he cut contact with us completely. He died pretty young,” Miguel says. “That was the end of George O’Hara in our lives. At least physically. My mom… She had phases. Sometimes she was amazing, the way a parent ought to be to their child and other times - she wasn’t great, with me at least.” 

“... with me at least.”

You sigh silently, remembering Miguel has talked a little about his mom and their relationship. 

“My memories of her are mixed. There were months that were great, like the holidays. Even on those days George was somewhat decent, too. She’d cook and she’d let us help. She’d tell us that we needed to learn to cook,” Miguel says and smiles sadly. “She said she didn’t want her sons to not know how to fend for themselves in the kitchen nor did she want us to think that cooking was a woman’s chore or duty like George did, so she’d teach us during those days when he was still at work to avoid making him mad. Those were good days and then there were the bad days… It was as if she resented me. I thought it was because of George - because I reminded her of her abusive and controlling husband. I couldn’t understand why. I used to think it wasn’t my fault that there was a resemblance to him… She’d barely talk to me sometimes except when it was necessary. She’d get mad at me for anything on those days. I was the older child, so I always noticed the different way she treated Gabriel, something I never resented him for, of course. It just made me wonder… And then it would pass again and she’d be great for a few weeks or months before the cycle repeated.”

Miguel pauses for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. 

“Once I was older and could be independent, I limited my contact with her. Gabriel always tried with her and I don’t blame him, she was our mother after all but I couldn’t just forget about everything. I became a geneticist and started working at Alchemax. It was all great at first but I started to see the reality of everything. Alchemax controlled the city,” Miguel pauses. “There was a lot happening with that, but what changed everything was an experiment. We were trying to imprint genetic codes into a human’s physiology. The goal was to have humans with superhero skills, like Spider-Man. We were in the early stages when an executive demanded human trials to start. It was too soon but it was an executive order. Our subject, he… turned into a creature and died shortly after. The experiment was a failure. After what happened, I didn’t want to keep working at Alchemax, so I made up my mind to quit and scheduled a meeting with a higher up. He was an executive at the company.”

Miguel turns to you, meeting your gaze. “There was a drug called rapture here in Nueva York. It was horrible and highly addictive because it binded to an individual’s DNA, which made it impossible to recover from. Alchemax was the only manufacturer for it, so just keep that in mind. When I went to meet with my boss, he gave me a drink. I thought it was harmless, of course. After telling him that I was leaving the company, he told me the drink was laced with rapture. He suspected from the start that the purpose of our meeting was for me to give him my resignation.” 

You hold his gaze, feeling shocked and in disbelief, though you try to mask it as best as possible. Your thoughts take you back to two months ago when you injected a neon green liquid into Miguel. You silently wonder if it was rapture; if Miguel is still managing an addiction. 

“Tyler Stone’s plan, that was his name, was that I’d stick around to have access to the drug through Alchemax. Since Alchemax was the sole distributor, he was going to make sure I’d have no access to it. The only other way would’ve been through the black market, so he threatened to have me arrested, which would’ve been easy as he had the police in his pocket. I agreed to stay but I had a plan. I didn’t want to be addicted for life, so I decided to get rid of my addiction by overriding my DNA using the same procedure I had used before. I’m sorry if this is boring,” Miguel says with furrowed eyebrows.

You shake your head, letting him know it’s not. “It’s not. I’m listening, I promise.”

Miguel nods slowly. “I had been using my own DNA in the experiment to test. So, my plan was to override the DNA that was basically corrupted by rapture with a copy of my saved DNA from the database. I wasn’t sure if I was going to survive the procedure but… It was either death or I’d be an addict by morning. So, I proceeded. It was sabotaged by a coworker, who changed the DNA. My DNA… it ended up being spliced with a spider’s genes because of him. So now, fifty percent of my DNA is spider DNA,” Miguel says quietly. “Do you remember a few months ago when you helped me inject a green liquid?” he asks. You nod slowly. “Those are suppressants. They stabilize my DNA because of the spider DNA,” he says softly. 

After a few seconds of silence, Miguel looks up again. “That’s how I became Spider-Man. The thing is - It was a while later when I found out that Stone didn’t even lace my drink. He only gave me something that imitated rapture’s effects. He wanted to keep me tied to Alchemax no matter what. It was like a slap to the face when I found out I had gone through all of that trouble for nothing. Then - there was something else I found out only a minute later after I overheard that. My mother confronted Stone about it - about rapture, and that’s how I found out that I had an imitating drug along with the fact that Stone was actually - my biological father.” Miguel pauses, taking a few seconds to breathe. “I heard her admit it. I heard her say that she knew I always believed she disliked me because I reminded her of George, only to tell Stone that I reminded her of him more each day - because he was my father. Stone and my mother had an affair while she was already married. After so many years… it finally made sense, why she treated me the way she did sometimes. It was her guilt about the affair… so, there’s that.”

Miguel pauses and sighs, feeling strangely… lighter. “Becoming Spider-Man changed me, not only physically and genetically but… mentally. It changed my character. I began to try and be what a Spider-Man ought to be. You know I was so - arrogant before. So prideful. Becoming Spider-Man taught me to become better. It made me want to help people, and so I tried my best and became a decent superhero. So much, that one time my mother said I ought to be more like Spider-Man 2099. I got so upset I told her I was Spider-Man 2099. She didn’t believe me. She laughed,” Miguel says remembering that incident. “Things changed later on and we had a better relationship, which I’m glad for. Our last years together were far more peaceful. It felt like a real family at last without secrets and abuse. I still feel some resentment towards her sometimes but I’ve moved on for the most part. Slowly but surely. So… that’s how I became Spider-Man,” Miguel finishes in a calm tone. 

Now done, Miguel leans back on the couch and begins to move his hands but stops when he feels softness. He looks down, finding your sweatshirt on his lap. He left it on the couch earlier  when he first arrived to return it to you so you can wear it for the week, but at some point while talking, he pulled it and has been holding it closely without even noticing. There’s still a light trace of your scent on it but it’s mostly gone and replaced with his own since he keeps it close during the night. He can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed right now in your presence as he remembers how he wakes up every morning. No matter how he holds it before falling asleep, he wakes up every morning with his face buried in it, as if he can’t get enough of your scent. 

He looks up at you at last, finding a soft expression on your face, though he can also tell you’re processing everything he has shared with you. He sighs deeply, staring at you silently for a few more seconds, feeling something. Relief. Freedom. It’s like a major weight has been lifted off his shoulders; one he didn’t know he was carrying around. He sighs again but this time easier and less deeply. He smiles softly at you. 

“I didn’t expect to feel like this but I feel lighter?” he says, sounding more like a question. “I didn’t imagine talking about it would feel this… freeing”

You return his smile and nod slowly, still trying to wrap your mind around everything Miguel has shared, yet you feel happiness for him when he says that he feels lighter. Even though what he has shared with you was hard to listen to, you’re thankful that Miguel felt comfortable enough to tell you about it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you - uncomfortable,” Miguel says. “But please don’t worry about it. I’ve been over it in a way. It’s just something I’ve been carrying around, and now that I’ve said it, I feel like it truly has zero power over me. Thank you for listening,” Miguel whispers, still holding your sweatshirt. He lets his fingers grasp it tighter, letting them sink into the softness of it. 

You sigh softly, feeling that lightness he has mentioned, as if it was your own. Smiling, you nod again. “Always,” you whisper, earning yourself a soft smile from the man next to you. You notice at last that he has your sweatshirt on his lap, remembering that it was draped over the armrest earlier. You were listening so intently to him the entire time that you didn’t notice at what point he pulled it onto his lap. You don’t fail to notice now, however, how his fingers are lost in the fabric as if he’s seeking its softness or maybe its comfort. You can’t help but feel tenderness at the thought. Maybe you did comfort him physically somehow, even if it was just through your sweatshirt. 

Miguel looks down at the sweatshirt, staying quiet for a few seconds before he looks up again. “How about that café de olla and pan dulce?” he asks softly, preparing to stand up but you stand up faster than him with a smile.

“I’ll get it for us, don’t worry,” you say softly, wanting to serve the coffee for the two of you. You want to do as much as you can to comfort him right now after everything he has shared with you. 

You quickly check the baby monitor before you head off though. Mayday has continued to sleep peacefully the entire time but you still want to make sure. Feeling satisfied, so you place it back on your coffee table before walking to the kitchen and retrieving the thermos Miguel brought. You place it on your counter and open your cupboards to get mugs. Over the last two months, you’ve done some more organization in your kitchen and it led to you finding an old mug your parents bought for you when you were a teenager. You retrieve it for yourself, smiling as your eyes trace the beige ceramic mug with a bear’s head on it staring back at you. You’ve been using it again ever since you found it after not using it for years because it used to make you sad, but now that you’ve found it again, it brings you happy memories of when your parents were still alive. You place it on the counter and then reach for another mug for Miguel, though it’s a more serious one.

You quickly but carefully pour the café de olla into the mugs. Once you’re done with that, you get some plates as well and grab the bag with pan dulce. You take it to the coffee table and set up the plates before returning to the kitchen to grab the mugs. At last, you reach Miguel with both mugs, ready to give him his when you hear a noise detected from the baby monitor. The two of you look over at it, surprised but also alarmed by it.

Through the little screen, you can see Mayday moving around a bit and yawning in her sleep before she settles down again with the Spider-Ham plushie still at her side. You turn to Miguel once you see she’s alright and carefully hand him a mug, going as far as holding it for him in a way that your fingers won’t brush since you’re still adamant about respecting his boundaries. Besides, you know that Miguel might feel emotionally exhausted after the conversation, so all you want is to make the aftermath as comfortable as possible for him. 

You stand still to avoid either of you getting burned as he reaches for it from his seat, watching his hand move closer to it. You look down at the mug then. The sudden baby monitor’s alarm distracted you so much you don’t even realize you are offering him the bear mug until the last second. You’re about to tell him but you only manage to open your mouth when you feel his hand brush over your fingers on the mug’s side. Your mouth closes just as his fingers slide into the spaces between yours, immediately noting his body warmth and the way his fingers are far more bigger than yours. 

It takes you by surprise to say the least but before you can fully comprehend it, you feel his pinky finger curl slightly around your own as it hangs below the mug. You keep a neutral expression, still worried about getting Miguel or yourself burnt with hot coffee, though your mind is kind of short circuiting right now. You push past it and tell yourself that it’s just an accidental brush of fingers. His fingers are bigger than yours after all and he needs more room to hold the mug; room that your fingers are taking up for him to grab the mug more comfortably, probably. However, as you’re going on about this in your head and you sense Miguel take a stronger hold of the mug, you feel it. 

His pinky finger, which has been loosely curled so far, wraps around yours a bit more firmly before he gives you a gentle squeeze, as if the two of you were making a pinky promise.  He releases your pinky one or two seconds later, fully taking hold of the mug and moving it towards him. You look at him for a few seconds, noticing the way his eyes are on the mug, as if avoiding your gaze.

You look away quickly, trying not to make it obvious before taking a seat next to him. You hold your own mug in your hands, no longer thinking about how you mixed up the mugs, before you set it down on a coaster. You gently pull the bag with pan dulce and a plate towards you, offering it to Miguel with a smile as you try not to think about what happened just seconds ago, though it’s really hard not to. Miguel accepts it, smiling gently as you carry on and open the plastic bag for him to grab a piece of bread. He avoids your gaze as he reaches into the bag, placing his choice of bread on his plate. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Always,” you answer in an equally quiet tone as you process what happened.

You grab a piece of bread for yourself before placing the bag back on the coffee table, thoughts racing. You thought it was an accident that he brushed his fingers over yours but now… You walk through every step of the moment, breaking it down in your head. Did you imagine it? Maybe you are reading too much into it? No, with the way you placed your fingers Miguel had a decent amount of space to take hold of the mug without touching you and yet, his hand went for the exact spot where your fingers rested before he slid them between yours to grab the mug. You take a small and careful sip from your mug since the coffee is still perfectly hot from the thermos Miguel stored it in. Okay, maybe the brushing of fingers was an accident but the curling of his pinky around yours? The gentle squeeze? That’s where it doesn’t make sense. It was intentional. 

You break a small piece of bread to eat as the realization hits you. Miguel did that intentionally. The more you sit there and eat your piece of pan dulce, the more you are convinced that everything about it was intentional, including his fingers brushing over yours. Yet, you sit in silence next to Miguel and wonder. There have been so many times when you’ve wanted to comfort him and each time you’ve reminded yourself to hold back out of respect. You wonder if he has ever noticed that. Have you been so obvious about it that he knows? You remember he noticed your clenched fists earlier, so maybe he does. Perhaps Miguel knows that there have been so many times you wished you could comfort him physically. And maybe - maybe he needed that little comfort after the memories he recollected today and knowing that you’re open to physical touch, Miguel seeked that comfort in a small way - just for today. 

You can’t help but brush your pinky next to your ring finger now, discreetly, of course. You recall the sensation, almost feeling the warmth that came from his hand but not quite because you can’t recreate that unique warmth that only Miguel has. You can’t, not without him. Then, there was the feeling of his pinky on its own and how the tip of it was enough to wrap around yours almost fully. This simple fact makes you think for a moment. It’s obvious that Miguel is a tall and big man, so it is no surprise that his hands are large but the fact that his pinky’s tip was enough to wrap around yours, makes you really realize the size difference, which you find amusing but also sweet. 

You silently and briefly wonder what your hand would look like next to his but you don’t spend too much time on this because for some reason it feels wrong. Your thoughts return to the moment, to the gesture. To how his fingers felt warm and strong. To how you felt their weight, which was a comforting one, like when something presses over you but instead of hurting or bringing discomfort, you could lay underneath such a weight because it feels pleasant. You take another sip of coffee as the realization hits you. You enjoyed the way his fingers felt and the way his pinky finger wrapped around your own. You enjoyed the way his warmth seeped into your skin and how his fingers slid past yours, settling between them to take hold of the mug. You enjoyed the little squeeze from his pinky finger. You enjoyed every second of it.

You blink, trying to clear your thoughts but even then you find yourself running your thumb over the back of your fingers, as if trying to recreate the sensation on your own when you know very well it’s impossible. You retrieve your thumb, giving up, before you finally break the silence. “I say it every time but this coffee and pan dulce… The best combo,” you say, mentally wincing at the way your voice comes out because it sounds like you’re nervous. 

Thankfully, Miguel’s face reveals nothing if he notices, which he does, and instead, nods with a smile at your comment about the coffee and bread. 

“It really is, isn't it?” he responds, quietly. He takes a sip of his own coffee, wondering why he did what he did. Why did he do that when he saw the way you were holding the mug? You went out of your way to avoid brushing his fingers as a way to respect his boundaries regarding physical touch like always. It’s one of the things that he most appreciates about you, how respectful you are with him and his boundaries when there have been so many that have disregarded them but not you. Never you. 

Even when there was no other option back in the infirmary, you were so concerned about it, going as far as wanting to request gloves from the medical team. So why did he do it? It was a spur of the moment, Miguel guesses. He saw your fingers and he could’ve taken hold of the mug without even grazing your skin. Yet, before he even realized it, his fingers were brushing yours and then there was your pinky and his mind wasn’t thinking properly because it was stuck on how it had felt to graze your skin even if just for a few seconds. His mind was dazed by that mere sensation and before he knew it, his pinky was curled around yours and then he gave it a gentle squeeze. And it all felt right.

The two of you sit side by side drinking your café de olla and eating your pan dulce in silence. You’re trying to process the fact that his touch was intentional, even if it was small. Miguel continues to try and figure out why he did it in the first place and all he can think about is that he needed it without knowing it after having to recollect parts of his life that weren’t too happy.

You smile softly as you eat a piece of your pan dulce, happy about the little moment as you slowly recover from your surprise. Miguel is trying. Step by step, little by little. You look over at him as he lifts the bear mug to his lips, unable to stop yourself from finding it endearing how much smaller the mug looks in his hand. You smile even more but look away before he catches you, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 

“Thank you for dinner again. And for this,” you say at last, lifting your mug up and motioning to the pan dulce. You’re silently relieved that you’ve found your voice again. “I’m sorry for the change of plans since it was so sudden but I appreciate it. Dinner was amazing as always.”

Miguel smiles softly, nodding and feeling relieved that you don’t seem to mind what he did. In fact, you seemed to have moved on from it, even though he’s lowkey still thinking about how small your pinky felt when he wrapped his around it. He clears his throat, nodding again. “Always. I’m glad you enjoyed it, and don’t worry about the change of plans, I didn’t mind it,” he replies. 

You smile at him, nodding before you take another sip of coffee. The two of you fall into a peaceful silence again. It’s at this moment that everything Miguel told you rushes through your mind. You listened to him intently and paid attention to every detail but there are certain parts that stand out more than others, like how he questioned whether he was enough as a child because of his stepfather along with his treatment of the whole family or the way his mother treated him sometimes. For a while now you suspected he didn’t always look back at the past fondly but you never thought about the reasons as you didn’t want to speculate about someone else’s life, even less about Miguel’s. You stare at your coffee table, lost in thought, wishing you could say something; wishing you could tell him what is on your mind but you know this is sensitive and Miguel didn’t share his memories seeking your opinion or thoughts. Besides, you think about the fact that it isn’t your place to do so. Miguel needed to let it out of his chest and he wanted someone, you, to listen, not give him your thoughts about it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about. Please,” Miguel says softly, breaking the silence, knowing you’re thinking but refraining from saying anything.

