#His coal miner's nose is back at the moment

[adventuresofsnake]

Here's a little song I wrote, it's called

"I blinked and lost six weeks to seasonal depression"

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 4)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol/drug use and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 3

The reaping for the 64th hunger games, brings forth their tributes, Denali and Maximus. The girl, is sixteen and her little brother, only fourteen. Orphans, surviving solely off of tesserae and profits made from pedaling contraband at the hob.

When Y/N comes to greet them on the train, Denali has her brother tucked behind her protectively, near the table of food. “Hello.”

Denali watches her with wary eyes.

“You should eat.” Y/N tells her. “Both of you. Get your strength up for the arena.”

Maximus reaches out for a dinner roll, but his sister slaps it from his hand.

“You first.” Denali demands. She needs to be sure it’s not poisoned.

Y/N closes the space between them, taking the abandoned bread and tearing off a piece. Placing it into her mouth, she chews and swallows.

Maximus presses his lips together, gulping hard. He can almost taste it.

“My name is Y/N. I’ll be your mentor-”

“Where’s the other one? The man?”

“Haymitch is down in the bar car.” Y/N tells them.

“He’s been doing it longer, we want him.” Denali says.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses both arms over her chest, toying with the bracelet on her left wrist. “But the two of you stay here, and eat. Please eat.”

The girl narrows her gray, seam, eyes, watching the woman leave. She’s seen her before, sneaking around where she didn’t belong. The man, Haymitch, was from the seam, before he won the games. He still comes down to the hob, Denali’s sold to him a couple times. Most recently, a bracelet, woven from stitching scraps. For his wife, he’d told her…and the woman, Y/N, is wearing it.

The victors return after a long moment, their hands intertwined. Y/N appears to be leading Haymitch toward them, against his will.

Maximus and his sister stare at him, expectantly.

Haymitch smiles, “I heard you wanted to see me.”

“Y-yes. You’re our mentor and we need strategy and-”

“Woah,” Haymitch stops the girl’s train of thought, “you’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“That’s her department,” Haymitch jerks his chin toward his wife.

“Then what do you do?” Denali asks.

“Enjoy the refreshments,” Haymitch lifts his glass.

————————————————————————

Upon arriving in the Capitol, Y/N and Haymitch are collected to film interviews. Caesar always finds a way to make the most of their time here. But over the years, it has proven useful in gaining sponsors for their tributes.

“We’re happy.” Haymitch reminds Y/N. “We’re in love and so glad to be here.”

Y/N nods, blinking up at him through obscenely long lashes. Vanity has done a number on her this time. Y/N is her muse, the one who inspired her to leave her position as stylist for the games and design pieces for her victor full time.

The people of the Capitol cannot get enough. Anything Y/N wears, they want to wear. Tonight is a cotton candy pink dress.

“For the first time, on this very stage, we will be joined by Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy.” Caesar announces, riling the crowd into a frenzy.

Last time they were here was their wedding day and Snow obviously had better things for them to do afterwards than gossip with Caesar Flickerman.

“Please give our newly weds a warm welcome, Y/N and Haymitch.” Caesar motions toward them from the stage, their queue to join him.

Haymitch reaches back for her hand, waving out at the crowd as they cross the floor.

Y/N greets Caesar first. He likes her better than Haymitch anyway, most people do.

————————————————————————

“Where’ve you been?” Maximus asks his mentors, after the tribute parade.

“Clearly they have more important things to do than help us.” Denali turns up her nose in their direction.

The tributes are dressed as coal miners…again.

“Do you have any idea how much a bottle of water goes for in the arena? A loaf of bread? Medicine?” Haymitch cuts in. “Those things don’t come cheap, sweetheart.”

“So what?” Denali doesn’t understand how their absence would change that.

“There’s people here with a lot of money.” Y/N explains. “The more time we spend with them, the more money they’re willing to provide our tributes. I’m sorry that we had to step away, but that’s why I supplied you with the tablets. Did you have a chance to look over the strategy files?”

Denali shakes her head of dark curls.

“That’s ok, we still have time.” Y/N assures her, “let’s go up to our floor. We can discuss it over dinner.”

————————————————————————-

The district twelve escort, a woman named Cordelia Walters, who desperately hopes to be reassigned to another district; holds the elevator for them. “Chop, chop.” She claps her hands together. Like herding animals in a zoo.

“Always a delight.” Haymitch snarks, as they step into the confined space.

Y/N huffs a laugh, pressing her lips together. Their escorts seem to have a high turnover rate. She hopes that holds true.

Dinner is tense, Cordelia can’t be bothered with listening to defense strategy details. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Oh, sure!” Y/N pipes up, “let’s discuss the up in coming fashion for the spring. I have all of Vanity’s sketches.”

“Really?” The woman squeals, “you don’t think she’ll mind?”

“Not at all.” Y/N lies, “here, take it. You can bring it back in the morning.”

“Thank you.” The Capitol woman races away, closing the door to her suite behind her.

“That’s one way to do it.” Haymitch lifts a shoulder, poking at the peas on his plate.

“Now we can talk?” Maximus asks, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Y/N smiles. “You can start by telling me what you’re good at.”

“I’m a fast runner.” The boy tells her.

“Had to be, we’ve been running all our lives.” Denali adds, still unsure if Y/N can be trusted.

“And what about you,” Y/N asks, “what are you good at?”

“I’m strong and good with a knife.” The girl tells her. “We just need you to give us a chance.”

Y/N leans in, across the table, “we can train you, separate from the other tributes. We can supply you with anything you might need from a sponsor. We can prepare you for your interviews. No one is rooting for you more than we are.”

The four of them talk late into the night, answering questions. Exchanging stories and discussing useful weapon tactics.

Haymitch’s number one rule is not to get attached. However his wife, either cannot or will not follow it.

When they finally retire to their room, Y/N makes a mad dash for the white pills, on the bedside table. The contents rattle in her shaking hand.

“Here, angel.” Haymitch takes it from her, “that won’t help.”

“But you said-” White is for pain.

He reaches for another bottle. “Take this.” He deposits a yellow pill into her hand. Then a blue. For her nerves and to help her sleep.

Y/N swallows them down, attempting to catch her breath.

“Come here.” Haymitch wraps her up in his arms. Placing a hand over her heart and rubbing gently, “that’s where it hurts, huh?”

She nods, praying that the pills take effect soon.

“The white ones can’t help with that.” He continues, attempting to soothe the ache.

“How do you do this?” Y/N leans into him. “It’s only been four years and I feel like-”

“Before you, those ten years after I won….I drank until I blacked out and I can still see their faces. I remember their names. I see their families, back home and it never gets easier. It never gets better. But you find ways to live with it.”

Y/N lets out a sob, “I can’t. I can’t.”

“I’ll help you.” I’ll do whatever it takes.

“I want to go home.”

“I know,” Haymitch breathes. “But the pills are gonna kick in soon. Then you’ll feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better. I want to save those kids!”

“We can try.” Haymitch says, somberly.