You clear your throat softly, looking at your mug now. It’s halfway empty and you’re very likely going to get a second one because the coffee doesn’t compare to any other coffee you’ve ever had. You look at the dark liquid, feeling the warmth through the mug on your fingers, reminding you once again of Miguel’s pinky wrapped around yours before he gently squeezed it. You want to shake your head and tell him it’s nothing, but Miguel seems to be able to read you so well these days, that you often feel like an open book when you’re around him. 

“I can’t,” you finally say, softly. “It’s… not my place,” you add, still looking at the coffee because you can feel his gaze on you. 

Miguel’s face softens at your words, guessing it’s about his childhood. “You can tell me. It’s not going to bother me. Or upset me. I promise,” he says. 

Your grip on the mug tightens as you hear his last two words. He promises. It eases some of your worries but you’re still hesitant because you don’t want your words to come out wrong. You don’t want Miguel to think that you’re pitying him or something of the sort because that’s not how you feel. You’re not pitying him. You just want - To do so much but you’re unable to. You’re okay with your words but you’ve always been better at showing your feelings through actions. If Miguel was more open to physical touch, even just a little, you would’ve already had him sitting next to you with a blanket around him or something. You would’ve taken his hand or laid your hand on his shoulder to let him know everything you feel, everything you’re thinking about but can’t say because you also fear your words will be too much for him. 

You must be patient, you remind yourself. One day, you may be able to do it but for now, you will be patient like you’ve always been. You clear your throat and smile softly, looking up at him. You’re about to try to change the subject but the look on his face makes you stop in your tracks. Miguel looks down at you with a soft expression and a smile that, despite how much you see it these days, still catches you by surprise each time, along with a look in his eyes. One that seems to be asking you, maybe even imploring you to reveal every running thought through your mind right now. You find yourself meeting his gaze, wanting to indulge him but there’s still that hesitation, which does not go unnoticed by him. 

“Y/N…” Miguel quietly says with a tone that confirms your suspicions. He really wants to hear what you’re thinking.  

“Miguel…” you reply softly, still holding on to your mug. You shake your head slightly, with a sad smile. You can’t. You must not. 

“Please.”

One word. One single word uttered from his lips. His tone is soft, gentle; the way it’s always with you as you’ve come to notice. Miguel holds your gaze. Your hesitation to tell him makes him worried. Is it that bad that you don’t want to tell him? Even when he’s asking you to share your thoughts?

“It’s that bad… I’m sorry if I ruined the mood,” he apologizes. 

“No, no, no… Miguel,” you murmur tenderly, feeling upset with yourself instantly. Your hesitation is now making him reconsider his decision to share something so personal and that’s the last thing you ever want to do. You already know how much it takes for him to be this open about his past and here you are, making him apologize because he thinks you can’t handle what he has shared with you. “Miguel, that's not it. I promise. I just-” you stop, lifting your hand towards him but stopping midway. No, you can’t do that but your body wishes to. You move your hand back, trying to play it off as something else despite how obvious it is what you wish to do. “Miguel, what I was thinking - I’m no one to say it,” you reply softly, looking down at your mug, holding it with both hands again. It’s better if you do that, you think. It’ll prevent you from wanting to reach out to him again.

Miguel stares at you and scoffs softly. You’re no one? He wonders if you really believe that and if so, how can you? How can you say that you’re no one when you’re his friend? When you’re his only close friend. When you make him smile and laugh. When you make him want to talk about trivial things when in the past he didn’t want to nor could he imagine wanting to do so with any spider member and found it annoying when they tried. Now, he wants to tell you about the most random, insignificant little things that happen in his life, like how this morning when he went to get pan dulce a kid asked if he could help him get a piñata down and how it was Spider-Man 2099 themed or how the carniceros call him “el primo,” now that he shows up more to buy groceries. Or, when he wants to hear random bits of your day like how Hobie and Pav got into a debate yesterday about the best tea. How can you believe that you’re no one?  When he wants to tell you his whole life because he feels comfortable with you. When you sit at his kitchen island and eat the food he cooks with such delicacy to please you because for some reason, he feels a great satisfaction seeing that happy, delighted look on your face when you try his food and enjoy it. When he comes to your apartment for dinner, which means he has visited your universe more than he has ever visited any other spider member’s dimension.

How can you believe such a thing when he has spent more time with you than any other member in the Spider Society? How can you believe that you’re no one when you sensed his troubles, universes away. When you found him, saved his life and maybe in more than one way? When you looked after him while he was recovering with such tenderness that Miguel hadn’t felt in years nor did he feel he was worthy of. When you give him your sweatshirts, rich in your comforting scent, and each morning like a broken record, he finds his face buried in the fabric, as if he can’t get close enough to your scent. He doesn’t know why and no matter how he positions himself before drifting off to sleep, he finds himself like that each morning without failure. You dare say that when your breathing lulls him to sleep each night like a sweet melody. When he could recognize your scent and the sound of your breathing in a crowd. When he buys pan dulce or the Mexican candy he knows you love because he has learned what you love best. How can you say that you’re no one when you mean so much to him?

“Don’t say that,” Miguel says with a frown, feeling upset that you’re undermining your impact on him. That you’re undermining your significance to him. “You… are more than someone to me,” he says, full of sincerity, leaving no room for discussion. “You can tell me. Please,” he continues.

The grip on your mug tightens as you hear Miguel’s words. You look up at him, eyes softening because you know admitting that alone is hard for him, yet here he is, telling you regardless and sounding upset at you for telling him you’re no one. 

He holds your gaze, letting his words sink in and hoping that his eyes give away everything else he cannot say, at least not yet. You’re more than someone to him. You’re his close friend. You matter to him, and you have for a long time. He cares about you. It all scares him - to know that he has someone to lose yet again - but there’s no way out. There’s no undoing what you’ve done to and for him. 

There simply isn’t. He has thought about it over the last two months, especially since you’ve spent so much more time together. He thought of the time before you were recruited, which is easy to remember, for it used to feel like one long, endless day. Now, after everything, he cannot go back. He can’t and doesn’t want to. If he was given the chance today to go back to that day when you first volunteered to organize his lab after Jess commented on the chaos that his lab surfaces were, he would still accept your help despite knowing that he’d be here now, afraid that he’ll experience loss and grief again but at the same time, feeling happy for the first time in a while. 

The fact that he would stick to his original choice is a sign of progress to Miguel. He can’t help but think that his past self, the Miguel from that day, would’ve declined the help immediately if he knew what would unfold over the following months. That Miguel would’ve pushed you away even more if he knew that over the next few months, you’d somehow sneak past the walls he built so high around himself. 

His past self would’ve been angry at himself for letting go. He would’ve been mad for sitting here in your living room and drinking café de olla on a Saturday like he used to with Gabriel. He would’ve been angry for sharing his ofrenda with you, or for telling you about his family. He would’ve been angry about spending time with you over the holidays. He would’ve been angry about sharing something so personal as his childhood and the not so good memories but not the Miguel of today. He cares about you because you’re his friend, and he wants to hear what’s on your mind. 

You nod slowly, seeing different emotions and thoughts on Miguel’s face; his eyes revealing things to you that his lips cannot yet disclose. You take a deep breath and at last reveal your thoughts.

“I just - I need you to know that I don’t say this with pity nor do I think you need to hear it from me, or anyone but…” you trail off continuing a few seconds later but in a whisper. “What you said about wondering if you were enough when you were little. About your mom and how she treated you, about your stepfather… I just want to tell you that you…” 

You look down at your mug, wondering why the words are so hard to say; why your heart is racing and why your hands are suddenly stuck to the mug thanks to your spidey abilities, something that is only possible when you wish for it these days, though in your early days as Spider-Woman it happened too often when you were nervous. You ignore it and look up again at Miguel, finding a small moment of opportunity.

“I wish everything was different. I wish - you deserve so much more,” you softly but quickly whisper at last, wanting to get the words out before they get trapped in your throat again but with a gentle tone that will reassure Miguel that you’re not judging him nor his life, nor are you pitying him, but rather express that you genuinely believe he deserves better than the cards life has dealt him. “You deserve so much more and you are worthy. You’re more than enough. You always have been. You always will be. Arrogant or not. With brown or red eyes. With talons and fangs, or none of it. Superhero or not. You’re a person and you’re more than enough. I know you probably don’t need to hear it these days from me or anyone else but - that’s what I wanted to say,” you finish and look down at your mug to escape his gaze, hoping that he doesn’t find your words to be too much; hoping that you didn’t overstep a boundary. You grip your mug, waiting for him to say something, anything. 

Miguel watches as you turn away, sensing your uncertainty on revealing your thoughts. He initially believed that your thoughts were harmless, just like they’ve proven to be, but then your hesitation made him worried.  Now, he understands why you were unsure of sharing them. For him and his boundaries. You’ve always been so careful and attentive to the way that certain things can be a little too much for him at times after being distant with everyone for so long. Like always, you were thinking about not making him uncomfortable. Like always, you are so considerate, so respectful.  

Miguel feels an itch to move closer to you, to comfort you the way you were trying to comfort him earlier because yes, he noticed it. He’s noticed almost every time you’ve reached out and stopped midway, remembering and respecting that line regarding physical touch. Yet, he wishes he could put his hand on your shoulder right now to get your attention. He wishes he could let his hand’s warmth be an indicator that he’s not upset but that he’s… touched. He’s touched by the fact that you think he’s enough because quite frankly, no one has ever said that to him. He tells himself it’s not something he needs but hearing it - it does something to him in that moment. 

There’s a feeling in his chest. It’s heavy and it makes his heart race. It’s so strong he even feels a little breathless as your words settle in his heart. For so many years, he has believed that he didn’t need to hear those words. Not anymore. Not since he was a child. Yet, hearing you utter those simple words - it makes him wonder if a part of him has needed them all along. Miguel feels accepted, especially after you mentioned that he was worthy with or without the very features that have always made him feel like an outcast. It’s those same features that have led to doubts about himself - about his physical appearance. He doesn’t know if it was that obvious, or maybe you were just able to pick up on his insecurities, but he knows you’re not just saying those words to say them. The fact that you mean them - it makes Miguel feel accepted and appreciated, and like a part of him has healed even. He gulps softly, feeling a knot beginning to form in his throat. He grips his own mug, suddenly feeling the clay texture. He looks at it, noticing the bear’s face on the mug for the first time. He smiles at it before turning his gaze back to you, his dear friend.

“Thank you, Y/N…” Miguel says, once he feels that knot in his throat loosen up. 

You look up, slowly. Miguel’s tone is somehow softer than before and when you meet his gaze, you can’t help but notice that his eyes look misty. He nods, smiling softly at you. The sight makes your heart race with heartache, for you can see that your words have struck something in Miguel, making you realize that maybe, he did need your words after all. A sense of relief also rushes through you at seeing that Miguel took your words well, so you smile back.

“Always, Miguel,” you whisper softly, holding his gaze before you look away to give him a moment. “I know that must not have been easy… Thank you for trusting me,” you add, knowing that it must take a lot of courage to talk about something like this. 

For a minute or two, you give Miguel some space and think about what he said earlier, about him trying. He has even brought up the words you said to him a while ago, about how talking helps with moving forward, which you find endearing because that means he has taken your words to heart. Filled with gratitude to Miguel for sharing something so personal and optimistic for his healing journey, you look at his coffee mug, remembering the bear mug. You smile softly before you break the silence at last, noticing that Miguel is already looking at you. 

“More coffee?” Miguel nods, ready to get up but you stand up before he does again. “I’ll get it for you!” you say, placing your own mug on a coaster before you retrieve the thermos from where you last left it, wishing nothing more than to comfort Miguel even in this small way. Once back on the couch and the thermos in your hand, you motion for his mug. He holds it out steady and away from both of you and your couch, to avoid any injuries or spills on it. You serve him coffee before you refill yours and settle back on the couch next to him. 

The two of you continue to drink and eat your coffee and pan dulce in yet another moment of silence, as you can sense that Miguel seems to need a moment to gather his thoughts. 

Internally, Miguel feels content as he drinks from the bear mug and finishes eating his piece of pan dulce. The knot in his throat has dissipated, and so has the mistiness in his eyes. Yet, he can’t stop thinking about your words. They keep echoing in his head because they mean that much to him. Then, there’s the fact that he’s shared something so personal and triggering for him from the past with you, but he did it. He shared it and he truly feels like a weight has fallen off his shoulders. It’s as if that part of his life no longer holds power over him because it’s out of his chest. Those memories are no longer bottled inside his heart, for him to silently carry alone. 

Those memories are out. It’s done. Miguel’s healing journey is moving along, perhaps slowly but today - today is a win for Miguel and he’s happy that he has you to share it with. He’s filled, yet again, with an immense gratitude to and for you, his dear friend. His mind goes back to whether he would change his decision from months ago and he thinks to himself that no, he wouldn’t change his decision on that fateful day you volunteered to organize the lab. 

Letting his thoughts settle down, Miguel looks at the clock on the wall realizing it’s much later in the evening, and wonders, how is it possible that the hours slip by when he’s with you? He doesn’t understand it. His gaze moves to the baby monitor placed on your coffee table. Just like Peter B. and MJ assured you, Mayday has been asleep without trouble while everything has been going on. He can’t help but think that neither of you should be drinking coffee this late but like always, neither of you really care about potentially messing up with your sleep schedules, though if Miguel is honest, his sleep is unaffected by the rich, dark liquid. As soon as he’s in bed, Miguel falls asleep as long as the recording of your breathing is playing and your sweatshirt is near his face, so he’s not worried about his sleep too much but rather yours. He wonders if he should head home now. You’ve been babysitting Mayday all day and perhaps you’re tired but… Miguel doesn’t want to leave yet. 

He doesn’t want to return to his own universe, to his own home. Not yet. He finds comfort in your presence and the new welcoming place that you’ve created for yourself two months ago. He looks around, taking notice of the changes once again even though he has become acquainted with your apartment. He’s sitting on your new couch and there’s the new rug you also bought. There are new pictures since you last rearranged your wall with photographs two months ago. He’s in some of the photographs, which still feels like a dream every time he sees himself there. It seems so surreal to Miguel sometimes; that you’ve found him worthy of being there along with all your friends, parents, and Peter. And that you’ve allowed him to be a part of your life, that you’ve welcomed him into your home not only physically but also in this way, through photographs. 

Then, there’s the bookcase with your books and some decorations, like little things that you’ve been given throughout the years as Spider-Woman for memory keeping. He can’t help but grin to himself as he remembers what a pain it was to put it together but secretly, he loved every moment of it, even if his cursing might have suggested otherwise, because he was able to spend the entire day here. He helped you build your bookcase but also with other things like rolling out your rug, and placing your furniture in different locations even though he knows you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He remembers your chuckling when he picked up furniture with one hand like it was nothing, asking you where you wanted it placed. He also recalls feeling grateful that you allowed him to be a part of that process; a process that he needs to start at his own home. Miguel silently hopes that one of these days he’ll have the courage to do it and when he does, that you’ll like to be there for it, too. 

You drink more of your coffee, thinking about the time. You wonder if Miguel is tired after everything, or at least emotionally wise. You hope that if he is, that he will make the decision to go so he can sleep and rest properly but otherwise - you hope he stays around for a little while, even if it’s just an hour more, or even thirty minutes. 

You look over at the record player, remembering the music stopped playing a while ago. Your gaze turns to Miguel, noticing his eyes on your bookcase. You glance at it, noticing the gifts you’ve received over the years as Spider-Woman. Some of the other items, like drawings and letters,  are safely stored away. You stand up slowly, checking the baby monitor to ensure that everything is okay with Mayday. Noticing that she’s still peacefully sleeping, you walk over to your bookcase and pick up one of the items gifted to you. You stare at the knitted figure of you in your suit for a few seconds before walking closer to show it to him. Miguel looks at it, smiling softly before you offer it to him. He seems hesitant at first, as if afraid that he’ll ruin it, but seeing that you don’t retrieve your hand, he takes it. 

“This has to be one of my favorite things gifted to me. It was from an elderly woman who used to have a yarn shop a few blocks from here. She started being targeted by petty thieves, thinking she was an easy target because of her age, so I started being more vigilant around her block. She was always very nice and even baked pies for me on several occasions,” you share, smiling softly as you remember her. “They called her Mrs. Y because of the yarn,” you say with a little chuckle. “She made it for me before she passed away a few weeks later. Her store is still open, run by her family but it’s not the same without her.” 

Miguel nods, holding your knitted plushie and staring down at it. “She sounded like a lovely lady,” he says. 

You nod, turning around to see what else you can show him. You don’t know why you decided to do this but if it’ll keep him here for a little while longer and it helps to lighten up the mood after his conversation, you’ll do it. You look around at your collection while Miguel continues to look down at the knitted plushie. He notices your back to him and allows himself a moment to trace the soft yarn with his index finger, though he’s still afraid he’ll ruin it by accident with his talons somehow. Still, he glides his finger around the plushies’s head before softly gliding it down, tracing the jaw area. He removes his finger and simply holds it as he notices you begin to turn with yet something else.

“This one - it was made by a thirteen year old. She’s eighteen now. Kind of crazy how much time has passed by. She’s starting college in the fall,” you say turning around and showing him a clay figure, painted and everything. 

“You kept up with her?” Miguel asks, with raised eyebrows. 

You nod and shrug. “I tend to remember the faces of people who give me gifts. I saw her a few weeks ago and caught up with her.” 

Miguel nods, accepting the clay figure to look at it, feeling a new level of respect for you for keeping in touch with people who support you as Spider-Woman. 

“The details… This was by a thirteen year old?” he asks in awe as he examines it, noting the small details of the clay figure from the lines of your suit to the shapes. You nod, smiling. “Incredible,” he says, smiling softly. 

“I know, right? She’s so talented. And so sweet,” you say, turning around to look for more stuff. “Oh, this one has movement. It was done by an action figure creator that makes video skits of superheroes - fictional ones, of course, but she made this one and gave it to me a few years ago. Look,” you say as you come closer to him. You lean on the armrest and lower yourself to show Miguel. You press a button and watch with Miguel as your action figure’s arms move in a swinging position. “She makes skits of me sometimes, too, adding me into the mix with the fictional superheroes. She has about a million followers on her main platform.”

Miguel continues to smile as you show him a few other things, feeling relieved that he can stick around for a little while longer before he should probably head out so you can rest properly. You spend about fifteen or so minutes showing him other things and telling him about the people who gave them to you, which further amazes Miguel. He watches you with a tender look on his face as you excitedly tell him about those people, not noticing the way he’s gazing at you. Placing the last thing you showed him back on the bookshelf, you frown a little as you realize it’s the last thing and Miguel will probably leave soon. You subtly look at the time, realizing it’s so much later now and he will most definitely want to leave now.  

“Are you sleepy?” Miguel asks, pulling your gaze to him. 

“No, not at all... Are you?” you ask, holding his gaze. 

“No.” 

You smile slowly, happy on the inside that he’s not sleepy yet, which means he might stay for a bit longer. You nod to yourself after a few seconds, still standing next to your bookshelf. 

“Didn’t even realize the music stopped,” you say at last, even though you did at some point. You walk to the record player again, remembering how Mayday pulled one of the vinyl records earlier. You smile as your eyes scan the titles before you tell Miguel about it. 

“I was able to catch it just in time before it hit her or it got damaged. I can only imagine the fun Peter and MJ are going to have in one more year, or even a few more months, when she’s fully walking,” you say, eliciting a low chuckle from Miguel who nods. 

“Oh, I can imagine alright. She already has Peter running around HQ,” he replies, thinking of the many times Lyla has shown him live footage of it. 

You laugh softly, knowing exactly what he’s talking about as you’ve witnessed it in person before, and have even helped him, along with your friends, catch her sometimes. At last, you pull a vinyl record. You hold it for a few seconds. You usually don’t play her music unless it’s Peter’s birthday or if you’re really in the mood to listen to her because otherwise you get emotional but for some reason, you find yourself wanting to play it now. You put it on, deciding that you can put something else if you find it to be too much even after four years. 

Billie Holiday’s voice fills your living room once again. It’s strange at first to hear her familiar voice, even though Holiday used to fill your ears regularly thanks to Peter. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say quietly, walking back to the couch. 

“I don’t,” Miguel replies, staring at the record player as you settle nearby. 

You pick up your mug and drink more coffee as the familiar notes fill the air. You wait for it. For the knot to form in your throat, the tears to swell in your eyes, and your chest to tighten with grief, pain, and longing but none of those things come. For once in four years, you can hear her voice again without crying even when “Solitude” comes on, a song that you related to so much those first years after Peter’s death. 

You drink your coffee and listen to the lyrics, remembering nights in which you’d sit on one of your kitchen island chairs, the one that became your unassigned assigned chair. You’d turn to the other one, knowing its unassigned assigned person would never sit on it again. You wondered, how was that possible when he had been sitting there just hours, days, weeks, months ago eating next to you while you talked about anything and everything. How was it possible that he no longer sat there? He was there and then he wasn’t.  There was no one or anything but solitude as your mind taunted you with memories, filling your already despaired heart with even more torment. 

Smiling softly, you sip more of your coffee and think about your own progress. You glance at a photo of Peter, knowing that wherever he is, he must be happy you’re playing his vinyl records and that you’re listening to one of his favorite artists again without breaking down. You sigh and look over at Miguel, noticing that he seems to be paying close attention to the lyrics. He turns to look at you, his gaze is soft and sympathetic as his mind is filled with an image of you sitting here in your apartment alone. The image alone breaks his heart in pieces, even when you give him a reassuring smile. 

“I used to be unable to listen to her and a few other artists. She was one of his favorites,” you start. “Every time I played it - when I told myself I could do it, that I’d finally be able to - I wasn’t able to and I’d just end up - you know. Crying,” you say, looking down with a weak chuckle. “I only listen to this music when it’s his birthday but for some reason, I felt like listening to it now and I’m okay,” you say, looking up at Miguel again. You smile more brightly this time. “Progress.” 

“Progress,” he repeats, softly. Miguel returns the smile with a soft gaze yet his mind is still occupied by the same image of you alone in this apartment. He heartily wishes, more than ever, that he found your universe sooner because if he had, you wouldn’t have been alone for so many years. Miguel felt lonely so many times when there were people around him. He often wondered what was worse - being completely alone or surrounded by people and still feeling lonely. Yet, as he thinks of you all alone for three years, he decides that the latter is the least worst of the two. His mind is overrun by so many thoughts and images, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wishes he could change the past for he realizes you had no one to talk to about your loss and grief, even if you had wanted to because as Miguel has learned, you distanced yourself from your friends.  

He wonders… Did you only talk when you were out on patrols? How much time went by before your apartment walls heard your voice or laugh again? How many times did these walls witness your tears and grief? It all breaks Miguel’s heart.

“I wish… I wish I would’ve found your universe sooner,” Miguel quietly reveals. 

You smile, touched by his revelation. After a few seconds of thinking, you reply. “You found me at the right time.”

Miguel nods slowly at your words but asks himself, did he? Was it meant to happen until then? Would you’ve still joined the Spider Society if your universe had been discovered a few months before? He recalls that you declined Jess’s recruitment a few times even then and you only joined when she brought up your Peter. He mentally sends his gratitude to Peter for Miguel doesn’t want to even imagine the possibility of you not joining. So, he silently agrees with you that it was the right time if the outcome was you joining. 

You finish your coffee and reach for the thermos to refill your mug, which brings Miguel back to the present. He grins at you. 

“You’re not going to sleep at all tonight,” he mutters, amused. 

You grin as you refill your mug. “I’m okay with that. I’m not sleepy anyway. I’m going to stay up and listen to music here,” you say, motioning to your living room. 

At that, Miguel’s mind wanders. Would you mind if he stayed, just a little longer?

“You’re more than welcome to stick around. Besides, I just remembered I bought some new snacks to try when I went grocery shopping earlier this week. I think right now is the perfect time to do taste tests,” you say, still grinning. 

Miguel grins back, feeling a wave of happiness rush through him now that he’s staying a little longer. “What did you buy?”

With much more lighthearted music, Miguel and you sit on the couch to try the new snacks, little by little. You talk about anything and everything, like what made you buy a specific snack and how when Miguel helped the little kid get the piñata down, the kid told him that he looked like he could be Spider-Man 2099, so Miguel only grinned at them.

You check up on Mayday often, though she sleeps peacefully. 

You both realize it’s morning when you notice the sun streaming through your living room’s windows, announcing the beginning of a new day. Somehow the hours went by in your cozy apartment without your knowledge. Staring at the sunlight, the two of you grin softly as you both realize that you’ve spent the entire night in each other’s company. 

As he takes a drink of water, Miguel realizes that this is his first all-nighter in two months. He’s overcome by this fact alone, for two months ago not having an all-nighter seemed impossible to Miguel but here he is. His first all-nighter in two months, and the first one with someone by his side at that. 

You turn towards the baby monitor on your coffee table. You’ve kept it in the same place the entire night to monitor Mayday and at last, it notifies you that there’s movement and noise. You pick it up to check the notification, briefly checking the time on the clock. It’s past 7:30, which reminds you about the schedule. 

“Right, MJ and Peter said she wakes up around 7:30,” you say, seeing Mayday begin to move around. You grin and show Miguel the screen just as Mayday stretches her short arms, yawning. 

You subtly look at him, noticing the small grin and tender look on his face as he watches Mayday through the screen before looking away, thinking once again about Miguel as a father. You hum softly and put the baby monitor away, suddenly wondering if he was okay with being around Mayday so much yesterday but then remember that he didn’t seem to mind as he did come over knowing she was going to be here. 

“I’m going to go and check up on her. She has her breakfast in about thirty minutes. Peter should be dropping by 9 or so to pick her up,” you say, running through the end of the schedule as you stand up, stretching slightly. 

Miguel nods, shifting in his seat to stretch himself. 

“If you want to come with me you can,” you say, gesturing to your bedroom. 

“Thank you. I - I will. If you don’t mind, I'd like to wash my hands first. I think my hands still smell like the last snack we had,” he says with a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle and nod. “Of course, go ahead. I’ll be in the bedroom!” you say before you head over to your room where you find a sleepy Mayday already sitting, Spider-Ham plushie in hand. You quietly greet her with a smile to avoid startling her but once she sees you, Mayday seems to brighten up. You laugh softly as you reach her. 

“Someone seems happy to see me. Slept good, baby?” you ask her, unable to stop yourself from babying her at the sight of her sweet smile and messy hair. You approach her, expecting Mayday to get herself out of her sleeping setup but no, she waits for you to pick her up, so you do that just as you remember what Peter B. said. 

“She likes cuddles in the morning. Oh - and sometimes she likes to do a spidey dance.”

“A spidey dance?” you asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

Peter nodded before giving you an apologetic look. “Oh man, I hope she doesn’t do it. It’s not a problem since it’s always us who wake her up - this is the first morning we’ll spend away from her,” Peter said with a little pout. “But, MJ showed her this video of someone dancing, or moving like a spider because you know,” he said, pointing at himself. “And she’s been obsessed with it ever since. If we don’t do it, she gets teary eyed with us but hopefully she won’t do it tomorrow with you.”

“And what do these poses look like exactly?” you asked with your eyebrow still raised.

Peter sighed deeply. “You don’t have to do it. Maybe distract her with something else, but just in case, it looks like this” he said, before he showed you said spidey dance. 

You hold Mayday as she cuddles up to your chest, hoping it’s just cuddles for this morning and no spidey dance but you hope too soon because Mayday starts waving her arms around similarly to the way Peter did yesterday when he showed you the dance. 

“Oh…” you say, realizing. You look towards the door, noticing Miguel hasn’t come in yet. “Look - Spider-Ham plushie. Here he is,” you say, showing him to her, trying to distract her. It works for about thirty seconds before she starts waving her arms again. “You’re really gonna make me do the spidey dance, aren’t you?” you ask quietly. “First, you beat me with Spider-Ham plushie, which I’m telling him about. Then, you do the kissy thing with the action figures, and now you’re gonna make me do this in front of Miguel?” you add quietly, amused and yet feeling embarrassed. “You got something against me?” 

With a sigh you sit down and set her down in front of you. You watch in surprise as she starts doing it herself, causing you to giggle. 

“Okay, well it’s cute when you’re doing it. I'll say that,” you say, still giggling. 

Mayday grins at you, happy to show you her little spidey dance but it doesn’t last long. She stops and begins to wave her arms at you, as if telling you to go on because it’s your turn. You look over at the door, no sign of Miguel yet. In fact, you can hear the water running from the kitchen. You turn to Mayday, finding a pout and a sad expression. 

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it but this stays between us,” you quietly say before you copy her dance from earlier, which is supposed to be some dance that imitates the way a spider moves. You run through it quickly, moving your arms around like she did earlier. “Okay, there we go. Spidey dance for the morning, done.” You sit on the floor again as Mayday giggles excitedly, and wonder if she has something against you this weekend when you see it, or rather him. 

Your eyes land on Miguel’s legs before they travel up his body, until you meet his gaze. For the third time in twenty four hours, you feel heat flood your cheeks. You notice the amusement in his face before he turns to the side, trying to hide a chuckle as a cough, though he gives up and just chuckles quietly. You sigh deeply, embarrassed and yet amused. Miguel’s chuckle slowly fades as he leans on your bedroom’s doorway once again, arms crossed over his chest with a grin.

“So, that’s the spidey dance,” he says, tone laced with amusement. 

“That’s the spidey dance.”

“Peter has talked about it.”

“It’s a good thing he’s only talked about it and not shown you,” you reply, finally giving him a smile. “It looks cute when kids do it. Not so much with adults,” you say with a little grimace, knowing Miguel watched you do it. 

“I think - you did it justice,” he says, raising his eyebrow slightly, which makes the heat in your face intensify. 

“Thanks,” you mutter quietly, wishing your Earth would open up right now and swallow you whole. 

“I doubt Peter looked half as graceful as you did,” Miguel offers. 

You shake your head softly but smile, not knowing what else to say to that so instead, you swiftly scoop up Mayday in your arms, taking her by surprise, which makes her laugh. 

“Time for breakfast,” you tell her and then look at Miguel, thinking for a few seconds and pushing past your embarrassment. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Still leaning on the doorway, Miguel grins softly for a second before he frowns, remembering. “That sounds great, but are you not tired?” he asks, his tone laced with concern. 

You grin and shake your head. “I’m good. Are you tired?”

Miguel holds your gaze. “I’m not.”

You nod, smiling. “Then… Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

He watches you for a few seconds, assessing your face to see if you’re telling the truth. He knows you’ve been up since yesterday morning, probably have been awake close to, if not the exact twenty-four hours by now. The last thing Miguel wants is to keep you up any longer. Looking at your face, however, all he sees is your bright smile and happy demeanor, surprisingly finding no trace of sleepiness or exhaustion. He nods at last and that grin comes back to his face as he continues to lean on your bedroom’s doorway, taking up the entirety of the space. 

“I’d love to,” he replies quietly. 

“Great! To the kitchen then,” you say with a smile. “Off we go, Mayday - Oh, right,” you stop and turn around to grab Spider-Ham. “Can’t forget him, can we?” 

Miguel steps out of the bedroom to let you through, smiling to himself as he hears you talk to Mayday before you lead the way to your kitchen. You place Mayday in her high chair and hand Spider-Ham to her, just as Miguel stands next to her. 

“May I help you with something?” he asks, looking around at the clean kitchen since the two of you put away the leftovers at some point during the night to avoid the food going bad. 

You move around your kitchen with ease, preparing Mayday’s breakfast. “I got it under control, thank you though. You go ahead and take a seat or - if you want, you can play some music.” 

Miguel’s eyebrow raises slightly as he watches you prepare Mayday’s breakfast while simultaneously setting up your coffee maker. He looks back at the record player. 

“Okay - I can do that,” he replies quietly before walking across your living room. He stares at the record player for a few seconds. It’s not that he doesn't know how to use it, he’s just not sure if he should touch it since he knows it was Peter’s. What if he accidentally breaks it? With a soft sigh, he tries to ease his nervousness about it and gazes at the collection of vinyls. He reads the titles, trying to see if he recognizes anything besides Billie Holiday. At last, he pulls out a record that catches his attention. He turns to the record player again before he places the record on the turntable and sets it to play, mindful of his every move. He steps back as the music starts playing and adjusts the volume before he heads back to the kitchen island. His eyes find you sitting next to Mayday now, offering her a spoonful of food that she happily accepts. He glances at the stove, noticing a few pans that you’ve set out to start heating. 

“Coffee should be ready soon,” you tell him as you gently wipe the corner of Mayday’s mouth, listening to the music Miguel chose. You hum softly in appreciation. It’s the perfect music to start the day with. “Nice choice of music.”

“Thank you,” Miguel says with a small grin, glad you like his selection. He takes a seat next to you, watching quietly as you feed Mayday, feeling at peace. He briefly remembers this is around the time he heads to HQ on the weekends but he tells himself that he’ll go later. 

You hear the coffee maker finish so you set Mayday’s food down after giving her another spoonful to prepare the coffee. 

“Are you sure I can’t help you with something?” Miguel asks, looking at Mayday and then at you as you retrieve two mugs. 

“I’m sure,” you say as you serve the coffee. “But thank you for offering. Here’s some coffee. Not as good as café de olla but something to start the day with,” you say with a smile as you place the mug in front of him on the counter before you check the stove. 

“Thank you.” 

“Always,” you reply, seeing that the pans are not ready yet, so you return to feeding Mayday. 

Miguel notices this, of course. “I can help if you want. With the cooking,” he softly clarifies because he’s not sure he can feed Mayday without thinking of Gabriella. He wasn’t there for Gabriella’s early years but there were times he’d still mouth feed her. Even though he has slowly found those memories to be less painful to think about, there’s still heartache from them.

You nod softly, understanding what’s happening. “Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done feeding her, see?” you show him the container. “Plus, my stove is on the older side, so it takes a little longer. I won’t be running around doing both things, so don’t worry,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as you turn to face Mayday. You say nothing else but find it sweet that he’s offering to cook just so you’re not cooking and feeding Mayday at the same time. 

As promised, you finish feeding Mayday and get started on breakfast. You move through your kitchen, listening to Mayday babble to Miguel, who quietly responds back, and the music he selected. The scent of breakfast surrounds you and there’s a lovely glow around your apartment from the sun’s rays. As you check the food on a pan, you think about what a wonderful Sunday morning this is. Smiling, you shake your head softly and continue to cook, brushing off your thoughts. 