“If I overdose, what happens to my family?” Y/N wonders, eyelids growing heavy as Haymitch shuffles her toward the bed.

“Snow wanted to have them executed after your games. As punishment for you not killing Tyson. He was only willing to negotiate a deal, in exchange for my…work. If you kill yourself, I have nothing else to offer him. No leverage. He’ll kill them and sell me; again.” Haymitch explains, pulling off her shoes. “But I wouldn’t blame you.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. She has something to live for. Her sister, her parents and him. She has Haymitch to live for. Therefore she cannot die. “It was only a hypothetical question, I wasn’t- I wouldn’t-” leave you.

Haymitch pats her cheek, the drugs have kicked in and her tears have subsided. “Goodnight, angel.”

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 16

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: Miguel and you make visits to the cemetery to talk to your loved ones. Miguel joins the spider gang for a training simulation so you can continue to rest after being sick. You go grocery shopping with him and then cook together! You debate gifting Miguel something for Father's Day. Word Count: 17.5k Warning: some depressing content; minor injury; blood; Miguel cries A/N: Edited this once, so I'm praying it's good since a lot was done at 4am today 🫠 Masterlist Music Inspo (Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Evergreen" - Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners "Home" - Good Neighbours (tyy Laura!!❤️)

Thank you for reading!!

Part 16

You lay fresh flowers on Peter’s resting place. You’ve collected the old ones and placed them with the other ones from your other loved ones’ graves. You always leave Peter’s for last, so you can stay with him the longest. It’s always been like this since he passed away.

A gentle breeze blows on your face as you stare at the gravestone. It’s almost another year since his death, the fifth one.

You sigh and fix the flowers, arranging them in a way that looks pretty. You always take your time with this on every grave, wanting to show love and care to your deceased loved ones even years after their deaths.

You finish fixing the flowers, admiring how colorful and fresh they are. You always opt for bright ones to lighten up Peter’s grave. You like to think that he’s here somewhere, sitting on the ground or leaning against the nearest tree, or even sitting on his own stone listening to you talk about your day. It used to help you in the early days after losing him. Now, it comforts you in a different way. Your heart aches but differently. You’ve healed, even though you once believed you wouldn’t.

You pull back. Usually, you tell Peter everything that happened during the week from the villains you’ve fought to the little moments of your day like simply having a coffee. He always loved that, hearing about your day. You intend to share all of that with him, but there’s something that’s been weighting on your mind especially, and heavily.

Harry.

He left your life in a blink of an eye, and came back just like that.

Nearly five years later, he makes an appearance, asking to reenter your life. You’ve had little time to think about his request with you growing sick the next morning and then having your period. Thankfully, you feel much better today. Your cold is mostly gone and your period’s symptoms have calmed down thanks to the medication that Miguel got you. Your body is still feeling some of the effects, like fatigue, but for the most part, you feel well. Your recovery has been a fast one and you have no doubt in your mind it’s all due to Miguel, who was like your nurse on duty, making rounds every thirty minutes and ensuring you took the medicine as it was prescribed. And then, there’s all the food he cooked and the other kind gestures, like giving you his blanket and sweatshirt, and the ointment on your nose and back.

You chuckle to yourself at the thought and decide to start your weekly moment with Peter at last, even after all these years. You tell him everything from running into Harry to getting sick and how Miguel looked after you to a brief summary of Miguel’s feelings regarding the situation with Harry.

He didn’t say it directly but you have a feeling that he’s not happy with Harry and honestly, even your other friends seemed… on edge about the situation.

His words, along with your friends’ behavior, have made you consider this situation, especially Miguel’s words. He made you realized Harry really did ghost you in a moment when you could’ve used someone’s comfort. Miguel also made you see that maybe, you did deserve a little better, even if you know that you were fully going to try and cut ties with Harry.

Now, you wonder if you would’ve done it had Harry not stepped away for whatever reason he did. Would you had allowed him to stay in your life had he stuck around? You know it’s unproductive to think about this now, so many years later but still.

A part of you is displeased that you have to worry about this now. You had simply accepted that your friendship had ended with Harry. He had his reasons and you had yours, so it felt like a silent mutual decision between you, but now? Harry is back and he wants to be part of your life again.

The question is now whether you let him, or not.

“What do I do, Peter?” you whisper. “I think - I was perfectly okay with the way things were left. Is that bad?” you ask. “I know I have no one in this universe.” Your head dips low once you say this. You truly have no one in this universe. Just you and yourself alone since Peter passed away. Staring at his gravestone, you swallow heavily.

“But I was okay with that for many years. I accepted it because I know I made that choice, to cut ties with everyone. I’ve told you what Miguel said - that I deserved better from our friends - and maybe I did, but it’s too late to think about that now. I accepted it years ago. Just like how I accepted what happened with Harry. We both walked away from each other, so it really felt like a mutual thing, you know? But now… He wants back and I don’t know if… I don’t know if I want him back. Is that a bad thing?” you whisper. “I just don’t know.” You sigh. “I don’t think my friends like the fact that he’s suddenly shown up. You should’ve seen them.” You smile softly, thinking of them. Your little family.

“You would’ve loved them, Peter. I’ve told you that already but I really do believe so. They’re amazing… They took me in and now they’re my family.”

You remain motionless and quiet for several minutes, thinking about the situation. The first thing is, maybe you did deserve better like Miguel said. Do you want that kind of person back in your life? What if Harry just walks out again?

There’s also the fact that you’re Spider-Woman. Having someone back into your life, someone who doesn’t know of your secret, will definitely stir things in your life. You’re not used to that anymore. Like, hiding your suit away in your bedroom, hidden in the closet. You don’t have to explain where little bruises come from, or why you were a bit late to something.

You can get used to that again, you suppose, but you won’t deny that hiding your identity can be exhausting and there’s always the risk of being connected to Spider-Woman. It was always a worry of yours with your parents, Aunt May, and Peter - to have them exposed to villains who made the connection.

You shake your head.

You can’t decide now. Maybe it’s too soon. It’s only been a few days since you met with him. Perhaps you ought to think about it more, give it a few more days.

“I need more time, Peter. I’ll think about it more,” you whisper softly with a sigh. You silently imagine Peter agreeing with your decision for now but your imagination is interrupted by your spider senses.

You glance around quickly, taking in your surroundings. You’ve been so lost with your thoughts you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you. Your eyes find the reason for the warning.

“Harry is coming,” you say, turning to face the grave. “I must go, Peter. I love you,” you whisper, quickly pressing your hand to the gravestone, your physical way of saying bye. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

You pick up your things and slip away, hiding behind a tree before Harry can catch sight of you. You watch from a distance as Harry approaches Peter’s grave, flowers in his hand.

You frown as you watch him get closer, your eyes on the flowers. You came to visit Peter very often after his death, multiple times a week, day and night. Despite coming so often, you only brought flowers once a week since they stayed fresh, and also because you’d always find other sets of flowers. You knew they were likely from friends but as the months went on, your flowers were the only ones that continued to come. Whoever else came to drop off flowers stopped two or three months after Peter’s passing.