At last, breakfast is ready. Miguel and you sit at the kitchen island to eat with Mayday, who keeps showing off her Spider-Ham plushie like she didn’t hit you with it yesterday and allowed you to hear Miguel’s lovely chuckle. All throughout the meal, Miguel and you talk, and simply enjoy the moment with Mayday.

Shortly after Miguel and you finish breakfast, a portal opens up in your living room, causing Mayday to giggle in her high chair. The two of you turn around just as Peter B. steps out. 

“Goo-” he starts but pauses for a second when he notices Miguel, surprised to find him in your apartment. Even though Peter B. knows about the Saturday dinners, the sight of the Spider Society’s leader in your apartment is still shocking. He clears his throat and smiles warmly, somewhat recovering from his initial shock. “Good morning, guys…! Sorry for interrupting your breakfast.”

“It’s alright. We just finished,” you say, standing up. “How was the event?  Did you guys have fun?” 

Peter nods and begins to tell you and Miguel about the event and how much fun it was to catch up with old high school friends. Miguel watches from his seat as Peter thanks you profusely and even gives you a little gift both him and MJ bought to show their appreciation. After helping Peter take everything back to his universe, and MJ and him thanking you again, you and Miguel say bye to the Parkers and head back to your universe. Neither of you notice the discreet glance between the adult Parkers as Miguel and you head out. 

You step out of the portal first with Miguel behind, and head to your kitchen area but he lingers by the portal, looking at the time again. It’s close to 10am now and he’s sure you must be sleepy, so at last, Miguel decides it’s time to go home. He offers to help you clean up and even though you politely decline at first, you end up letting him help you with some things, sensing that he’s about to leave. You finish wiping the last counter just as he puts away the last mug before you turn to face each other in your small kitchen. 

The time has come. 

You smile at him. “Thank you for bringing dinner here again. I know I already said it but - seriously, thank you. I loved it, as I loved the café de olla and pan dulce. And thank you for… Trusting me,” you quietly say. 

Miguel nods, smiling softly. “Thank you for listening to me. I truly appreciate it,” he replies in an equally quiet tone, even though it’s just the two of you in your apartment. 

“Always,” you respond. “I’m here for you.”

Miguel continues to smile and gives you another little nod. He looks off to the side for a few seconds, the words at the tip of his tongue. He’s said them out loud before, just not to your face, back on Dia de los Muertos, when you first uttered them to him. He wanted to say them back that night but he couldn’t. He had to settle for the next best thing, so he said them after you were gone but now… His eyes meet yours. “I’m… here for you, too,” he says, softly, at last.

Your smile grows and Miguel can see a little twinkle in your eyes at his words, though you try to keep your reaction as normal as possible because you know these words are not the easiest for Miguel to express. So, you smile and nod, clearing your throat softly despite the happiness you’re feeling right now.

“I almost forgot - let me get you the sweatshirt.” 

You withdraw to your bedroom, returning in seconds with this week’s sweatshirt. You offer it to him and like always, Miguel accepts it with a grateful yet sheepish look on his face. 

Miguel thanks you as he takes a quick glance at the sweatshirt, already being able to smell your scent on it. He has figured out that the best days are the first four days when your scent is the strongest on it. On the rest of the days before you exchange, he has to bundle up the sweatshirt to get a decent amount of your scent from it. 

He returns his gaze to you, knowing that he must go now. 

“Thank you, for - everything,” he says with a soft grin. 

“Always,” you reply. 

“You should rest,” he says with a little frown, though still smiling as he opens up a portal. “I’ll see you tomorrow at HQ.”

“I’ll see you there, as always. And - to be honest, I’m still not tired.”

Miguel’s eyebrow raises as he walks backwards towards the portal, holding eye contact. 

“But I’ll rest, don’t worry,” you add, noticing the concern in his eyes. 

He nods, satisfied with your words and stopping right at the portal. “Good. You’ll need rest after babysitting for a whole day and…” Miguel pauses, looking to the side for a second before looking back, as if thinking. “.. after the little dance party the two of you had yesterday, plus the spidey dance from this morning. And, there’s also Spider-Ham’s hit to your head. You should really rest,” he says with a serious face, though his eyes and tone reveal amusement. 

“I see,” you say, looking to the side in amusement yet surprise because Miguel seems to be poking fun at you, allowing you to see a side of him you haven’t seen before. You follow along and smile. “I’ll definitely rest. Don’t want my exhaustion and head injury to interfere with my duties.” 

“I would hate for that to happen,” Miguel replies, stepping into the portal, unable to stop himself from giving you a small grin now. “You’re an irreplaceable member of the Spider Society,” he says, meaning it. 

You grin back, sensing the sincerity in his tone now. “I shall rest properly tonight then. I don’t want to disappoint my colleagues.”

Miguel nods, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow, Miguel,” you reply with a bright smile. 

With that, Miguel gives you another nod and turns around. He walks into the portal, sweatshirt in hand. You watch his back until he disappears, and even then, you continue to stare at the portal until it, too, disappears. You look towards your windows and sigh softly, smiling.

“Irreplaceable,” you whisper. ______________________________

Next Part - Thanksgiving One-Shot

Translations: Agua de Jamaica - hibiscus tea Café de olla - coffee made in a pot Pan Dulce - Mexican pastries; sweet bread Mijo - term of endearment for a male friend or relative; translates to "my son" Conchas - literally translates to seashell; a kind of pan dulce Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead Ofrenda - an altar for Day of the Dead Piñata - you know this Carniceros - meat butchers "El Primo" - "the cousin;" it's just a nickname from the carniceros, they're not actually related to Miguel; Latin people give each other nicknames, sometimes they make no sense lol; don't mind me just imagining Miguel giving reader a nickname in the future AHH

Long A/N: If you read this far, thank you!! I swear I didn't think it was going to be this lengthy! I want to say that the upcoming parts will be shorter but I'm not sure. Either way, if you have read this far in the story, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope you guys have enjoyed it! I also want to say sorry for taking so long to update! I got caught up with the holidays and other things like work and family. To be honest, I don't know if I'll have another update before the new year. I will try my very best but I also don't want to post a rushed and unedited part. So, if this turns out to be the last update of the year for "Nonviolent Communication," I'll go ahead and wish you all happy and warm holidays!! ❤️ I'm going to make a few dedications and mentions now. First, I'm going to dedicate this part for all the readers whose birthdays are this month! In one of my posts (you can also spot the bear mug I included in this part here. Did I buy this mug just because I imagined Miguel holding it as soon as I spotted it? Yes, I did), I discovered that some readers have birthdays this month like me, so happy early birthdays to you guys and everyone else whose birthday is on this month! @moonygirlsworld @giulscomix @lauraolar14

This part had inspo from some lovely readers, so I wanted to give them a shoutout as well! @sunsetdoodler has created BEAUTIFUL art for the fic and inspired me so much throughout the story! The detail about reader's version of Peter buying too much merch and their friends thinking Peter has a crush on Spider-Woman was inspired by this fanart! We both have a soft spot for reader's Peter 🥹 The spidey dance idea came from @giulscomix who thought of reader doing it and Miguel seeing her. I really enjoyed writing reader all embarrassed after doing it, haha! So, thank you!

As mentioned before, there's so much fanart for "Nonviolent Communication" - which, I'm so incredibly THANKFUL FOR!! It's one of the best things that has ever happened to me and makes me so happy that I decided to write online again after so many years of not doing so. Thank you so much to the wonderful artists! Please know it means the world to me!!! You can find all fanart in my masterlist. Please go and take a look at everything as these talented artists have brought to life so many scenes from the fic, and show them some love!! ❤️ Very briefly, I don't want to make this even longer than it already is but I want to talk about the script for ATSV. I've seen some fans that work in the industry say that there are several versions of a movie script sometimes and that the version we saw might be an early edition, which makes total sense that there would be multiple, but that doesn't take away my sadness, anger, and disappointment for how Miguel is described in this particular version. I had already started working on this part before the script was released, so Miguel's talk about his features/appearance and him feeling like an outcast, was already in the works. I had a feeling that this was the idea the team was going with based on the way he was talked about by other characters and the way he was animated to move, so I wasn't entirely surprised but I'm still very sad about it. However, I'm very happy by the fact that so many of us see Miguel for who he really is!!! He's a soft giant that has gone through so much already based on what we've seen and he deserves better. I wish it had just been part of the fic and that there wasn't actual evidence from the script that supported my suspicions, but at least I got to tell Miguel that he's worthy, no matter what through this fic. ❤️🥺

In other unimportant but funny news, my Spotify Wrapped revealed that I listened to the song "Nonviolent Communication" 639 times since June 13th (the day I went to watch the movie) and I've probably heard it about 40 more times since the Spotify Wrapped dropped lol. So... there's that! I don't know what that says about me but anyway, that's it! I'm going to try and write short one-shots for the rest of the month and obviously work on this fic. I have a Christmas one-shot in mind and I'm also planning another fic, which has been stuck on my mind for some time and it's making me so sad 😭 Hoping I can launch it sometime in January but we'll see. That's all for real now! Thank you so much for reading "Nonviolent Communication" and for sticking around! All your support towards this fic means so much to me! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and again, happy holidays just in case!!! -Alondra

Taglist: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93

[sky-kiss]

R/A & A: Dance

A/N: This is such a stupid bit of nothing. Inspired by Maelle mentioning how familiar she finds Sirene's dance. Anyway. Pointless fluff.

Dessendre Family: Dance

There are memories he clings to during his tenure in the Abyss. 

Renoir imagines the majority of Paris’ nobility and the Painter’s Council would puzzle over his choices. There are no galas, no public speeches, no personal achievements whatsoever. He thinks of the early days of his marriage, pure discovery—both of his wife and painting. He dreams of the nights Clea snuck out from her room to join him in the library, curling in his lap until sleep finally claimed her. There are trips to the Riviera. There are so many little moments, each a loving thread in their family tapestry.

Renoir lacks Aline’s preternatural talent and obsession with detail—he cannot paint the scene, only dream it. He closes his eyes, letting his consciousness drift on waves of chroma. There’d been…some event, the particulars escape him now, that demanded their presence. 

As they’re preparing to leave, Alicia stops them at the door, hands on her hips. She is the most delicate of their children by far, willowy, hair spilling over her shoulders like flames. “Maman, you promised.” 

Aline’s brow furrows. The Dessendre matriarch crouches down enough to meet their little one’s gaze—a not insignificant feat in formal attire. Renoir holds her upper arm to keep her from tumbling forward. “Oh? And how have I wronged you this time, ma petit lapin?”

She has not yet reached the age where her frustration has any staying power. Alicia reaches out, touching her mother’s hair and then the lion’s head broach pinned to her dress. Softly, quietly, as if she’s only just realized she’s called attention to herself, Alicia murmurs, “Dance. You were going to teach me—and I wouldn’t care only…”

Aline tuts, shifting precariously onto the balls of her feet to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Hush. I did promise. You were right to speak up, lapin.” Their youngest stands up taller, color flaring in her cheeks. “A compromise: if you are still awake when we return, we will have your lesson. Yes?” 

“Yes, maman.” 

“Go torment your sister, mm?” 

And with far more exuberance, “Yes, maman!”

Renoir helps her back to her feet, smoothing a wrinkle out of the fabric over her hip, before offering his arm once more. “You must realize what you’ve done.” 

She scoffs, waving him off. “Renoir, the nanny will have them in bed well before our return.”

That she still doubts the tenacity of their children is a wonder, but he is not above exploiting this shortcoming.  “Care to make it a wager, cherie?” 

Aline eyes him with a touch more caution before taking his hand in acceptance, pride winning out over her better sense. 

He’s forgotten the party itself—it’s a blur of gray until they return to the manor. They’ve only just made it through the front doors, Aline leaning into his support as she bends to remove her shoes, when Alicia ambushes them. 

The abject shock on Aline’s face leaves him laughing. Encouraged by this response, their daughter toters over, making a lazy gesture that so clearly conveys, ‘Carry me, father, I deserve it.’ Renoir gathers the little creature up, not missing the way Alicia smirks down at her mother.

“Still awake at this hour, ma petit?” He says. “How good of you to keep your mother honest.” Aline’s expression swings from surprised to affronted. 

“Clea promised to wake me when you returned,” Alicia says, beaming. “And she did.” 

There’s a dangerous undercurrent to his wife’s voice that makes him worry for their eldest.  “How good of your sister, lapin.” Aline sighs, holding her arms out. Alicia goes willingly, winding her arms around her mother’s neck. It breaks his heart a little to note that she is nearly too big for Aline to carry. One day, all too soon, she will be grown.  “Come along then—a promise is a promise.” 

It’s much too late for this—certainly too late for Alicia to be about. But the three of them settle in one of the sitting rooms, warmed by a roaring fire. Renoir fetches a bottle of wine and pours two glasses, quietly observing the ladies. Alicia listens with a level of concentration most would find disconcerting, cataloging each of her mother’s movements. The wine softens some of Aline’s harder edges—she corrects more gently, standing behind the girl to lead her through the dance’s initial steps. He associates the evening with every wonderful thing: peace, love, safety.

This memory bleeds into another: Alicia, taller now, still fascinated as her mother leads her through a simple waltz. Verso, yelping in pain and surprise as Clea treads squarely on his toes after his suggestion that they practice. The mischief on his son’s face as he ignores every survival instinct, sweeping his sister up around the waist anyway, and her answering cry of indignation. 

They are pretty memories, uniformly warm. Renoir gathers them around himself like treasures. For sixty-seven years, they serve as glittering lights in the Abyssal darkness. 

[bia-wayne-west]

Boyfriend — Hwang Hyunjin X Reader

Summary: You are one of JYP Entertainment's makeup artists and are in a secret relationship with Hwang Hyunjin.

Warnings: Fluffy, a little smut, hot, secret dating.

A/N: This is my first k-pop imagine, I hope it's good. Remembering that I'm Brazilian and I don't speak fluent English, so please forgive any writing errors you find.

Request are open

MASTERLIST

I ran towards JYP's door, knowing I was late. My alarm clock didn't go off, and I had to take a taxi to avoid being too late.

I wished good morning to the security guard, who let me through with a smile on his face. He was really nice, and even offered to help me carry my heavy backpacks when I needed to take makeup and brushes to the car.

She had been working for JYP for three years, being the makeup artist for a single group during that time. I was assigned to Stray Kids from the first day, and I was very well received by everyone.

The boys are always very kind, and include you in conversations, they don't treat you like a robot but like another human being. I also go on tour with them, so everyone's makeup looks perfect for any occasion.

It was during one of the trips that what no one expected happened. During one night of the show, it was very cold and I hadn't brought any coat. Furthermore, I really missed my family who lived in another country. When I least expected it, Hyunjin appeared, offering me his sweater.

He sat next to me, on the floor, and started talking to me. We had already had interactions together, but this was the first time I was alone with him.

After the show, I received a turkey breast sandwich from one of the staff, with his cell phone number. We started talking a lot.

It didn't take long for Hyunjin invited me on a date, and I thought a lot before accepting. That was four months ago, and we've been dating ever since.

It's extremely confusing to date an idol, especially when you work for their company. We cannot be together in public, nor show feelings around the staff.

If anyone found out, I would be fired, and if our relationship became public, Hyunjin could be kicked out of Stray Kids.

“How are you, Y/N?” Felix said, sitting in the high chair in the makeup room. He had clips in his hair, while Hani, my professional colleague, applied foundation to his face. “Did you wake up very late?”

“My alarm clock’s fault.” I said, throwing my bag on one of the dressers. I sanitized my hand with some alcohol gel and read my schedule for the day.

I should do makeup on Changbin and Lee MinHo, and then I should only be available in case one of them needs to touch up their foundation or powder.

“Good morning, Changbin.” I said, pulling out the chair for the man to sit down. He laughed, sitting down and starting to scroll through his smartphone. “What is today's event?” I asked.

“Let's take photos for our new album, and then we can leave.” He explained.

“So, I will apply more natural makeup on you , okay?” I said, and he nodded, agreeing. I did the makeup, and after that, I met with MinHo, who talked the whole time.

After that, I sat at one of the tables in the break room, waiting for someone to need me. I bought a coffee from one of the vending machines, so my tiredness would disappear.

“Unnie?” Hani called me, with her hands crossed behind her back and a grimace on her face. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Yes.” I said, throwing the disposable cup in the trash. “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you help one of the boys in my place?” She asked. “I have to leave early today, and EunHee told me that I could only go if I finished my work.”

“Who's the last boy you have to put makeup on?”

“Hyunjin.” She said.

“Of course, I can do his makeup for you.” I said, with a small smile on my face, almost imperceptible.

“Thank you, Y/N, you are an angel.” She thanked, bowing and leaving celebrating. “I'll take you to barbecue tomorrow, as thanks.” Hani shouted at me, making me laugh.

I went to the makeup room, seeing that most of the group members were no longer present. Hyunjin was already sitting in the chair, and Felix was waiting for the hairdresser to finish fixing his hair.

“Hi.” I whispered to my boyfriend, seeing him smile when he saw me.

“Hello, jagiya.” He said, also in a low tone. “I almost celebrated when Hani told me she would ask you to do my makeup instead of her.”

The brunette threw his head back, with a wide smile. He had his hair tied up and his face clean.

“Oppa, how do you want your makeup?” I wanted to know. It was bold to be so intimate with him, but Felix knew about our relationship, as did the rest of Stray Kids, and they kept it quiet.

“Do what you think is best, beautiful.” He murmured close to me, emphasizing the final sentence. “I trust you."

“You shouldn't trust me." I commented, taking a little of the foundation of his tone and depositing it on the acrylic plate. I chose one of the sponges, starting to apply the product to his soft skin. “I could do ridiculous makeup on you.”

“It would still be good, because you made it.” He argued, making me laugh.

“Oppa, you are so cheesy.” I spoke, a little louder than I should have , attracting Felix's attention, who looked at us, laughing.

He looked at his friend, seeing that Felix was making fun of us. Hyunjin rolled his eyes, looking back at me.

“When we finish the photos, we will have the day free.” He said. “I want you to go to my apartment.” Hyunjin suggested.

“I have to finish organizing the product counter.” I explained. “ can't go today.” I whispered, looking for concealer in the drawers.

“You do this every day, and the other makeup artists take advantage of it.” He said. “No one will die if you don't wash your brushes or store your foundations. Other makeup artists never do this, they leave all the work to you. This is not just your obligation.”

“Oppa, But what if my boss gives me a warning?”

“Stop worrying, Y/N. The other staff have to clean up their own mess, instead of waiting for you to clean it up.” Hyunjin raised his eyes, looking at the ceiling as I applied concealer to his dark circles, which were barely visible. “Let's go to my apartment, I have a surprise for you.”

“It's okay, Hyunjin.”I whispered, bringing my face closer to his. “I'll come to your apartment as soon as I can leave.”

He smiled broadly.

“You won't regret it, jagiya.”

I finished the makeup, applying small layers of lip tint to his lips. I forced myself not to give him a kiss, seeing him smile at me, almost guessing my thoughts.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He thanked me, getting up from the chair and looking at me. He walked past me and sat on the couch next to Felix, starting an animated conversation with his friend.

[...]

After saying goodbye to my colleagues, I requested a taxi through the app, entering the address of the building where Hyunjin lived. It wasn't too far from the company, but it would take a long time if I walked.

I didn't have time to touch up my makeup, so I took advantage of my time in the elevator to reapply my lipstick and blush.

His apartment was on the fifteenth floor, and had an electronic door lock. Even though we had only been dating for a few months, Hyunjin told me what the password was. After entering the code, I opened the door.

The light in the living room was on, and when I entered the room, I heard the sound of water coming from the master bedroom, indicating that he was taking a shower.

“My love?” I called him, closing the door and walking to the suite bathroom. “I already arrived.”

“Honey?” He asked, and as soon as I confirmed, I heard the sound of the shower turning off. After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing my boyfriend, with wet hair and underwear.

He had a white towel in his hands, and started to dry his hair, while I sat on his bed, watching him walk around the room. Hwang went to the closet, coming back with sweatpants and a white t”shirt.

“Come closer.” He pulled me by the hand, making me stand up. I was inches away from his body.

Hyunjin closed the distance between us, pressing his soft lips against mine. My hands went towards his neck. He was a little taller than me, meaning I had to stand on tiptoe to reach him.

His mouth was wet and sweet, with the minty breath of someone who had just taken a shower. My boyfriend's left hand reached my hip, while his right went towards my face, caressing me.

I started running my fingers through his soft hair, the soft, wonderful smell of the shampoo. Hyunjin's perfume had a woody tone, with the soft scent of roses and a slightly discreet refreshment. It looked like paradise.

Reluctantly, he turned away from me, with a wide smile that made his eyes close.

“I have something for you.” He announced, pulling me into the living room. Hyunjin told me to sit down, while he went to his small painting studio, returning with a painting in hand. “I did something, and I think it might please you.” The idol smiled, shyly, handing me the painting.

It was packaged, with grass green wrapping paper and a small bow. He waited anxiously, watching me open the package.

As soon as I took out the paper, I let out a surprised sigh.

It was me.

He had painted me. Made my portrait.

It was a prettier version of me, much more beautiful than I saw myself in the mirror. Hyunjin painted me with a smile on my face, and without lipstick or eye shadow. It was so beautiful I almost couldn't stop looking at it.

“Happy four month anniversary together.” He said, making a shy face, seeming to fear that I wouldn't like the gift.

“Hyunjin...” I tried to say, but I couldn't stop admiring the beautiful way my boyfriend saw me. “ It's so beautiful...” I said, in a whisper.

“Did you like it?” He wanted to know.

“I loved.” I confessed, smiling. I placed the painting carefully on the couch, and stood up, facing my boyfriend. “But I didn't buy you anything, sorry...”

I bit my lip, feeling ashamed that I had forgotten that today was our anniversary.

“I don't need any gifts, Y/N.” He said. “You are my greatest and best gift.”

I laughed, throwing my head back.

“I’? really sorry, love.” I said, running her hand over his face.

Hyunjin held my hand, leading me to the kitchen.

“Stop it, I told you I don’t need anything.” The rapper said. I sat in the chair, watching him take dishes from the fridge. I offered help, but he refused. “The surprise is not over yet.”

“Do you have one more surprise for me?” I asked when I smelled the tasty aroma coming from the dishes.

“I cooked for you.” He announced, taking the lid off the container and showing me the food he had prepared. “Tteokbokki!” He said, proudly.

“You did that?” I asked, surprised.

He smiled, grabbing clean dishes from the cupboard. Hwang also placed two glasses and glasses on the table.

“I wanted to do something special for you, darling.” He said. “I always go to your house and eat the food you make, so I wanted to give back.”

I smiled at him, helping myself to a portion of the meal. My boyfriend also bought bottles of Soju and some wine. Because he was the oldest, he insisted on serving me the drink.

“Thanks.” II thanked him. “Everything is perfect, Hyunjin.”

I ate the first spoonful, tasting the food. He also tasted it, making a small face, usual when he liked something.

“It's so good.” I spoke.

The rapper and I finished eating, and even though I offered to wash the dishes, he forbid me from going near the sink. The brunette invited me to see a horror movie.

I sat down on the soft sofa, right next to him. Hyunjin began the horror film, adjusting himself on the upholstery. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the idol's hand slide over my shoulder, caressing me.

We hugged for most of the movie, until he put his hand on my thigh. It was an innocent gesture, but the hair on my body stood up, and I bit my lip, deciding to stop the movie.

I pulled the rapper by the neck, making him turn towards me. I kissed him very cheerfully. He returned the gesture, taking his hand off my thigh and placing it on my face.

In a bold move, I lay down on the couch, pulling him on top of me. Hyunjin wasn't heavy, but he still stayed on his knees so he didn't put all his weight on me.

The kiss continued, and the man let his mouth roam my face, distributing kisses until he reached my neck. I wore a black tank top, which left him free to leave me with several hickeys.

I took my hand to the hem of his shirt, letting it penetrate the fabric, feeling his slim abdomen. I felt him get goosebumps from my touch, and I gave a cheeky smile when I saw that Hyunjin kissed my breasts.

Suddenly, he stopped, sitting on the sofa and taking off his t”shirt, leaving just his pants on. I smiled when I saw the red marks I had left on his skin, probably my neck was equally marked.

“We're going to miss the end of the movie.” He said, laughing.

“We can see it again tomorrow.” I spoke. “However, we would lose the ending the same way.”

The brunette came back on top of me, taking his hands to the hem of my blouse, asking permission with his eyes. I nodded, biting my lip and stretching my arms to help him with the task of getting me naked.

Hyunjin unbuttoned my dark wash jeans, and pulled them off, throwing them on the living room floor. The man looked at me, seeing that I was wearing a burgundy lingerie set.

“You are beautiful.” He said.

I smiled.

“You too, Hyun.” I said, pulling him again so that he was on top of me.

The idol's mouth went straight towards my breasts, which were still covered by the bra. I let out a low moan, caressing the back of his neck.

Hyunjin continued moving down with his lips, placing kisses down my abdomen, and stopping at my panties. He sent me a smile. To my surprise, he came towards my lips again, kissing me.

I reciprocated, letting the rapper's tongue enter my mouth.

My nails made small welts on the man's pale back, who sighed at the sensation.

“I love you.” He confessed, between the kiss.

“I love you.” I said, feeling his hand go down my body, stopping at my panties. The feeling was wonderful, and he looked at me, as if asking if he could continue with the touches. If I think, I kissed him again, authorizing Hyunjin to do whatever he wanted with my body.

[theblueboxscholar]

People who think the Classic Doctor era Doctors don't fuck, have eyes clouded.

Like. I'm sorry. ONE had 13 children. Then collected son and granddaughter figures like crazy. Fell in love and got accidently engaged and was VERY OBVIOUSLY upset about having to leave her (Cameca), keeping the token of her affection.

TWO quite LITERALLY met Jamie, Polly said "can we keep him", Jamie said "ive got no better options. It's you or the south Americas." And TWO spent the better part of a season earning Jamie's loyalty. Jamie literally repeatedly fights off time lord mind wipes so he's more often than not plucked from time to do missions with Two whose also often out of time for Time Lord nonsense. Jamie is basically all TWO needed.

THREE (whooooo boy you guys are blind) literally was so smitten with Liz, but she was too smart to tolerate his nonsense, and he was SO grumpy about it. And then there's Ms. Josephine Grant. THEY LITERALLY MIRROR HIS MEETING HER WITH HER MEETING HER FUTURE HUSBAND. THEY ARE MIRROR IMAGES. JO LOVED THE DOCTOR AND HE LOVED HER! HE LITERALLY WENT AND STOLE THAT DAMN CRYSTAL, FOR HER! But too late, so it was a wedding present and he literally drove sadly off into the sunset.

Enter Sarah Jane who he also very quickly began "My dear"ing (something he does if you're special. Note two and three say this to the Brigadier as well 👀). They have such a short time together, but the amount of times he gently touches her face. They WHOLE fast cut away from Three nearly kissing her at one point (i believe it was Sarah not Jo, but that cut edit makes me so livid. Jon was going for the LIPS), and the way Sarah looks at Three. SHE WHOLE BREAKS DOWN when he's dying. And all he can do is touch her face and say "a tear for me Sarah?" He's so gentle and kind. She was so enamored with him. Very early Clara Twelve of her tbh.

FOUR and Sarah Jane are literally soul mates (my own preferences aside, I cannot deny them). Four is so into her. The way they act together is so Nine Rose, the way they behave. But then he runs away because damn those Time Lords again.

Enter Leela. Honestly. She's the first Classic Who lady (Vicki, Victoria, Polly, and Zoe don't count, they're too young) who's not romantically interested in the Doctor. And while he definitely loves her, it's more akin to platonic best friend soulmatism; Leela joins Barbara as a "Best Friend" of The Doctor. Aka both become Donna Nobles before Donna Noble. "I shall miss you too savage." Is a line that tears my heart out every time. He is so sad to leave her, but at least he knows where she is. (And whole rescues her from the time war during the day of the doctor event. What a man.)

Romana I. Now this one is tough. They're very obviously flirty, but there's a sort of school ground resistance about the attraction. She makes Four feel old because she thinks it's funny and he has to up his game to impress her cause she's not a backwaters human with no knowledge. (I'll be honest. She's my least favorite of the two so while I enjoy her and she's in great serials, I retain basically nothing. Will hopefully change with the next watch through.)

Romana II. She whole changes her face and body and shows it off like she's showing him new clothes. But she's also teasing him. They whole both fall into "well we have a son now... that's..fuckin great i guess" when they meet Adric. They both are such begrudgingly parental figures but they do it and they care about him so much. Romana's departure is lame. I said what I said. But it's fine. She eventually goes to do dubious lebianisms with Leela and her girlfriend and husband it's fine. Shhh.

Tegan. (This one might get me crucified ngl) Tegan and Five. I know. I hear you. But Tegan is bisexual. And she definitely had a developing thing for Five. The way they act together is so "we could probably be epic together, or at least satisfactory... if you'd just stop being an asshole for TWO SECONDS--!" They're the screaming cat kinda couple. That never manged to couple. Because there were kids (Adric, Nyssa.) And so much bullshit happening constantly. But also don't forget Five and his fling(s) with Harry Houdini. Harry definitely thought Five was pretty.

Five and Turlough. Did you even watch Five and Turlough? Are your eyes THAT clouded? That's a Doctor and his twink. And Turlough is a different brand of twink than Jamie, and he's not much of an attack dog. But Five quite literally knowingly and willingly rehabilitate and gives him more than a 2nd chance. He tends to Turlough. But also, like Sarah Jane, Turlough was 100% a writer getting back at BBC. "Oh you thought Jo Grant wasn't weak and feminine enough? You want us to make someone the opposite of her who will be a weak damsel? FUCK YOU! CURSES YOUR HOUSE WITH SARAH JANE SMITH! AN EVEN BIGGER BAD ASS THAN JO! HAH!", "you're homophonic? Fuck you, writes a literal faggy ass twink with long legs to fawn around with The Doctor, fuck you!" And best of all, it is canon that Turlough would have stayed forever if he wasn't trying to make The Doctor proud and tend his responsibilities. (You're a good boy T.)

PERI BROWN did not breast boobily throughout the Doctor Who backdrops (nearly catching her (the actress') death btw) for y'all to say The Doctor wasn't into her. FIVE was so into her. Sure it's a rebound so he tries to play it off, but Turlough sees it. Sees the "God i miss Tegan" vibes Five gives off. Peri Brown forcefully and loudly insinuated herself into the Doctods hearts. And good thung too, cause she is the ONLY companion who can handle the SIXTH Doctors nonsense. Only an American could tolerate his ass and still actually truly wholly love him. I'm sorry. Six whole would have murdered a man and changed so much history that earth would have been unrecognizable ALL because he thought Peri was dead. Like. Six would burn up a sun to bring Peri back to life. His only concern is "is Peri alive?!?" And relieved enough to see her alive and content (it's dumb) when the time lords lied and said he'd lead her to her death.

Mel. Oh sweet Mel. She joins the Pre-Donna Noble's gang (Barbara, Leela). But unlike the rest she is PLATONIC SOULMATE BEST FRIEND TO ALLLLLL THE DOCTOR, REGARDLESS THE FACE~ (bless her.)

Seven MAKES the CHOICE to be celebate Meaning, The Doctor's before him, FUCKED. SEVEN IS NOT ASEXUAL OR AROMATIC (you keep your headcanons going tho never stop ever ever ever youre doing amazing sweeties) and shows on a few occasions the desire to be close, but knows he's not worth it. (He's kinda right, but i still would REDACTED his REDACTED till the cats come home.)

Eight. ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHhHaha....

HahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANANAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

You think Eight doesn't fuck. Get the hell outta here man. Fuck haha. That's hilarious.

"The world doesn't end just because The Doctor dances." Did... did you miss that Dancing is a metaphor for sex? Oh... sweet innocent bean. Baby. Baby. Rose Tyler was talking about fucking. Jack Harkness was talking about fucking. The Doctor was embarrassed bevause he's rusty/he HIMSELF that version, had yet to fuck. And then they all three did. A lot. There was so much weird fucking and flirting between The Doctor Dances and Boom Town. It's not even subtle.

Ten. Rose is RIGHT there. You're an idiot. ♡ ilu tho.

Martha wishes, but she dodged a bullet.

Donna Noble is best friend shaped, they literally show no sexual chemistry. They are platonic best friend soulmates. They love each other, would die for each other, but fuck each other? No. Not even a little. Having to kiss even under duress might mean avtual death because neither of them could pull it off convincingly.

Eleven fucks way more than Nine OR Ten but it's so far and in-between he always feels kinda awkward about it. But also he's FAKING the hip with the youngins stuff. All of Eleven is an act. He admits it A LOT. And he showcases a few times he CAN turn on the sauve I know what I'm doing thing. Usually at the wrong times but still. He and River fuck. So much.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND ESTEEMED MEMBERS OF THE NONCOMFORMING--CLAAARA OSWALD~

Clara and Eleven start off as awkwardly flirty, a sort of unintentional cat and mouse. I mean the whole "this isn't a ghost story, it's a love story" scene wasn't exactly subtle. Yes he's referencing Ten and Rose unintentionally most likely, but narratively it's telling us the audience that it's talking about 11 Clara. It's also the first on screen moment we see the light bulb go off for Clara. She KNOWS now that he likes her for sure for sure.

Oh Twelve Clara we're really in it now huh? Like Sarah Jane Smith before her, Clara Oswald wants to WRECK that old man. She has a whole tirade to madam Vastra about how she's always been into old dudes so The Doctor is TOTALLY still her type MORE so in fact now! (Look. She was unprepared for a traumatic regeneration event. She comes around, grow up. AS if Rose Tyler wasn't there sobbing like a baby about it.) And then she spends the rest of her run doing nastier shit than fucking with Twelve until it literally kills her. She fucks so much with The Doctor, matches his fucking freak in ways companions of the past (Jo Grant you are excluded from this) just haven't! She manages to make The Master (Missy) jealous! HA! YOU THOUGHT THE MASTER WAS JEALOUS BEFORE???? NOOOOoooOoooo hahahahahha. Not since Delgado!Master has The Master sort of had a situationship with the Companion. Clara matched Twelves freak so much it literally killed her, and then it didn't.

Bill is a lesbian and that's her grandad.

Again. River Song is right there, and Twelve spent 24 years fucking her. And probably crying after, because let's be real... we'd cry to if we got to fuck River Song.

Yasmine Kahn... you're kicking yourself for not fucking The Doctor. And she's definitely kicking herself to stop her from kicking you too for not fucking her! (From the show alone, there was definitely no fucking. At least not between Yas and Thirteen. Thirteen does fuck however.)