Now, you watch as Harry stands in front of Peter’s grave with a solemn look on his face. You wonder if he ever comes to visit Peter, even without flowers. You hope he did because otherwise, it’d mean Harry didn’t visit his best friend’s grave. Not for nearly five years. It’d mean today is the first time.

You watch for a few more seconds, noticing Harry’s valet down the street standing next to the car, waiting for his boss.

With a sigh, you silently bid goodbye to Peter once more before slipping away, leaving the cemetery.

You dispose of the dead flowers somewhere appropriate and walk around your city. You’re not too happy you had to cut your visit short and leaving in a rush but you had to if you wanted to avoid Harry to avoid giving him an answer.

With your thoughts on Harry, you mindlessly walk with no clear direction. You must make a decision, sooner of later. For a moment, you wish you hadn't ran into him that day. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here now, debating this entire ordeal. You're almost certain the stress from the encounter led to you getting sick.

You stop at the end of the street now and wait for traffic while you think about the fact that you got sick and how for the first time in years, someone took care of you.

You bring a hand to your nose, touching the tip, right where Miguel applied the ointment. You smile as you recall the moment, how gentle he was while applying the product while telling you that it was going to help you breathe better. Then, he gave you his sweatshirt and a hot tea.

You fell asleep shortly after while Miguel continued to watch over you. Lyla later told you it was like a man looking after a priceless artifact that could be stolen at any point, something that of course, brought a heat to your cheeks and stirred tenderness in you.

You're not surprised. Miguel is a kind man - a good one. He's caring and tender. He has so much love to give despite all the bad things, all the losses, that's happened to him.

You continue walking, finding yourself on your street. Of course. You'd probably find your way here even with a blindfold on since you've lived here for so long. You approach the construction site, keeping some distance as your eyes take in the progress. It seems like the building will be ready in a few more weeks, and then, it'll be time to move back.

It’ll be nice to be back.

But.

You bite the inside of your cheek. But?

Miguel flashes in your mind.

Him standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner while he talks to you. Then, there’s him sitting on the couch reading, eyebrows knitted lost in deep thought. Miguel, who taps his foot or bops his head slightly when you’re both cleaning the penthouse, the upbeat music winning over his body. There’s also him falling asleep on the couch, snoring softly, which is both endearing and heartwarming, to see that he’s actually resting when he went so long neglecting his body of it.

There’s also Miguel wishing you a good night’s sleep as you both stand in the hallway, him in front of his door wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his, which you believe he does to be a gentleman. It’s so sweet.

And there’s Miguel, who said was going to miss you when you return to your universe, and who you’ll be missing right back.

It seems you’ll both be missing each other. It almost feels as though, maybe… You shake your head gently.

You’ve thought about it a lot, many nights as you’ve laid in bed. The thought seems to pop up more often now that the weeks have dwindle. It doesn’t feel like much time went by since that first day when Miguel stayed at the penthouse to ensure you rested after the early morning you had helping your building’s residents evacuate.

A sheepish smile forms on your face as you remember telling Miguel how you wanted to hug him that day. You were out of it, exhausted both mentally and physically, maybe even emotionally, and the thought slipped out of your mouth. It did lead to him offering a pinky squeeze, an open one, though. Not like before when he could easily play it off as an accident because you were handing something to each other.

You hum softly. So much has changed since that day. Living with Miguel, temporarily, has allowed your friendship to grow, so much Miguel even admitted you’re his best friend.

“Best friend,” you murmur softly to yourself as you continue to stand on the sidewalk.

You miss your little old building and your small cozy apartment. There’s always going to be a coziness, a warmth from it. It’s a special place for sure, at least in your heart. And yet… You find yourself missing the housing arrangement, even though you haven’t left yet.

You’ll miss Miguel.

You sigh and shake your head.

It’ll be okay.

Things will fall into their rightful place.

They always do.

-♡-

Back in Nueva York, Earth-928, Miguel sits on the grass. He looks up at the sky for several minutes, silently. After a few days of rain, the weather has now cleared up. Today is sunny and bright, and there’s even a gentle but nice breeze that rustles Miguel’s hair. After several minutes, he closes his eyes and just - breathes.

Recently, he’s been trying to come more often and stay for a while. In the past, he was unable to. It was too hard, and after Gabriella’s universe collapsed, even more. Despite not coming often back then, Miguel always made sure the gravestones were taken care of, that they weren’t dirty and overgrown with weeds.

Recently, however, Miguel has tried to visit more often. He supposes part of the reason is that it’s easier now. It’s been several years since Gabriel and his mother passed away. Too many. It’s hard to believe that his little brother especially has been gone for so long.

Truth be told, Miguel always assumed he’d be the first to go. It made sense for the oldest sibling to pass away first, right? That’s how he thought it’d be, but life has its twists and turns, unexpected things out of our hands happen, and somehow, Miguel is still here.

Even when there were so many times he wished he wasn’t.

Miguel opens his eyes, moving his gaze to the gravestone.

When Gabriel died, Miguel especially thought about that. Gabriel deserved to live. He was a happy, outgoing young man. He brought a smile to everyone, always lifted people’s spirits.

Miguel has always believed out of the two of them, Gabriel was the better one, something he once voiced to him.

Of course, Gabriel O’Hara denied it and told him he was no better than Miguel.

With a sigh, Miguel leans forward. Losing Gabriel, it was more than losing a brother. He lost two things: his little brother, who always told him he wasn’t “little” anymore, and his best friend.

Losing him, it was the last straw. He focused entirely on his lab, burying his grief and loss with work to try and forget the fact that he had lost his last bit of family with his mother dying a previous year. He was suddenly familyless in his twenties, alone in the world.

Of course, he had Lyla but Gabri… He was gone.

Miguel inhales softly. It hurt. So bad. He never thought he could feel any worse but he was wrong because he then experienced losing Gabriella.

After several minutes of silence, Miguel sighs. “Hola hermano [Hello, brother],” he says, speaking for the first time. He’s been coming more often these days, but usually, Miguel doesn’t speak. He looks up at the sky again. “You would’ve loved this weather.”

His words are received by a bird chirping somewhere.

“Remember when we’d play fútbol [soccer] with all the other kids from the building at this time of year? The weather was warm and nice, not too hot yet. We knew school would be out soon for the summer, and we’d be able to stay up late behind our -” Miguel pauses, looking down at the gravestone. For a moment, a fraction of a second, he almost said the word. Sometimes, despite everything, he still associates the word with the man. He supposes that’s what a whole childhood does to someone. “Behind George’s back. Mama would let us stay up late in our rooms, watching movies about superheroes, wishing we were like them.” Miguel rolls his eyes playfully, a smile tugging at his lips before it falters. “Qué días… No sabía que algún día te perdería tan pronto. Siempre pensé que seria yo el que te dejaría primero. Y yo… te extraño, Gabrielito. Extraño mi hermanito enfadoso. Que daría por verte entrar a mi laboratorio para enfadarme, tal vez con otra persona de la sociedad de la cual te hiciste amigo [What days… I didn’t know one day I’d lose you so soon. I always thought it’d be me who would leave you first. And I… I miss you, Gabrielito. I miss my little annoying brother. What I would give to see you enter my lab to annoy me, maybe with another person from the society, one you became friends with]. Or, maybe… I’d see you walking in with Y/N, telling her something embarrassing about our childhood because you thought it’d be funny.” Miguel shakes his head at that image, smiling.

“I know I haven’t talked the last few times I’ve been here, but I just - I couldn’t. Not yet, but now I am. It’s been almost a year, Gabriel, since I possibly saw you. I’m still not sure if I did, or if it was just a dream - an illusion - but my heart tells me it was real. Y/N thinks so, too. Anyway,” Miguel pauses, clearing his throat. “It’s been almost a year, hermano [brother]. A year - a whole year. I’m sorry, if you’re listening, you’re probably hating that I’m repeating myself so much but, yeah, it’s been a year. Can you believe that?” Miguel asks, pausing. The same bird, probably, chirps. Miguel’s lips purse before he continues.

“A whole lot has changed, Gabriel. A lot. I… I’m a different man than I was a year ago. I can look at myself in the mirror now. I don’t shy away from my own gaze, which is another thing. My eyes. I find myself… Happy with them, along with my fangs and talons. That’s thanks to someone, and you know her very well. Well, at least in my dreams you do. Y/N. You and her get along so well in my dreams. We both wish you were around, physically, so she could’ve met you. You would’ve loved her, I know it,” Miguel says smiling again. “She’s a big part of my life now. I finally told her the other day that she’s my best friend. Oh, and she’s living with me now. Temporarily. I think… Her building will be livable again, very soon. She’ll be returning to her universe.”

Miguel looks away, staring at his lap. He picks away some grass from his bottoms, thinking. That same bird chirps again as if responding to him. He looks up again when he hears the fluttering from somewhere on the trees.

“It’s… difficult, Gabriel. I’ve grown used to her living with me. To her presence being there, both at HQ and now at the penthouse, close by. Our routines, they just merged. Clicked. Is it bad… Is it crazy that I’d like Dulzura [sweetness] - “ Miguel stops as he hears the nickname he gave you. “I’ve given her a nickname, too, Gabri. It just slipped out of my mouth that day. Dulzura [sweetness]. She’s so sweet, so kind to me - kinder than other people would ever be. Something about her, Gabri…” Miguel shakes his head. “As I was saying, I gave her a nickname. Dulzura [sweetness] - because she’s sweet and kind - but what I wanted to ask is, if it’s crazy that I’d like her to stay? For her to continue to live at the penthouse?”

The flapping of wings makes Miguel pause. He looks up, his crimson eyes finding a red bird in mid-flight. It so happens to perch itself on Gabri’s gravestone. He stares at it, watching how the bird spreads its wings before bringing them closer to its small, delicate body. Once settled, it looks around before settling its gaze on Miguel, too, observing him.

With knitted eyebrows, Miguel continues to stare, wondering if speaking will startle the bird. He decides not to for a moment, wanting to observe the bird this close up for longer. For a moment, he wishes you were here so you could see it, too. After several seconds, the bird chirps, taking small steps over Gabriel’s gravestone. Miguel remains quiet and keeps watching before the bird chirps again, stopping and turning to look at him, now on the edge of the gravestone’s top.

“What? Can’t find food?” Miguel asks. “I’m sure there’s plenty around.”

The bird chirps again. Miguel groans softly, now he’s talking to birds. “Estoy loco, verdad, ¿Gabri? [I’m crazy, right, Gabri?] I shouldn’t… but I do. I know it’s not likely. Dulzura [sweetness], she loves her apartment, so much. She’d never consider it, plus… This was only because of what happened at her building, not for any other reason. So there’s that.” Miguel frowns, picking up blades of grass with his fingers. He twirls a piece between his thumb and forefinger. “Aun así… No puedo dejar de pensar en el día que se ira [Even then… I can’t stop thinking about the day she’ll leave]. Thinking about it - it upsets me. I have no right, I know.” He gently lets go of the grass, watching it blow away with the breeze. He turns to the bird, still there. “¿Tu que? ¿Te gusto escuchar el chisme? [What of you? You liked hearing the gossip?]” He tilts his head to the side, wondering if something is wrong with this bird, but it moves just fine, no sign of injury.

He sighs.

“… I’m going to miss her, Gabriel,” Miguel admits out loud, his thoughts still on you and the fact it’s inevitable for you to move back to your apartment. “A lot,” he whispers. “But I can’t possibly ask. I can’t put her in a hard position. So, I guess in a few weeks, I’ll be staying at the penthouse on my own. Again.”

Miguel stares at the bird, wondering what his brother would say. He’d be positive about it. He’d say something like how things will work out the way they’re supposed to. So, Miguel holds on to that thought, even if things have not always turned out great for him.

-♡-

The next day, the Spider Society’s HQ is buzzing with energy since it’s Monday. Miguel and you walk side by side as you both enter the training sector, a floor designed for all forms of training, including simulations. You glance at Miguel, who’s carrying a gym bag on his broad shoulder.

Once or so every week, you join the spider gang to do training simulations but due to the cold and your period, you’re not entirely up for it today. So, you decided to ask Miguel if he’d like to join them in your place. He seem reluctant at first but then you added that you’d be here, and he agreed.

You know Miguel works out frequently, sometimes in the afternoon when everyone is gone from HQ, but ever since you temporarily moved in with him, he’s been opting to work out at home. Apparently owning the penthouse means a private gym, which Miguel told you about a few days after you moved in when he remembered it. Of course, he said you could use it if you wanted to, especially because it’s better since it’s more private than the training sector at HQ, where all the spider people train and work out.

Today, though, it seems he might try to work out a bit with the spider gang, hence his backpack to change into other clothes once the training simulation is over. The two of you walk through the sector, the place filled with many, many gym machines and then some more to accommodate the strength of the spider people, such as big blocks of metal among other things that no regular human will ever be able to lift.

As Miguel and you walk further inside, you finally spot the group, so you both head straight for them. You’re about fifty feet away from them when someone calls your name.

“Y/N.”

Miguel and you both turn, halting. Your gaze finds none other than Ben Reilly, who you know spends a lot of time here at the training sector. You smile softly at him and wave.

“Hi, Ben,” you greet him.

“Hey,” Ben replies, giving you somewhat of a smile. He raises his arm to wave back, flexing his bare biceps as he does so, not wearing his suit but rather work out gear. “Hope you’re - feeling better.”

Tilting your head to the side, you offer yet another smile. You didn’t know that others paid that much attention, though maybe it was the fact that Miguel didn’t show up that alerted them. And maybe someone from the spider gang mentioned it, so it may have reached other members’ ears.

“That’s kind of you, Ben, thank you. I’m doing much better, for sure. I still feel a little fatigue, but the worst has passed.”

“Glad to hear that, and to see you back,” he says, nodding. “See you around.”

“Alright, see you around!”