Fourteen. Personally, I think he fucks. I think companions will be calling him up, catching up, and they're definitely going to end up in bed together. Like, the ONLY reason he wouldn't fuck Tegan now is because she's married to Nyssa and that'd be weird cause she's a daughter figure. /he'd make that great grossed out face David does./ But you cannot tell me he doesn't invite Dan out to France and they end up getting down and dirty in a way that would have NEVER happened with Thirteen. It briefly makes Dan wonder if he's a lesbian now. Fourteen just says he doesn't think that's how it works.

But in all seriousness, Fourteen probably could, and probablt gets offers, but more often than not he probablt just wants to chill, share dinner, maybe watch telly nothing more.

Fifteen. /Will Smith gesturing meme/ LOOL AT HIM! YES OF COURSE HE FUCKS! (Begrudgingly I gesture to Rogue. If the night had been longer they definitely would have fucked. But we'll probably never see him again so I'm not holding my breath.)

Let the scales fall from your eyes! Go, rewatch, SEE.

(This message is NOT for repulsed asexuals. You just keep doing what you're doing~ 👍🏻)

[marjoch]

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

(or: jayvik inspired by the 1998 film starring meg ryan & tom hanks!)

CHAPTER TWO!!

early updates on ao3 @ josmarch

Over the course of the next few days, messages continued to be exchanged between NY1972 and Tinkerman. They exchanged stories of their college years, and talked about how they came to be in New York. On the morning of the inventor’s fair, Viktor considered mentioning the event to NY1972. He decided against it. He liked how intelligent their conversations seemed, and he didn’t want to make it awkward.

When he arrived at the Shop, Sky was waiting early and eager as always. Today she held two cups of coffee, one of which she offered to Viktor once they made it inside. Viktor accepted, but left it on the counter, much too distracted by his thoughts.

He spent time resting before the fair was set to begin, if “resting” meant pondering over the notes he’d dutifully been taking. He needed the chance to sit down, anyway. These days he was noticing a decline in his health, something he’d been warily anticipating. It was only a matter of time before he was using a crutch to get around anywhere, and the time accelerated faster each day. His research was becoming more dire by the minute.

Meanwhile, Mel was returning home from her business trip. Jayce was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for her return. He had the day off, but he was planning to go down to the research facility and organize his office to make the upcoming work week easier. He was also finding it difficult to sit around these days: like it or not, the ongoing conversation on AIM was occupying his mind.

Mel seemed overwhelmed by the trip, rushing into the apartment in a mood. She was on the phone, passionately talking about something Jayce couldn’t make intelligible through her fervor. He loved how focused she was on her work. He also mourned life before the election, when his work felt just as important.

She looked beautiful as ever standing her ground on the call, and Jayce didn’t have the heart to interrupt her. He wrote her a note and left it on the counter, heading out for the day. The usual taxi ride to Brooklyn was notably longer today, the result of an accident on the bridge. By the time the driver was pulling up to the destination, Jayce was itching to get out of the car. Three blocks from Talis Technologies, he noticed the crowd around The Shop Around The Corner.

“Here is fine,” he said to the driver, who promptly pulled over. Jayce paid the fare and exited, looking around at the fair.

Tables had been set up outside the shop, expanding the space for new creations to be brought in by outside sources. People were walking around the inside and outside of the Shop, looking at everything, conversing amongst themselves. Passerby had trouble fitting through the crowd to continue their journeys. Jayce noticed a few opting to continue on the other side of the street. He was on his way to do the same when he heard a woman’s voice behind him.

“Hey!”

Jayce turned, and saw the woman who worked at the shop. He couldn’t remember her name. “Oh, hi.”

“Leaving so soon?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Just passing through,” he said.

The woman smiled. “That’s alright, he didn’t expect you to stop by at all.” Before Jayce could inquire what she meant, she continued, “I’m Sky, if you forgot. You’re…?”

“Jayce,” he responded, realizing she’d missed his introduction the first time. “I’m going to get going, but it was nice to see you.” He gave her a little wave before he crossed the street.

From the crowd, Viktor watched him go. He had something to say about it later that evening when he returned home.

Do you ever get the sense that people hide who they really are? I’ve had encounters lately that make me rethink my perception of humanity. I know a lot, but I cannot deduce what motivates my new neighbor. What motivates the city, even. Have you experienced this feeling before? Tinkerman

It wasn’t long before there was another response. Viktor was growing used to the accelerating rate of their messaging. It’d been awhile since he connected with someone like this, even if they were internet strangers.

I get what you mean. I believe we all hide ourselves in some way, even if just to protect who we think we are. The anonymity of the internet and the vastness of society make it easy, almost. It also makes me wonder who you really are on the other side of this. NY1972

Viktor read the message and sat, processing. He had the urge to open up, to tell NY1972 everything about himself. He refrained, though. NY1972 beat him to a response, a second message appearing on the screen.

I hate to cut our conversation short, but I have obligations. It’s bound to be boring, wish me luck. Talk to you later. NY1972

Viktor responded, just so NY1972 knew he had read it and was awaiting further conversation.

Good luck. You’re very capable of whatever it is you’ve got going on. Talk to you later. Tinkerman

As much as he already missed talking to NY1972, Viktor also had somewhere to be. In an effort to transition his research to a better facility, he’d found his way into a cocktail hour designed for business networking. It was in downtown Manhattan, so Viktor cleaned up and got on the metro within the next hour, planning to be fashionably late.

The event took place in a high-rise, and Viktor took the elevator up to the top floor. There was music playing, and tables full of finger foods, and an open bar off to the left. Viktor chose to visit the former, looking over the selection of fruit, cheese, and small sandwiches.

“You must be Viktor,” said a female voice to his right. He looked over, and saw a recognizable face. “Your mother and mine were close friends. I’m not sure if you remember me.”

“Senator Medarda,” Viktor said. “Of course I remember. It’s been a long time.”

“Please, call me Mel,” she responded, shaking her head. It was now that Viktor realized that the man behind her was also recognizable. He didn’t have to say anything, because Mel grabbed the man’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Jayce Talis. Jayce, this is Viktor, an old family friend.”

“We’ve met,” Jayce said, nodding. He was holding a plate that he had been loading up with snacks. Viktor noticed the way he preferred to look at Mel, almost intentional. “It’s nice to see you again, Viktor.

“Do you want anything from the bar?” Mel asked, turning to Jayce.

“Cabernet,” Jayce responded. “Or just water, if they’re out.”

Mel gave him a kiss, and swiftly left the scene. Jayce picked up a spoon and used it to take a bit of caviar from a plate below him.

“You work for Talis Technologies,” Viktor connected the dots. “I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you before.”

“You keep stealing my grants,” Jayce remarked, taking another bit of the caviar and adding it to the rest of the growing pile on his plate.

“You moved into my area of town,” Viktor said. “If anything, you’re stealing my grants.” Another bit of the caviar made its way to Jayce’s plate. Viktor couldn’t remain silent. “That caviar is a garnish.”

Jayce made direct eye contact with him, scooped up the majority of the remaining caviar, and put it on his place before turning and crossing the room towards his lover. Viktor had nothing else to say, watching him go.

Viktor made his rounds circling the room, introducing and reintroducing himself to possible investors. In the midst of socializing, he found that he was tiring out much earlier than expected. He ended up in the bathroom, staring himself in the mirror, weighing the future possibilities of slowly declining into immobility and illness or ending it all before it got too bad.

Jayce was on the other side of the door when Viktor exited, so close that they nearly collided.

“Sorry,” was Jayce’s instinct response. Seeing who it was, Viktor sensed that he may have wished he could revoke the apology. Viktor pressed onward past him, making a beeline for the elevator.

The metro ride home was sobering, but Viktor had consumed no substances. When he made it home, he collapsed onto his bed, forgoing changing into something more comfortable before succumbing to sleep. He dreamt of Jayce, which was unexpected yet surprisingly welcome. Upon waking, he made a pact to erase it from his memory.

[briwates]

when he gets the photo, he has to sit down. roly poly baby with the sweetest eyes staring at the camera out of focus.

from this asks game

Thank you for the ask !! i've thought all day about how to write around this prompt, and I finally found my answer :D it got a little long so fic under the cut

yohan was out of town for a work placement when isaac had called him. their much anticipated addition to the family was coming earlier than expected, shortening at once the number of days he was checking off the calendar since the big announcement.

An emergency c-section. heejin had been rushed to the hospital in the early evening, two weeks before the planned due date. yohan paces with frustration in the break room, wishing he could be there with his brother and sister-in-law to welcome this baby. The first yohan would get to see and hold up close. damned mandated overtime.

"i'll send you her picture" isaac had said over the phone. small consolation for missing the event. yohan would have to hold onto that until he could hold his niece, tiny and solid and real.

throughout the evening, he refreshes his email again and again, sneaking away from his colleagues on "coffee breaks" to the computer room, necessity of late afternoon work. the overtime was killing him even more than usual today, cases that usually piqued his interest now made pointless in the face of what he was missing at home. or at least, the closest thing he could call home.

the clock displays 10:03pm when yohan's phone rings again, right after the last of his coworkers wave him goodbye and shut the door. alone in the office, he jumps off his seat to grab the device, scrambles to pull at the charging cord and press the "accept call" button on his Samsung Eternity, fingers shaky.

"hyung ?"

"she's here" isaac tells yohan between sniffles when the phone is against his ear. "elijah is here. yohan-ah, i am a father."

"congratulations hyung" yohan manages to croak out. the excitement materializes like a ball in his chest that is about to burst. he feels ready to start bouncing off walls. "how is noona ?"

"she's tired, but happy. she's feeding elijah. nanny is with her" there is a pause, another sniffle before isaac adds sheepishly, "the emotion overtook me so strongly that they sent me to wash my face, i am calling you from the hospital hallway"

yohan chuckles. it is just like his brother to burst into tears at emotional moments

"who does she look like ?" he asks, curious to know. they had a bet.

"hmmf" isaac blows his nose "i think she takes after heejin the most, but you should see her for yourself"

the email. yohan runs to the computer room again with the phone against his cheek, praying, hoping no one has locked it for the night. the door creaks as he pushes it open for the nth time in three hours, the first desktop displaying bouncing bubbles as a screensaver.

"i have sent you her first picture." isaac's voice gets watery again "i will hang up now, yohan-ah. they both need me."

"okay" yohan breathes, hastily typing his password for the second time, urgency and and impatience making him fail the first. "take care hyung. say hi to noona for me. i will be home soon"

isaac hangs up shortly after, leaving yohan to stand over the computer again, clicking refresh incessantly.

when he gets the photo, he has to sit down. roly poly baby with the sweetest eyes staring at the camera out of focus. elijah is swaddled and wearing a hospital beanie, as pink as her pudgy little face.

yohan takes in her features. her bright eyes. her tiny nose. her round cheeks and sweet little pout. the ball about to burst in his chest only gets bigger, he cannot take his eyes off the screen. his niece. born into the world, precious and perfect.

yohan ignores the sting in his eyes and opens another tab to book the first train tickets to Seoul the coming saturday, the wait for the birth now replaced by counting down the hours to holding elijah in his arms, real and solid and forever his to protect.

[psaiouma]

Cupid's Writing Diary - 2/4/25

Entry End of Day February 4th, 2025

As Kiwi inspired us and Bee has started posting these, I wanted to as well! Not that there's much to say, ahaha. [Note: he ended up finding a lot to say LOL]

If you don't want to see these, just block the tag 'Cupid's Writing Diary'. Oh, and they will not be put into the queue like everything else has been.

Wrote roughly 400 words today, which is awesome. I haven't been writing much lately despite how strong of a year I started with. I'm sure this is due to my current distractions but I already wasn't writing before Hello Kitty Island Adventure came out~

I've made the executive decision to stick with one project when it's done. A second project will be picked as a backup in case I need an ADHD switchover distraction, but, again, thanks to HKIA, I do not think that'll be necessary at this time.

I always feel weird saying my fics before they're posted, because I'm worried that'll make them boring when the time comes, but I think talking about the plot for this one won't spoil the fun and magic about it?

So, out of my 29 [yikes] options, I have ultimately decided the one want to work on is a fic I've so lovingly dubbed 'Snautism', a name which is slowly becoming the official title work.

This oneshot project started back in July 2024 when my snake hyperfixation took my life over by storm. And, as all things go since playing Danganronpa in 2020, I immediately had to Saiou it. I'm really excited for the plot of this fic and all of the fun snake facts [about one particular species] I can shove in it. At the end of the day, this one is for fun and just for gushing about my love of snakes/this species. There's also just a morph that I think fits very, VERY well. [Multiple, actually, but one more than the others.] Section 1 is completely done, yay! I'm the type to over-edit and despite editing it 5 times there's still things I'm not satisfied with, but that section is officially ready to go out for beta [not that I'd send it early, it'll all go at the end]. Section 2, however, has been driving me mad SINCE July, honestly. I just cannot make up my mind about the order of events or the feelings of scenes and it's driving me mad. Past me would just write it on passion alone and fix the inconsistencies later smh. Still, I just jumped ahead to a different part today and wrote a good chunk of the first big reveal!! Though I'm worried I'm drawing it out too long that it won't hit as good? Eh, I think I'll leave that one up to the beta as well.

I haven't actually got to talk about what snake it is in the fic, though, and I'm SO excited to do that, because these snakes do something so special that I'm just gidddyyy about how in character I think this is going to be. God I hope the humor in this scene lands ehehe. I've always lived by the rule of 'if it makes you laugh, it'll make others laugh' and thank goodness that hasn't failed me yet!

Well, this was honestly extremely therapeutic! And it made me write so that I had something to talk about lol. Who knows if I'll keep it up. Historically, no I won't. But I'd like to think that it's a good first step. And maybe more people than the same three people I tell everything to knowing might be good for me? Dunno. It's been a long and arduous process picking myself back up from the bootstraps of the hellyear that was 2022, but each lttle bit helps! I can tell I'm a LOT better than I was, and I might even get out more than two Saiou fics this year.

Oop, rambled again. I'm defs a typer/rambler. So thank you for reading if you did. Feel free to send me asks about this project or others! Love talking about writing and reading and Saiou!

[litmot-archived]

V. Les Aubes Sont Navrantes

In which an unexpected guest ruins Xanthus' pretence. ~3,600 words

Warnings: memory manipulation

Overview // IV. The Abyss Also Stares Into You

You awoke with a start. 

The darkness was still heavy, with no indication of the dawn being near. As you looked into the inky blackness, your heart beating frantically as the nightmare slowly bled from your mind, you longed for nothing more than the dawn’s soft rays and its gentleness to chase away the horrors of the night. 

Your sleep was troubled. 

The encounter with Mr. Fint and his warning the night prior would not leave your mind. Caressing the fabric of your night clothes, you thought of its twin fluttering on the roof. 

The air of the estate was suffocating you with an evil you were only now beginning to comprehend but for which you still could not find sufficient cause.

The mystery of the picture Mr. Fint had shown you felt like a faraway dream. Had it been real at all? You were in a daze during that time. Perhaps you had imagined the whole thing? It seemed too absurd to be true, and yet— 

What was the cause of the hostility between Xanthus and his meager staff? Did they know something you did not? Did they suspect something? Had they completed a puzzle you were only slowly finding the pieces to?

You went through the night’s events in your mind — the iron grip on your shoulders as you looked down the tower, the searing kiss against your lips, the peacefulness you had felt on the lake, the hunger in Xanthus’ eyes as he looked at you.

Retrieving a box of matches, you struck one to light the candle on the nightstand. In the dim light, you checked the time on your pocket watch. It was three in the morning. You sighed, too restless to fall asleep but too tired to do anything substantial. 

You dressed slowly, opening the window over the desk and looking out into the darkness. 

There was a stillness particular to mornings that allowed for self-reflection. Time hardly seemed to pass in the early hours, and it was only in these seemingly frozen moments that you allowed yourself to feel the heaviness of the letter folded neatly in your right pocket. 

The best-kept secrets were those close to oneself. You inhaled the cold morning air, fighting the urge to light a cigarette.

Could you trust Xanthus? 

Infatuation had a way of creating illusions, and you feared you had allowed him to get too close to you already. Had you disregarded Lady Alderton’s warning because of your blind curiosity and the easy escape he had offered from a life you never wanted to return to?

A brief respite was a break nonetheless. Still, you felt you should heed the warnings Mr. Fint had so adamantly conveyed. Something told you he was right to urge you to leave, and you had better listen this time before it was too late.

The thought of returning to London made your heart heavy. With Xanthus’ kiss fresh in your memory and the security of darkness, you allowed yourself to recall a love confession uttered there some five years ago. 

What was love, after all, but a disappointment to your parents?

You had wanted to leave the city with him and start anew in Paris, where you thought things would be simpler. Nobody would know you there, not personally. Nobody would bat an eye at your discrepancy in social rank. You had offered him a way out of his bleak life when you extended your invitation for him to accompany you on your travels. 

“Have you lost your mind?” he had hissed in the dark alley, pointing an accusing finger at you as his eyes blazed with an anger you had rarely seen. “I don’t expect someone as disgustingly privileged as yourself to understand, but I have responsibilities here. I can’t just leave! What happens to my mother? You know she is sick. Do you think I will just let her die? What about my sisters? Do you think my father will care for them when he finishes his bottle? I am all they have! I cannot be as selfish as you and leave everything behind! This is insanity!”