With that, you continue walking, Miguel following a step behind, his brows knitted.

It’s like he wasn’t even there, standing next to you. He glances back, finding Ben staring in your direction but immediately looking away when he notices Miguel’s gaze. He watches for a few seconds as Reilly starts working out again. Miguel exhales deeply as he turns to face the front again.

Weird, he thinks to himself as you both approach the group.

“Huh, Miguel did show up,” Hobie says, as if he expected Miguel to back out.

“This will be so much fun! Miguel is joining us for the first time!” Pav says cheerfully.

You smile as you notice the overall excitement about Miguel joining the spider gang for training today. Over the last few months, you’ve noticed Miguel trying to be more open with them and you have to admit, this little opportunity might help even more. The fact that he even accepted makes you feel very grateful and excited, even if you’re not participating today, unfortunately. Your hope, however, is that maybe after today, Miguel might be willing to train with the group from now on, including you.

“This should be interesting,” Peter B. says with Mayday hanging out on his shoulder, before everyone starts off to the simulation square, excited and eager.

Jess steps back, taking a seat on the edge of the running track. Sometimes she participates and other times she doesn’t, today being one of those days. You nod to Miguel.

“I’m going to sit with Jess. Good luck,” you tell him softly, offering a smile of encouragement.

Miguel raises an eyebrow, playfully. “Gracias [thank you]. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Miguel watches as you take a seat next to Jess, satisfied that you’re safe and settled down, resting.

He heads to the simulation center where everyone is already waiting for him. The holographic walls engage right away, similar to those barriers used to capture anomalies except these can be broken.

From your spot, you watch as the simulation officially begins. The system selects a random New York from the database along with a random villain from those that have been captured, using the information it has on behavior and skills.

As soon as the villain pops up, the team jumps into action, quickly agreeing on roles and tasks before they split or team up.

As Jess and you watch, Jess breaks the silence.

“So… how is it?”

“How is what?” you ask, giving her a glance.

“Living with Miguel.”

“Oh,” you reply simply. You weren’t exactly expecting that question, so you feel caught off guard for a few seconds before you collect your thoughts. “It’s… great.”

“Just great?”

You chuckle. “I’m sorry, your question caught me off guard.” You sigh, watching how Hobie and Pav launch themselves off a building, swinging easily across the city. “I’ve… It’s amazing,” you start, which makes one of Jess’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s really nice living with someone - living with Miguel. He’s a very respectful, responsible person. So… considerate. Our routines kind of - just clicked.” You pause, watching how Miguel swings after Hobie now, telling him something. Hobie nods before he parts ways with him.

Jess hums, listening.

“I’m thankful he offered his place to stay. I never thought I’d experience a fire at my building.”

“Girl - your building - I don’t mean to be mean but,” she pauses and you laugh softly.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t say I never expected it. I’ll agree the building is - old.”

“I was thinking ancient but old works, too.”

Jess and you laugh again.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jess says. “It’s an older building, a fire was probably not out of the question, but I understand why you’re… attached to it.”

“It’s been my home for several years. It was the place where Peter and I started our lives together.” You lean back on your hands. “But I also do find it to be cute, in its own way. Anyway, I guess a fire in the near future was not too out of the question but still, I didn’t think - so soon, I guess. It threw me off, into an unexpected situation, and I’m thankful to Miguel for opening his home to me. To all of you for offering your homes, too.”

Jess hums again. “You know my home is still open to you.”

“I know, thank you again. Hobie and the Morales family have continued to offer, but all of you have families. I didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s life. I still feel like I’m disrupting Miguel’s.”

“You’re not,” Jess says rather quickly. She shakes her head. “You know better than most people that Miguel hardly spent time at his home. It’s only been recent that he started to, at least the nights for some reason,” she says, looking at you as if you have the answers.

You keep a neutral face. You’re close with Jess, with the spider gang, but you’re not going to reveal the reason why Miguel has been going home almost every night for a whole year. You’re not going to reveal that each weekend, you offer Miguel a sweatshirt fresh with your scent nor that his gizmo plays the sound of you sleepy breathing - that both things help him sleep because they bring him comfort, that his nightmares have slowly decreased over time.

Jess hums softly, understanding. “Whatever the reason… He goes home and sleeps, I think. That’s all that matters. And recently, because you’re staying with him, he goes home earlier. Do you know how big that is?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s huge. Before you and him - became close - there were times, very rare, when I’d find him slumped over his monitors, passed out. Most of the time though, he hardly slept. He was always in a mood because of his lack of sleep. And don’t get me started on the lack of food. He’d skip meals, too.” Jess pauses and turns to look at the team, still in the simulation. Her eyes find Miguel, thinking about what a different man he is now. “You’re not disrupting anyone’s life, much less Miguel’s - believe that.” Jess stops at that, though there’s more she’d like to say, like how ever since she met Miguel and especially after losing Gabriella, Miguel was merely existing. He went through the days in a blur, day blending into night, in that dark and lonely lab of his.

Over the last year though?

Miguel O’Hara has been living.

It’s as if he’s found a new reason to try at life.

But he’s not the only one.

Jess hums to herself and turns to look at you, offering one of those smiles that never fails to bring you comfort from your once mentor.

Maybe one day, both Miguel and you will realize what you’ve truly done for each other.

For now, Jess Drew keeps smiling at you. “I’m glad to have you here, you know? This place would be very different without you.”

You smile at Jess, thinking. “Thank you, Jess. For going back to my universe even after I first declined the invitation.”

“Don’t worry about it. You made me ask and ask again, but I’m just glad you accepted at last.”

Humming, you think back to the reason for you joining. Your Peter. Jess brought him up, hoping it’d convince you. At first you wondered how she had known about him but being part of the Spider Society for some time now, you know potential recruits are watched for a few days. Mentors make sure that potential new recruits are not a liability for the society, which means Jess probably spent a few days observing you without your knowledge until she deemed you safe for recruitment. During those days, she quickly put together your life - what your schedule was like, the people that had once being in your life, and the fact that most of your talking was with petty criminals and villains before you went to an empty home.

There’s been times over the course of your time at the Spider Society when you’ve wondered where you’d be right now if you had never joined. Of course, there might never be a way to know for sure but a part of you senses that you’d still be on your own. The mere thought fills you with sadness but even more so when you think about the possibility of never meeting the people around you.

There’s a chance you would’ve never met any of them; no Hobie, Pav, or Miles. No Gwen or Margo. No Peter B. or Jess. No Noir, Penny, or Spider-Ham.

No Miguel.

Staring at the group, who are almost done with the simulation, you give a silent thank you to Peter, your Peter, from wherever he is. He was the reason you joined the society, the one that swayed your decision.

You turn to Jess. “Thank you,” you say again.

“For what?”

“You know, going back to get me to join.”

Jess smirks. “I already told you, not to worry about it - but you’re welcome,” she says, nudging your side.

Chuckling, you nudge her back.

It’s good to be here.

With a sigh of content, you watch as the simulation ends. The spider gang steps out of the holographic walls, some of them heading to the area with machines to use them.

Jess and you continue to sit by the track race, catching up on her life. A few minutes later, you both notice Miles and Pav stick to Miguel’s side as he fixes a machine to his needs before he starts using it. He’s changed into dark sweatpants and a black t-shirt, the clothes he had in his gym bag. You nod at something Jess says, watching for a few seconds as Miguel works on his arms, Pav and Miles still at his side, talking to him.

From somewhere, you hear a man grunt, catching Jess’s and your attention.

Ben Reilly puffs out air as he lifts a barbell that no human could ever lift. His bare arms tense under the weight and he let's out another noise. His arms shake as he lowers it one more time, trying to get one last rep, but even from your spot, you can see he'll struggle to lift it.

“I think Ben has pushed it too far,” Jess remarks.

“I think he might need help putting it back,” you add, frowning. “Be right back.” You stand up and approach him, noticing the shaking even more as you walk closer. You're about six feet away from him when someone brushes past you, in front of you.

It's all so quick it leaves you feeling caught off guard, but the familiar scent immediately reaches your nose before your eyes find the person.

Miguel.

He stands behind Ben and gives you a reassuring nod. “I got it. Here Ben,” he says, offering his hands to help the other Spider-Man. You notice his suit activates even over his gym clothes. It seems he doesn't want accidental physical contact.

You nod back as Ben hands the barbell to him before Miguel places it back. Meanwhile, Ben looks at you with a defeated look.

You give him a small smile. It seems he's upset about not being able to continue his reps. You step back and go back to Jess and Peter B., who’s now sitting next to her. They seemed to be gossiping about something, giggling to themselves.

“-ckblocked!” is all you manage to hear from Peter B., giggling.

Jess laughs. “Shush!”

They both notice you and hold back from their laughter.

“Should I be concerned?” you ask, taking a seat next to Jess.

“No, don't worry about it,” Jess says more seriously.

“It's nothing. You're safe,” Peter B. says.

“Safe?” you ask, confused.

“He's just being a goofball. You know how he gets,” Jess says, discreetly nudging Parker.

You shrug and turn towards Miguel and Ben, finding him talking to Reilly still.

“There's a more efficient way to do it,” Miguel says as he take the barbell, positioning his body correctly. “Look.”

Miguel demonstrates by lifting the barbell, stretching his arms above his head. His gaze is focused, staring right ahead as he brings the barbell to his chest. His suit is back to being disengaged now that Reilly is a few feet away from him, so you can see his arms flex as he moves. Your eyes take in the sight of his sleeves, which become even more taut as his muscles flex.

Miguel continues to demonstrate by holding the barbell for a few seconds before he lifts it up again, his torso’s muscles becoming prominent beneath his t-shirt. His gaze remains focused ahead, but then, it flickers to you, meeting yours.

You hold his gaze, giving him a smile and a nod, encouraging him to go on. He returns the nod, his gaze still on you for a few seconds before Ben says something to him, making Miguel’s gaze turn away from you, almost hesitantly.

You turn away and face Jess and Peter B., who you find wiggling his eyebrows at Mayday. Jess and you laugh, returning to your conversation from earlier.

Half an hour later, you decide to do at least a little bit of walking to stretch your legs, so you begin to walk around the track on your own, leaving Jess and Peter B., along with Mayday, to talk. You see them giggling again, once you’re out of ear shot, which makes you wonder but you decide to not investigate. Probably parent stuff.

A minute or two later, Miguel falls in step with you. “Doing a little walking?” he asks, looking over at you before he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I figured I’d stretch my legs a little bit, considering I hardly moved the last few days.”

Miguel nods, smiling. “I’m glad to see you’re in better spirits, to see you back on your feet.”

You return the smile. “So am I, which… reminds me.” You hold his gaze as you stop walking. “Thank you for looking after me. I…” you trail off, collecting your thoughts. “It was a while since I had become sick, but all those times, I was on my own. I got used to looking after myself, I guess, so much I forgot what it’s like to have someone worry about and look after me. Thank you, Miguel,” you say softly. “It meant so much to me.”

Miguel hums gently, nodding. You stand in front of each other, meeting each other’s gazes. “Always,” Miguel replies, his voice low, soft. “No matter what - always.”

You almost throw your arms around him. Almost pull him towards you to embrace him and not only “tell” how thankful you are for him, but also show him by giving him the tightest, warmest hug he’s ever received in his whole life.

You almost do it.

Yet, you don’t.

You wish.

Oh, how you wish you could.

You wonder. Maybe there’s a dimension out there, one that hasn’t been discovered yet in the vast multiverse, where you’re in each other’s lives, too, with the difference that that dimension’s Miguel has never shied away from physical contact.

Maybe another version of you gets to freely hug their Miguel, or rather their version of Miguel, not that Miguel is theirs in some way.

The point is, maybe there’s a universe where you don’t hold back from hugging Miguel when you wish to. One in which your version can just hug him.

Like you wish you could right now.

You smile at him, your arms wishing to wrap around him, despite his sweat. “Always,” you whisper.

You both smile at each other, forgetting that you’re in the Spider Society’s training sector with multiple sets of eyes and ears, some curious to catch a glance or a snippet of your moment and friendship.

After a few seconds, you begin to walk together again, soft smiles on your faces.

“I was thinking - how do you feel about homemade pizza for dinner?” Miguel asks, his gaze on you despite the multiple distractions in the space.

“Homemade pizza?” you ask.

“Yes, we can customize - if you’d like to, of course. I was just thinking - I don’t know where the idea came from.”

“Homemade pizza sounds amazing! I’m up for it,” you say looking up at him giddily, which only makes Miguel happy. “We’d need to buy a few ingredients, but we can get them.”

“I was thinking of going to the grocery store. Do you want to go with me?” Miguel asks, tilting his head.

You nod immediately. “Yeah, I’d love to! Just tell me what time, so I can get regular clothes on.”

“I was thinking leaving earlier today,” Miguel says as you both keep walking.

“How early are we talking?”

Miguel grins. “Like… an hour or two.”

You hum softly in response.

“Two hours before my usual departure time,” Miguel decides in the moment, the decision an easy one in your presence.

You grin. “You made your mind up quickly.”

Miguel rolls his eyes playfully. “We can meet up at the penthouse, change, and head to the grocery store.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you answer, looking forward to some homemade pizza and quality time with your best friend.

-♡-

Miguel carries the grocery basket while you both walk down the aisles, gathering the few ingredients that are needed for dinner. Just like Miguel suggested, the two of you left HQ thirty minutes ago, two whole hours earlier than Miguel usually leaves, and went straight to the penthouse to change in to regular clothes, and are now at one of Miguel’s favorite grocery stores in Nueva York.

You’ve seen it before but you’re still in awe as you both shop around, noticing the holograms for screens from which the best deals and newest items are displayed for customers to see. You even catch sight of holographic AIs, much like Lyla, that customers can refer to if they can’t find an item.