The air had turned stale in the city. You could no longer breathe in London, but that did not mean you wanted to be alone. You longed to leave your life behind, but not him.

“I love you,” you had said, selfishly hoping that would be reason enough. 

He had scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as hurt and rage shone in his eyes at your poor attempt at manipulation. “I never want to see you again,” he had said, turning away from you.

You clenched your fists, watching his retreating back as you wracked your brain to get him to stay, to be with you, to leave with you. 

“I will pay you,” you had called out. 

He had stopped in his tracks. 

“Your family will get an allowance. Your mother, your sisters — I do not care. I will make sure they are looked after. They will be provided for if you come with me.”

He had whirled around. The hatred in his expression caused you to step back in shock. 

“No!” he had yelled, face twisted in seething rage and utter disgust at you. “Never! Not for all the money in the world would I leave them behind to be with you!” He had stormed away, disappearing from your view forever and taking a piece of your heart with him. 

You struck a match, watching the flame flicker as you lit the candles in the drawing room. The canvas with all your painting supplies was where you had left it, waiting for your return. 

With the sketches you had made on the boat to use as reference, you continued Xanthus’ portrait. This way, he would only need to pose for a few more hours for you to give the painting the finishing touches it needed. You might leave today already or tomorrow at the latest. 

The estate was not good for you. 

It dug up things you would rather keep buried. Memories tugged on your mind, images flashed behind your eyelids that threatened to lift a coffin that had long been sealed. What was it about the mansion that clung to the past?

Was it the stained glass window? The old architectural style of centuries past? Were it the prayers seeped into the walls from people long dead? Was it the spirit of the catholic guilt desperately clinging to sins committed and long since absolved? 

Was it your host, filling the air around him with a foreign antiquity? Was it he himself who did not belong in the present, a relic of the past that should not have endured this much?

Or was it your own inability to let go of the past, ever chasing as you grew weary of running? It was licking your heels, only a pace behind, no matter how fast you tried to outrun it. 

It was gaining on you. 

You had already completed the details of the background and were nearly done with the expression of mischievous severity on his face when the gardener walked in. 

You looked at her. She stared back, blowing out the candle burning uselessly. 

Too engaged in your work, you had not noticed the sun streaming abundantly through the windows. She continued to eye you closely. You clenched your jaw, continuing your work. You were too tired for the ominous feeling settling over you again. 

The shade of red in his eyes was not quite right, you noticed, making it darker until it was almost blood red. Rosaria startled you out of your thoughts again by placing a pot of garlic flowers on the table beside you. An odd choice. You returned to painting as you caught a whiff of smoke rising from the remaining candles she was blowing out.

When you were adding onto the lines of his hair, you were interrupted again by a gentle knock, only to find the man himself standing in the doorway. You had not heard him approach. 

“Would you like to have breakfast with me?” Xanthus asked. 

You declined, accepting only his offer of tea. 

“There is no need for you to sit yet,” you said as he handed you the cup. You noticed his disdainful glance towards the garlic flowers. “Feel free to take your time with breakfast.”

“No need,” he said smoothly, “I had an excellent dinner.” Walking up behind you, he leaned over your shoulder to look closely at the painting. 

“I am nearly done,” you said, sipping your tea before setting the cup aside and continuing the detail of his hair. “Now it may wither and distort while you remain forever young, beautiful, and untouched by your sins,” you said, only half joking as you remembered Mr. Fint’s picture. 

You suppressed a shudder as he leaned closer, hoping he could not hear the hitch in your breath. 

“I do not need a portrait to do that,” he said dryly, with a tone so serious it made your blood run cold. You did not comment on it, afraid of what he would answer. He took his seat in the armchair. 

You cleared your throat, taking another sip of your tea as your mouth went dry. “This will be done today,” you said, motioning to the painting. “I will take my leave this evening if I may.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you saw his eyes crinkle in amusement. He opened his mouth to reply but frowned, the playfulness in his expression turning into confusion before morphing into annoyance. 

His gaze darted towards the drawing room door. There was nothing there, but he sighed as if his favorite game had been ruined.

A door fell shut heavily. Footsteps approached. A moment later, a tall man stood in the doorway, shooting Xanthus a dazzling smile. 

“Lawrance!” the stranger greeted cheerily, opening his arms wide. 

Lawrence? 

You blinked. Surely—?

Xanthus remained seated, looking at him in annoyance.

“Come on,” he said with a pout, “I travel across the Atlantic to visit my favorite vampire, and I don’t even get a hug? Unacceptable.”

Vampire? Your eyes widened.

“Dontis,” Xanthus greeted monotonously, pursing his lips in displeasure. “Do you know how boring it is when I have to compel them? Now look” — he complained, motioning at you. He rolled his eyes at your shocked expression as you slowly put the pieces together he had been dangling in front of you since the very beginning — “you’ve revealed the mystery already.”

You stood frozen, eyes darting between Xanthus and Dontis, trying to make sense of it all. Xanthus was Lawrance. They are the same person. Mr. Fint was right. The photograph showed him looking the same today as he did forty years ago, maybe longer. 

How old was he? What— a vampire?

“I go by Xanthus nowadays,” he said, looking pointedly at Dontis, whose eyes fixed on you. He had not noticed you before, his expression almost regretful.

“Apologies, Xanthus,” he said, turning to look at him. 

You backed away in horror, eyes landing on the garlic flowers. You picked them up and held them out in front of you protectively. Rosaria knew more than you. They were some sort of protection, you hoped.

Xanthus muttered a curse, setting down his cup of tea. He rose from his seat. 

“No,” you said shakily, pressing your back against the glass door. The panic was rising, turning you numb with fear. You fumbled with the handle, not daring to take your eyes off Xanthus’ approaching form.

The garlic flowers did not work as he stepped closer and closer. 

Your heartbeat was deafening to your ears. You heard nothing but the rushing of blood, making you feel dizzy. The door would not budge. You could not think clearly. 

“Stay—” you choked, letting the flowers tumble to the floor as you took a thick book instead, raising it threateningly. “Stay back,” you warned, your voice sounding faint. “Stay back, I say. I am not afraid to use—”

Xantus was not deterred, backing you further into a corner. 

You lunged at him with the book, trying to hit him. He slapped it out of your hands. You yelped, attempting to run. He caught you, holding onto your shoulders tightly and forcing your fearful gaze to meet his. 

“Forget this conversation and continue painting!”

Your brush hovered over the canvas. 

“Let’s try that again,” Xanthus muttered, sitting down in the armchair and motioning for something. You were about to ask what he meant when a tall man stepped into the room. 

“Xanthus, what a pleasure,” he greeted cheerfully, his eyes finding you. “I did not know you had company, my friend.” 

“Dontis, this is my portraitist,” Xanthus said, motioning toward you and looking pointedly at him.

You inclined your head towards Dontis. “Hello, it’s a pleasure,” you said politely, returning his warm smile. “We can take a break if you would like to catch up in private?” you asked, looking at Xanthus.

“That will not be necessary,” he said, motioning for Dontis to take a seat. “Speak freely, please. What brings you to England? Unannounced, might I add.”

“A change of scenery, really,” he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “I was pulled towards here, you could say. There was no time to waste when such a call comes over one. You understand I’m sure.”

Xanthus grunted in agreement, his displeasure at Dontis’ interruption not lessened by the explanation. “When are you leaving?”

Dontis clicked his tongue, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “I love what you have done with the place,” he said instead, gesturing around the room. “The last time I was here, High Gothic was all the rage.” 

You froze, letting out a quiet gasp. 

Either Dontis did not know anything about architectural history, or he was over six centuries old. The latter was entirely impossible, you thought, raising your eyes from the canvas to glance at him. He looked about as old as Xanthus.

“The cathedral was lovely,” he continued, and your heart picked up in confusion. 

Xanthus had told you the estate had been repurposed centuries ago. 

Your hand shook, the blond strand of hair you painted coming out crooked. You tried to keep calm, thankful the two of them were on the other side of the room and could not hear your quiet gasps. 

“I prefer it like this, however. It feels—”

“Dontis!” Xanthus hissed, cutting him off with a glare. “They are quite the architectural enthusiast, and I can hear their heartbeat from here without special hearing when you declare confidently that you were here last in the 13th century. Forget the last few seconds and continue painting!”

Your brush hovered over the canvas. 

The silence in the room was tense. Dontis cleared his throat awkwardly while Xanthus continued to glare at him. His eyes found yours, an expression akin to pity in them. 

“I can recommend Paris for a true change of air,” you said lightly, breaking the silence and trying to elevate some of the tension. Drawing room conversations were not your forte, but you had plenty of experience with maneuvering society and suffering through meaningless small talk. 

Dontis sipped his tea, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. 

“It has blossomed in the last few years, especially in the fields of art,” you continued, making conversation. You frowned, cursing your absentmindedness for having red on your brush when touching up on the hair. 

You blinked, eyes darting across the painting. When had you done the lips? You had to be more exhausted than you thought.

Xanthus scoffed. “Perhaps Greece instead,” he added disinterestedly, clearly abhorring the light chatter you tried to fill the silence with. His eyes lit up with a glint when he saw you squirm at the mention of the country. “Your parents seemed taken with it, no?”  

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes fixed on the canvas and missing Dontis' questioning look. “It is a beautiful country,” you rasped, continuing to paint and hoping he would not catch you in a lie with your mind scrambled from sleep deprivation.

“So beautiful some people might trip over themselves to leave old England in a hurry to get to it,” he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Would you like some more?” he asked, nodding as you declined. “Some society gossip instead, perhaps?”

“I am not one for gossip, Xanny. You know—”

“It is rather amusing, really,” he interrupted, smirking with the mischievousness a cat might have when toying with a mouse. 

He had given up on this round as well, the novelty of compelling you fading away until his inhibition was nearly gone.

“Imagine my surprise when, upon coming to a soiree, I hear siblings recount a nearly identical story, down to the word choice, with only one key detail being different.” 

You felt your heart drop. Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his gaze. 

How long had he known? You swallowed thickly, the evening’s conversations flashing through your mind as you tried to figure out what detail separated your story from Theodore’s and how you could fix this.

“Do you not remember?” Xanthus asked with a condescending chuckle. 

When had this rift appeared between you? Had he been pretending to be fond of you since the evening of the soiree only to toy with you? Was this what Lady Alderton meant when she had warned you that he took souls? 

“Who of them is sick?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to reply immediately but hesitated at the last second. Your mother, you wanted to say, but you were not certain anymore. 

What had Theodore said when you had hatched the plan? He had been complaining of an ache in his bones. It was your father. You gasped quietly, remembering how you had spoken of your mother’s illness at the soiree.

Xanthus laughed at your terrified expression. “An important detail one would think their child would remember. Liar.” 

He turned to Dontis, who was staring into his tea as if trying to hide from the uncomfortable conversation. 

“Let me tell you what happened,” Xanthus said, chuckling as you shook. “Their parents left London without a word. To save face, they and their siblings constructed a scheme of them having gone to Greece — Athens or Crete, the accounts differ. I can only imagine they are waiting for the right time to forge a letter announcing their deaths to ward off a scandal.”

Before you could even begin to utter a word of protest to the secret you wanted to keep hidden—

“Forget the last few seconds.”

Dontis hummed disinterestedly. “I do not care for gossip, Xanthus.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, leaning back in the armchair with his tea, savoring the taste of the Chinese blend he had found stored away.

You blinked a few times. Xanthus had broken his pose when you had been paying close attention to the curve of his mouth not a moment ago. 

Touching the brush to the canvas, you cursed under your breath as you painted a streak of brown on his lips. A sense of déjà vu hit you, turning the scene hauntingly familiar.

Dontis rose, setting down his cup on the coffee table and walking over to you with a gentle smile. He stood beside you, his gaze flickering from the painting to Xanthus, a dark scowl on his face. 

“You are very talented,” he said, leaning over your shoulder to catch your eye. He shot you a playful grin. “I must say,” he began, looking at Xanthus, “I see a small smile on the canvas. Perhaps give us another one for reference.”

His glare hardened.

“Alright,” Dontis said, raising his hands in surrender. “I am sure your— your victim of the hour can paint it without a frame of reference.”

You frowned. 

Xanthus was peculiar and rather reclusive, but you did not consider yourself a victim for being in his company nor for being on his beautiful estate. You contemplated jumping to your host’s defense but settled on chuckling awkwardly at what you decided had been a joke.

Xanthus was not in the mood for Dontis’ teases. “They are my meal,” he said sternly. “Get your own.”

Your eyes widened, and you stuttered in confusion. 

He groaned, having slipped up this time himself.

“Come now,” Dontis said, “I have had a long trip. A little familiarity with them should not spark your jealousy too much, should it?”

“They are mine. Forget the last few seconds.”

Dontis backed away, putting more space between you as he sat back down. “Pity,” he grunted, raising the tea to his lips.

Your mind was scattered, and you sighed in frustration as it kept happening — blue in the eyes, white on his jacket, and red on his hands.

You were shaken, beginning to doubt your memory. What was happening to you? 

Had the reminder of your lost love truly stunned you so much? It had been years! Was it the kiss? Was it the picture you had seen? 

“Pardon me,” you muttered, setting down the brush. You turned your back to the two men, slipping out through the glass door to get a fresh breath of air as you felt a headache approaching. You needed a cigarette.

Painting was a composition during which you kept every minuscule detail in harmony. Never had you lost track of the color on your brush.

Annotations // VI. Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay

[saiyukiitaliaandinternational]

Monthly Minekura Christmas edition

Day 7 “Deer”

Sorry for late upload but exams keep me always busy and I have to use the little energies I have to keep pace with the event after many hours of study. Anyway I want to take advantage of this prompt to talk about a Chinese deer species that not many people know and gets too little love and recognition: the tufted deer (Elaphodus cephalophus).

The tufted deer is a species native to central China and Northeastern Myanmar. The name derives from the tuft of black hair on its forehead, but the striking characteristics of the this species are the fang-like tusks which are present only in males. The species lives in forested regions at high altitudes (between about 300 and 4600 meters above sea level), and in rain forests in high-altitude valleys. Their habitat is always near water. They weigh from 17 to 50 kg, and are 110 to 160 cm long, with a shoulder height of 50 to 70 cm . The tail is 7 to 16 cm long. The coat is coarse and dark gray or brown, with a dark gray head and neck, but during winter time it's black while in the summer it's chocolate brown. This is why I aimed at a darker colour in my work since we are in December. The underside is white, including the underside of the tail, and the lips and the tips of their ears are also white, even if in my drawing you cannot see it except for the tail. The availability of salt licks is also a positive factor to the presence of this animal. This deer is able to withstand minor human disturbances, and is occasionally found in cultivated lands.

Males bark to attract females during mating season. The deer mate in late fall and early winter, the young are born in the early summer after a gestation of 180 days. Tufted deer usually give birth to one or two fawns per year. Until the age of six months, a young deer is dependent on its mother. Tufted deer become sexually mature between eighteen months and two years of age. While longevity in the wild is not well documented, in captivity they can reach 15 years. When the deer runs, it lifts its tail, exposing the underside in a similar manner to that of the white-tailed deer. Tufted deer sometimes live in pairs, but are usually solitary. They bark when alarmed, which serves as a warning to others of their species in the area. They are territorial and do not tend to move far from their home territory. The bucks are known to fight over territory and mates, and their chief weapons are their elongated canines; their antlers are also used, but are not as dangerous also because they are covered by the tufted fur of the head. They eat leaves, twigs, fruits, grasses and other types of vegetation, and curiously they are both browsers and grazers. These deer tear off vegetation to eat by pressing the lower incisors against a callous pad that takes the place of upper incisors. Predators include leopards and dholes.

Because of their barking tendency when they see predators they may also help to alert humans to the presence of predators. Little is known about its longevity in the wild, and some sources list its diet as omnivorous, although the majority list the tufted deer as an herbivore. There are a disputed number of subspecies of Elaphodus cephalophus, most commonly there are three listed: E.c. cephalophus, which is found in northeast Burma and southwest China, E.c. michianus from eastern China, and E.c. ichangensis from central China. It is possible that E.c. ichangensis is a hybrid of the other two subspecies.

And now the painful part: conservation status

Surveys from 1998 put the estimated population around 300,000–500,000 individuals, though a substantial, ongoing decline is almost certain. Overharvesting of large animals in China is a serious threat not only to this species. The hide of this deer is a fairly high-end textile material, especially after the vigorous conservation efforts made on other more endangered species. Habitat loss is also an issue in this rapidly developing country. In China, this species is listed as provincially protected species in many places, but it is not protected by the national law. It occurs in a number of protected areas. The tufted deer is part of the yellow species survival plan program by the association of zoos and aquariums, because it cannot maintain 90% gene diversity for 10 generations. To prevent gene diversity to continue dropping the program plans to work on ex situ populations by increasing the number of exhibit places in zoos and making sure that animals can breed. Prior to this the tufted deer population was also decreasing in captivity due to lack of interest in the species, even though captivity greatly help conserve this species by facilitating interbreeding and gene diversity.