Even though it’s just a grocery trip, you find yourself enjoying it because you get to see more of Miguel’s universe, and you’re not the only one. Miguel walks next to you, the grocery basket looking like it’s part of a child’s grocery toy set near him, with great contentment thanks to your wide eyes and “oohs” when you see something exciting. You even end up checking out the sweets aisle, where Miguel added everything that you seemed to stare at for too long to the basket despite your protest once you noticed it.

At last, the two of you head to the check out section. Even though Miguel used the “scan and go” mobile option and paid online, you must show up to this area for an employee to check the purchases. So, you both stand there and wait for your turn to show the receipt. Meanwhile, you take a sip from a coffee Miguel bought you earlier from the attached coffee shop, insisting on you getting something. You declined at first but now that you’ve had it, you’re glad he offered because it’s great. Glancing at the cup, you notice there’s less than three sips left as you both step forward for a woman to scan your receipt from Miguel’s phone.

“How are you doing today? Did you guys find everything you needed?”

You nod with a smile, letting Miguel do the talking. It’s his universe after all.

“We did, thank you,” Miguel says as the lady scans the basket, placing the items in the bags Miguel brought with him.

You finish your drink and look around, noticing garbage bins nearby. “Hey, I’m going to throw this away real quick. It’s so good, I already finished it! Thank you for buying it for me,” you say with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Miguel gives you a small smile and nods before you head off.

The lady, noticing the interaction, smiles. “Aww, how sweet! You bought your girlfriend a coffee. What a gentleman,” she says, making Miguel nearly choke on his own saliva, something the lady seems to miss entirely, too busy talking and scanning the items to make sure everything is as it’s supposed to be. “And based on your groceries, you’re having a homemade pizza date.” She finishes her job and steps back, smiling. “You guys have a wonderful evening together!”

Miguel nods, still coughing quietly behind a small, sheepish smile. His cheeks are red as he approaches you, trying to stop the coughing. He stops a few feet behind you as you read something about the store’s recycling system. Apparently recycling is taken more seriously in Nueva York.

Miguel clears his throat, his chest finally calming down.

Your girlfriend, the lady said too happily, too certain. Like there’s no doubt that you’re Miguel’s girlfriend. He stares at your back as you read, still feeling shocked but he composes himself when you finally turn around to face him with a happy smile.

“This is really cool, I wish we had this in my… you know,” you say, remembering not to say anything about universes. The last thing you want is for people to think you’re talking crazy.

With a short exhale, Miguel nods, finding his voice once again. “The work they do is incredible. They’re trying to implement it to more stores like this one. It’s why I shop here, they’re a far more ethical company than others whose greed leads their decisions, even when it concerns everyone,” he explains softly as you both head to the exit.

“That’s really great, I’m glad you have that here. It’s unfortunate that’s not the case in all universes.”

“I know,” Miguel replies as you both begin to walk down the sidewalk. He doesn’t even realize it, but he walks closest to the street, keeping you away from it as he easily carries the bags in one hand, like it’s nothing.

The two of you continue to chat on the way home. Miguel points out buildings to you and answers questions you ask about certain things from his universe until the two of you eventually reach Miguel’s building. Instead of sneaking in through the windows like you both usually do, you get to the penthouse though the elevator and the main front door where Miguel asks you to open it, using your own fingerprint. He added you to the security system almost a year ago, so when you press your finger, the system immediately identifies you.

Together, you put groceries away before you both head to take a shower, in your respective bathrooms, of course.

Miguel, showered and wearing lounging clothes, makes it downstairs first. He heads to the kitchen to start gathering ingredients onto one of the counters, but he gets distracted though. There, on the counter, lies one of your hair ties. He takes a seat, just for a few seconds to look at it. You must have left it while you were putting items away and simply forgot about it.

Usually, you pick everything up, never leaving your personal items lingering around for too long. Miguel knows it’s because you don’t want to make the penthouse appear “cluttered” with your belongings, which Miguel has told you before that it’s fine. It’s not like small things such as your jewelry and hair accessories is going to make the space cluttered, but it seems you’re too respectful of the place to even leave a hair tie for longer than a few hours.

Due to that, Miguel appreciates the fact that you forgot your hair tie now. The truth is, he enjoys seeing little reminders around the penthouse that you’re here. It’s so comforting to him, to know he’s not alone in this big penthouse.

He gently picks it up now, as if it’s the most delicate of things. He finds himself smiling at the sight. Who knew a simple hair tie could bring such happiness to a man? He lets it slip down his fingers, still admiring it with a smile before he slightly stretches it. He’s very careful with it as he doesn’t want to rip it somehow. He learned from his short time with Gabriella that these things are sensitive.

“Miguel? Have you seen my hair tie?” you ask from the living room, coming to the kitchen.

Startled, Miguel quietly slams it back on the counter. His hand lays flat over it for the most part, minus his talons which came out from being startled since he failed to hear your footsteps, too focused on the hair tie. He turns to the entrance just as you walk in.

“... I have not,” Miguel says and then he moves his hand, his talons withdrawn now. He turns to the counter. “Never mind, it’s here.” He picks it up and holds it out, trying to play it off like he wasn’t holding it in his fingers just seconds ago.

You reach his side and take it, looking at it while your mind wonders. You smile. “Thank you. I forgot it down here.” You slip it onto your wrist for now. “Ready to start cooking?”

Miguel nods, his cheeks dusted with a blush. He’s relieved you didn’t catch him holding your hair tie. That’d be too much, right? “Ready,” he replies, standing up.

As you begin to gather what’s needed, Miguel turns on his record player and chooses upbeat music to go with the mood.

With everything on the counter ready to go, you work on the sauce while Miguel works on the dough. He offered to work on it, saying his hands could cover more ground than your smaller ones.

“Plus, years of making tamales will help,” he says as he finds the appropriate measuring cup.

Once Miguel is done and you have the sauce on the stove, you begin to prepare the toppings side by side on the counter, chatting about what you’re putting on your pizzas. At one point, you finish with your part of the toppings, so you move on to prep the pans for the dough while Miguel dices some vegetables.

While prepping the pans, you glance at the windows, noticing the way the kitchen is illuminated with golden hues, giving Miguel’s place a very cozy vibe. You even notice little rainbows on the ceiling, which you point out to him.

Staring at them, he can’t remember ever noticing them before, until now. He smiles at the sight, finding it cute that you noticed that and shared it with him.

You eventually begin to work with the dough for your pizzas when it’s ready since it needed to do its thing. The mood is a light one as you work side by side on the counter. After the last few days with you being sick and running into Harry, this moment is a relaxing one for both Miguel and you. Time seems to slow down as you both continue to talk, at some point even about the grocery store and how you think it’s, “so cool,” which earns yourself a smile from Miguel.

You add a little bit of flour to your dough before you roll the pin over it, trying to make it into a decent circle. You turn to look at Miguel’s to see how his is doing. You notice it looks great, and also that his fingerprints are all over the dough just like yours are over your own.

“Your dough looks-” you pause when you look at his face. You instantly smile and try not to chuckle. “Great. It’s almost a perfect circle.”