Sorry for long post, but I wanted to share something about this beautiful yet underrated species. China has so many cool animals and plants and its biodiversity deserves to be protected and I am not only referring to giant pandas who get the most attention (they are even used as diplomatic tools by the Chinese government), but also pygmy slow loris, white-cheeked macaque, white-headed langur, golden snub-nosed monkey, Chinese sturgeon, Chinese giant salamander, black-crested gibbon, white-shouldered ibis, Sumatra rhinoceros, Chinese alligator, Chinese red-crowned crane, South China tiger, Chinese pangolin, Sunda pangolin, Williamson's mouse-deer, Gongshan muntjac, Père David's deer (sadly extinct in the wild), and many others I can't remember now.

Credits:

Saiyuki Reload Blast © Kazuya Minekura, Platinum Vision, 2017-present

[fantasyfantasygames]

Narcissist

Narcissist, Aetherco, 2004?

One of my favorite brain-bending games is Continuum (sometimes written C°ntinuum, but the degree sign is not great for accessibility). It's a game of "authentic" time travel where the past cannot be changed, but that doesn't excuse you from going back and doing what needs to be done, because you've already done it, so go do it. It's heavy on terminology, demands a fair amount of records-keeping, and is absolutely fascinating.

Continuum was intended to be the first of three games, with the other two being Narcissist and Dreamer. Dreamer hasn't come out yet. Narcissists are the bad guys of the first game (good guys in their own minds, of course) who skip across dimensions in addition to going through time. I have a 0.7 pre-release from a convention many years ago, and things have changed quite a bit since that draft.

While Continuum is all about protecting the "one true timeline" from damage, Narcissists have noped out of a world that was never kind to them in the first place. They don't believe the Inheritors' obviously self-motivated claims about the sanctity of the timeline. They generate paradoxes to squeeze themselves out of our world like a pumpkin seed and crash into another.

The system in Narcissist is mostly similar to Continuum, but cleans up some of the early-game issues so the whiff factor isn't as high. The late game still goes up into the elder-god levels of psychic and physical power, dovetailing into the Antedesertium supplement (which I'll cover in another review). The tweaks to the system definitely help it scale better at both ends. The art is ok but kind of surreal in an unhelpful way.

The setting for Narc (what an ironic nickname for the game...) starts off in our world, which they call Swarm Prime. As a starting character ("Drifter") you're mostly focused on fixing what went wrong in your life, but the world you end up in is never exactly what you wanted. In the midgame you leave Swarm Prime behind and join the greater society of Drifters, seeking meaning through belonging even if you can't admit it. Some people help other Drifters break free of Swarm Prime or nearby worlds; others twist timelines to find weapons to use against the Continuum or seek to understand the strange, ghostly time loops left behind by failed Drifters. The endgame pits you against the Inheritors, time-traveling transhumans who are the endpoint of the Swarm Prime timeline. Your eventual goal is to fracture that world into an infinite array of solipsistic worlds where everyone gets their own heaven exactly the way they want it. What that means for everyone in those timelines who isn't that particular Narcissist is hinted at darkly in several places.

Narc's paperwork is not in time-and-place tracking, but world-tracking. Every time you spawn a parallel world it starts drifting away from Swarm Prime. The farther it drifts, the safer it is from Continuum influence, but the faster time moves there. You can use up years of your life in very distant worlds and come back to find that almost no time has passed. Every change you make has knock-on effects for every world you've already visited. Every change may spawn another Narcissist who's out to get you for ruining their life.

One terrifying truth about Narcissist is that you never actually visit the same world twice unless it's Swarm Prime. That's the only one where the timeline is sufficiently protected. You never meet the same person twice unless you're there. Every world-hop generates a paradox that forks a timeline. Your Drifter allies are just echoes who look and talk like them. The enemies following you are just shadows of the ones you made. They only find you because there are an almost uncountable multitude of them. Where Continuum requires... well, a continuity of the events in the world, Narc explicitly denies one. The GM has an obligation to drift NPCs personalities as you meet different versions of them across time and dimension.

There's a lot more to it; these are deep games with a lot going on. You can probably tell that I'm a fan. I love time travel and dimension travel in general, and a lot of games use them purely for changes of scenery. Time and Temp is one of the few other games that really does time travel well. Narcissist sets a standard for a completely different kind of dimension-hopping game, and I hope it doesn't go overlooked.

Narcissist is a little harder to find than Continuum, not that getting a physical copy of Continuum is that easy. In fact, the physical copies of Narcissist and Antedesertium that showed up on my doorstep are the only final versions I've ever seen. I'd gladly pick up another if anyone has a source.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein

or

The Modern Prometheus

By Mary Shelley

CHAPTER I.

I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics; and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him, for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.

As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant's house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling, when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness; but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw; and by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her; and she knelt by Beaufort's coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend, he conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the protection of a relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.

There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection. There was a sense of justice in my father's upright mind, which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved, and so was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the doating fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues, and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her. Every thing was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind, and to surround her with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative for her weakened frame.

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother's tender caresses, and my father's smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me, are my first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord, that all seemed but one train of enjoyment to me.

For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion,—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been relieved,—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale attracted their notice, as being singularly disconsolate, while the number of half-clothed children gathered about it, spoke of penury in its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin, and very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold, and, despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness, that none could behold her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.

The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a German, and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy,—one among the schiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died, or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria, was not known. His property was confiscated, his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with her foster parents, and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.

When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa, a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks, and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them; but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want, when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, and the result was, that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents' house—my more than sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.

Every one loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully,—"I have a pretty present for my Victor—to-morrow he shall have it." And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally, and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her, I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.

[the-prsc]

Day 3: 

Previously in PRSC... 

The boys in Genesis, Rush and King Crimson continue to progress and gain a tiny bit more comfort in their… difficult conditions.  

Tensions within the Yes and ELP camps reach an all-time high. Steve Howe does a runner and reaches ‘The Court of The Crimson King’ by midnight. (Keyboard wizard) Rick Wakeman and (Fish) Chris Squire plan their well-needed escapes... 

Death count: 0 

In The Court of The Crimson King...  Steve reached the camp late last night and has since been welcomed by all members of it (except Broof, who tries to ignore him following his awkward exit from Yes). He is put to work with John and David in doing various dull, laborious tasks overseen by Fripps right-hand-percussion-men, Bill and Jamie Muir who are ‘keeping them in check’. Although Steve feels tired, he also finds the structure, safety and sense of community that he felt was lacking with Yes. We cannot say the same for John and David.

Meanwhile in ‘Epping Forest’...

This is the supper of the mighty one! Genesis eat well tonight as (during a particularly long prance around the woods) Peter found nice, ripe fruit on the forest floor (little does the band know that Jon dropped it earlier that day, made clumsy by his consumption of the mushrooms). Tony is spending hours a day perfecting each detail of the entrancing face of his Etch-a-Sketch recreation of the Mona Lisa.  Phil, Steve and Mike have managed to make primitive fishing rods out of the spare guitar strings that Steve forgot he brought (also forgetting to bring his guitar). Good one guys!

Rushing over to another camp…

Their fishing may be less effective (standing in the river and lashing out at any passing fish. In the event that one is caught, the band all stress out as to how to kill the thing) but, the three companionable Canadians of Rush continue their hygienic progress. The band have exhausted their camping supply of bottled drinking water and sadly, in the wilderness the band cannot dine on honeydew or drink the milk of paradise. Luckily Neil remembered a 7th grade science lesson he had where he was taught that boiling water kills all dangerous microorganisms and disinfects it. He removes the camping stove and small pot from his bag, fills the pot with water from the cleanest part of the river he could find and begins to boil…

Close to the Edge, Down By the River…

Near the ‘pretty view’ of the river Jon selected, Yes are crumbling to some extent. Steve asked Jon if he could go over to The Court yesterday and Jon reluctantly agreed and let him go. Steve didn’t mean it personally but I think Jon took it that way (poor guy). Meanwhile, Rick is getting fed up with waiting around for Jon and Alan to get vegetarian food when he could eat as much meat as he likes (though in reality, he is far too lazy to do so). Chris isn’t a fan of Jon’s leadership style. Its a sort of strange hotchpotch between Hippy and autocratic that he doesn’t like. All the while, it doesn’t help that Jon has found some magic mushrooms and spends quite a lot of his time in ‘dreamland’. He and Rick have planned to leave the camp to find ELP next time Jon and Chris go out gathering together.

In the ELP camp... 

The last few hours have been somewhat monotonous at the ELP camp. The band’s relationship is fractured (particularly Keith and Greg’s). Morale is dipping sub-zero, and Carl still hasn’t figured out the drum part for Karn-Evil 9 so instead of making useful progress to prolong their lives, the half-starved threesome chose to discuss new project ideas for ‘when all this forest crap is out of the way’. One could call this a useful conversation to keep up hope and distract them. They could also call it valuable time and energy wasted that will eventually lead to their doom. Either way, in their hungry, delirious state discussion is getting heated quickly. Carl leaves early to actually try and help them survive, and is also hurt by the two of them calling him a ‘shit Buddy Rich knockoff’. 

The issue on the table currently is Greg’s suggestion, ‘Love Beach 2 (Electric Boogaloo)’. This thought seems to be sending Keith into something of a violent frenzy. 

I will spare the details of the real-time commentary for the next few minutes. This passage is written in retrospect: Keith and Greg got into a physical confrontation which included a lot of punches from Keith and in the process, Greg hit his head on a large protruding rock in the wood’s undergrowth and by the time Carl returned from his mission of trying to keep them alive, and managed to pry Keith away from his friend, it was too late. 

The two of them aren’t talking as they submerge the body into the dark, cold river water. What he has done is beginning to dawn on Keith and he has been battling with his tears since they left to the water. All Carl can think about is that his friend and bandmate is a ‘fucking murderer’. He must negotiate a way away from this knife-wielding maniac. Luckily, upon return to the camp, he recognises two new, trustworthy silhouettes, CHRIS AND RICK!!! He is currently having a private discussion with the two of them featuring sentences like, ‘Guys please get me out of here. He’s a crazy madman with a knife. I’m gonna die’. Chris sensibly responds in a hushed voice, ‘We could always give those Canadian kids a go?’. And that is the plan for the three of them... 

That’s all for today, so we’ll see you tomorrow for... 

The Prog Rock Survival Competition!

[mightyflamethrower]

Leonid Brezhnev led the former Soviet Union as General Secretary of the Communist Party until 1982. But like most Russian apparatchiks who excessively smoked, drank, and gained weight, he aged prematurely. Also like them, his disabilities never led to his abdication.

By Brezhnev’s late sixties and early seventies, he was too ill to travel abroad or make public appearances. Indeed, his debility left the Soviet Union without a real leader for the final six or seven years of his tenure.

Brezhnev got away with it because the Soviet state-controlled media doctored photos and videos to attest to his supposedly vigorous health and constant hands-on involvement.

“Journalists” sent out false communiques. They spun narratives that Brezhnev was robust, hale, and working long hours on behalf of the Russian people. Any dissenting journalists who sought to report the true, sad state of affairs were in danger of losing their jobs, freedom—or even their lives.

Instead, the “reporters” of Pravda (“Truth”), the official print megaphone of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, wrote lies about Brezhnev’s busy workdays. Pravda’s handlers spun fables about the respect (and fear) the rest of the world held for such a dynamic leader—even as Brezhnev became an ill virtual recluse.

The cynical Russian people shrugged because they had long been accustomed to their lying media and the falsehoods they peddled. And besides, Brezhnev was a doctrinaire Stalinist communist. So his job was not to rock the boat or upset the Russian communist hierarchy.

Instead, he reigned over the penultimate Soviet “era of stagnation,” while an ossified communism increasingly destroyed all incentives and hope, leaving the Russian people poor, cynical, and helpless.

Something similar has happened to a calcified America under President Joe Biden. Like the late-stage Leonid Brezhnev, Biden is now a president in name only. He has outsourced his administration to a vestigial hard-left apparat from the Obama years.

Now, Biden can no longer even perform his assigned ceremonial tasks of putting a moderate veneer on radical, nihilist agendas that are stagnating the country.

Yet our Pravda journalists have sworn to the American people that, in private, the reclusive, three-day-a-week Biden outpaces the energy and drive of those half his age. Obsequious staffers plant stories in the Soviet-like ears of reporters about Biden’s singular dynamism.

Any dissenters are publicly demonized as peddlers of “cheap fakes.”

When Biden’s reclusiveness prompts too much gossip that he is near senile, he is wheeled out for a staged interview that must be edited before release. Or he answers questions secretly shown to him in advance.

On sporadic occasions where the state media and the Biden nomenklatura cannot control events—such as rare presidential debates or international summits—our Pravda media go into overdrive to convince the public that what they see and hear is not real.

In the end, Brezhnev could not even hobble to the May Day dais to celebrate communism’s national holiday.

He soon reached the point that his debilities were so manifest that even his hirelings and the media could not hide them. He then vanished from public view, leaving the Russian people with no idea as to who was running their communist nation.

Then one day, Soviet propagandists announced suddenly but matter-of-factly that the dynamic Brezhnev had died and that his successor, Yuri Andropov, was now brilliantly running the Soviet Union.

Biden, too, is at that point of stasis. He cannot do press conferences, town halls, debates, or real interviews. To do so would confirm to the public the truth: that Biden is too cognitively challenged to continue his presidency.

And yet the cloistered Biden can no longer hide during a campaign season with his accustomed three-day workweek.

The media has done its best to continue its Orwellian ruse. They claim that Trump interrupted Biden (he did not) in the recent debate and that he lied (if so, not as much as did Biden). Sometimes, the press corps just blurts out that an inert, left-wing Biden is still preferable to a dynamic, conservative Trump.

What is next for our increasingly Soviet state?

We will continue to be lectured on the vigor of Biden—until one day we aren’t, when Biden either steps down—or worse.

Then, our Pravda will likely present the new official narrative. They will convince us that his successor, Vice President Kamala Harris, is an underappreciated genius whose past portfolios led to solving the border crisis and renewing American dominance in space.

One day, the same reporters who swore Biden was a virtual Socrates behind closed doors and then suddenly just confessed he was not when their lies were no longer operative will sing the praises of our new comrade leader—the brilliant, accomplished, eloquent, and articulate Kamala Harris.

[rhonatirion]

Three siblings await the Binding of the Tied ceremony, 1939. The eldest girl will leave her brother and sister and be placed in the boat to Skerra later that morning. Photograph by Martha Tirion.

The first mention I can find in Martha's notes of Binding the tied is soon after visiting Albert and his wife Annie in ----------- for the first time. Her first visit was in August 1935, and she did not witness the ceremony. However, she returned again, fatefully as it turned out in 1939, to witness and record the ceremony.

The ceremony must have fascinated her, as she both took and collected many photographs of the event, some of which I have posted here. Curiously, Martha also calls the ceremony "binding the tide" in her early notes, but later corrects this to "binding the tied", which indicates initially some confusion on her part as to the nature of the ceremony.

In her journal, she noted;

"The ceremony involves tying elaborate ribbons to the villagers' clothing or hair. These are often, but not exclusively, young people or children. The ribbons are pre-written intercessionary prayers, designed to protect the village from depredation by spirits of an evil nature".

In a letter to Ms. xxxxxxxxshe is more frank on this matter, revealing some concern with what she was witnessing. She calls Binding the Tied

"an archaic death cult, where the written prayers are part intercession, asking for favour, and part curse. They invoke Death himself, but never by name".

She opines that this reflects "... a morally ambiguous origin myth involving a fisherman and Death."

In the tale, the fisherman, thinks himself saved from a terrible storm by a kindly couple. Too late, he realises he has been cursed

".. by his truculent spouse whereby he has been handed over to Death. In return, the fishermans' widow gains her wealthy lover for husband".

Martha adds "A curiosity of this tale is that Death appears as both male and female or in some tellings I have heard, a man and wife. The male aspect of Death takes the life of the individual by binding a ribbon to his cape. The female aspect of Death, like old Charon, ferries the deceased to the isles of the dead, that lie beyond Skerra in Western ocean".

I rather like the idea of them being a couple We get so used to Death being a man, or a skeleton. The idea of them being a couple that look after you is strangely comforting.

"Crowd awaiting the Binding of the Tide [sic] ceremony, ----------, 1932." Photographer, unknown. Collection of Martha Tirion.

In a letter to Ms. xxxxxxxxx Martha notes the June ceremony, as an early start

"We were up at 5 on a beautiful summers' day with the sun flickering across the wave tops. Even at that early hour the the crowd were intoxicated with excitement. They were all turned out in Sunday best on the Quayside. Here, they wave and cheer as a little fishing boat, be-decked in garlands and swags takes its precious cargo to Skerra. One cannot help but recall the myth of Theseus and his fellow-Athenian sacrifces as they were taken to Crete. Despite the cheers and giddy atmosphere on shore, all I could think about were the earnest, worried, little faces looking back at us. "

Martha, had seen many ceremonies by this point in her career; children dunked and "drowned" in rivers, made to sleep in burial chambers, but always, they were returned to parents. At ----------- Martha is clearly concerned that she does not witness the return of the children. In the same letter she notes,

"Albert, assures me all will return to their rightful place. But first must spend time on Skerra, which can be several weeks. Whilst I have no reason to question my kindly and jovial brother, I will confess, I do not have full confidence in his honesty on this point. I cannot help but think there was some detail he was holding back. It is strange, but his demeanor much reminded me of that displayed by our parents (rest their souls) , after Eleanor passed away.

Eleanor, you will recall was Martha's sister who died in early adulthood.

There are two other letters Martha wrote before she disappeared en route to Skerra, which I will cover in my next post.