“You think so?” Miguel asks giving you his attention, unaware that he has flour on his cheek and nose.

“Definitely,” you reply, smiling. Deciding not to tell him about it, you turn back to your own to keep working on it.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, feeling pleased with himself. “I’ve never made homemade pizzas before.”

You hum gently. “Me neither. It’s kind of funny, I guess. We cook a lot and we’ve never made any.”

“First time for the two of us then,” he replies with a smile, which makes you smile, too.

Silently, you both feel pleased about this - about the fact that you’re both doing something new, together.

“Hiiii, guys! Making pizza?” Lyla asks, popping out of nowhere. She floats in front of Miguel and you, taking a look down at the counter like a manager inspecting quality. “It’s looking good. You guys are good at this, look at you.” She grins and looks up at you two again.

You thank Lyla before Miguel adds a quiet “thanks” as well.

“Uh - hm,” Lyla starts but stays quiet, noticing the flour on Miguel’s face. “Picture!” Before Miguel and you can react, Lyla takes a picture. “So sweet!”

“Lyla - always the same thing with you,” Miguel says but his tone is not angry or even bothered. In a way, his tone reminds Lyla of a disappointed parent.

She grins knowing that at this point, both of you have accepted that she takes pictures whenever she wants. “It’s not the first one I’ve taken today,” she says shrugging. “I took some before I even popped up.”

You raise an eyebrow but once again, don’t feel surprised. “How many have you taken?” you ask.

“A few. I may show them to you later,” she says. “I’m still deciding.”

“I can always just look for them,” Miguel says as he adds sauce to the dough.

“Good luck with that,” Lyla says, crossing her arms over her chest. “So… are you guys just making pizzas? No movie, no telenovela?”

You turn to look Miguel. You hadn’t thought of that, and it seems neither did Miguel because he turns to look at you with a look that confirms so.

“I… Didn’t think of that,” Miguel says. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You shrug slightly. “If you want to. I’m up for it.”

“I have the best movie rec for you guys,” Lyla says clapping her hands. “It’s about a guy and a girl. They meet up and then become best of friends and -”

“So, you’re going to give us a summary?” Miguel asks.

Lyla sighs. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’ll give you guys another rec.” She taps her chin, thinking. “The guy and girl end up together in the end,” Lyla says quietly to herself with a grin, watching you two. “You guys feel like watching an action movie? Maybe a mystery one? Or a horror movie? Or - maybe a romcom?” Lyla says, laying out the options, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not picky,” Miguel says as he watches you carefully spread sauce. “What do you want to watch, dulzura [sweetness]?”

Your hand falters for a fraction of a second when you hear the nickname. Just a few days ago Miguel said it for the first time and since then, he’s said it a few more times - dropping the nickname here and there. Every single time has been when you’re both alone, either here at the penthouse or at the lab.

Either way, it’s caught you by surprise each time without failure. You smile softly at him. “I’m not picky either, we can watch anything, really.”

“Well, if I may… I say no horror,” Lyla says. “The sun is still out. The vibes for it are not it, you know?”

“Wait, I kind of want to see how horror movies are made in this universe with all the technology you have,” you say realizing.

Lyla frowns and Miguel smiles.

“You want to? I’m not a big horror fan but there’s a few classic ones.”

“Yeah… I think I’d like that,” you say nodding.

Lyla watches as Miguel shrugs. “We’ll watch that then.”

You both continue to work on the pizzas, adding your toppings now. Lyla stays in place, arms crossed over her chest with a frown. She sighs. “I still think my first rec was better than any horror movie but what do I know? I’m just the silly AI,” she mumbles.

“What is that word the spiderlings were using today?” Miguel says as he thinks back to training earlier today. “When someone just keeps talking?

“You mean, ‘yapping?’”

“Yeah, that one. Lyla is doing that right now,” he says looking at Lyla.

“You did not -” Lyla stops and facepalms.

“Professional yapper,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle next to you.

“Not you guys calling me a profesional yapper,” Lyla says.

“She’s still going,” Miguel comments as he adds more toppings to his pizza, smirking.

“I see why you’re best friends,” Lyla says in disbelief, which makes both Miguel and you chuckle. She shakes her head, not annoyed but amused. It’s good to see the two of you smiling and laughing. She’s slightly temped to say that you’re both “professional yappers” with each other, staying up until 3am in the living room talking about the most random things, but she holds back. “I’ll set up a horror movie for you guys,” she says with a sigh, disappearing.

An hour later, Miguel and you are sitting in the living room. Neither of you planned to watch a movie today, especially not over dinner but because of Lyla’s suggestion, you’re now both sat on the ground over the coffee table. You cleared it earlier to make space for the plates and drinks, and everything else needed. The blinds have been drawn, leaving the living room in complete darkness except for the TV.

The movie starts, so Miguel and you begin to eat, sitting across from each other.

“Wow, this is great,” Miguel murmurs after he finishes eating the first bite. “Wanna try it?”

Seeing you nod, Miguel offers the plate for you to grab a slice from his.

“Try mine,” you say softly, offering your plate, too.

Hums of approval for each other’s pizzas follows. Napkins and crushed red pepper flakes are exchanged, fingers brushing in the darkness.

You watch the movie in peace, exchanging words here and there until you decide to do an intermission halfway to use the bathroom and clean the remainder of the kitchen, not having much left to do since you both tried to clean up as you were cooking to avoid having a huge mess behind. You head upstairs to your bedroom when you’re both done cleaning to grab a sweatshirt since you’ve grown cold downstairs with the AC constantly turning on. You slide it on, fixing the sleeves when you notice your hair tie, the one you were looking for earlier. You forgot you left it on the counter after arriving back from the grocery store and looked for it here in your room, having forgot where you left it.

You tug at it gently, thinking. Miguel may have been able to play it off well, but it was a second too late.

You saw him holding it and though you weren’t able to see his face, his bashful reaction when you entered the room said a lot. You’ve known for some time that Miguel doesn’t mind you leaving your items around. He’s gone on to say you’re not cluttering the space because he knows that’s how you think, and even Lyla has told you that it probably brings some sort of comfort to Miguel. You hum softly to yourself, ready to head downstairs again as you think about the hair tie when your eyes land on the bookcase inside the room. It so happens to land on a photograph of your parents. It’s a photograph you used to have on your wall back at your apartment, so of course, you have it on display here. You walk over to it, staring at your parents.

It’s hard to believe how many years have gone by since they passed away, so many more than Peter. It hurt at the time, to know that you weren’t there to save them. You miss them every day, wished they were here. Sometimes you wonder if you would’ve told them about your secret, about being Spider-Woman if they were still alive.

You don’t know. Maybe not with the dangers that come with it. You smile and place a finger on the photo, thinking about how a few weeks ago it was Mother’s Day, which reminds you of Father’s Day. With a sigh, you tap the photo gently and whisper an “I love you” to your parents’ photograph before you check your gizmo.

Sure enough, Father’s Day is this Sunday, in just a few days. You check the calendar, noticing that it’ll be Father’s Day in other universes, too, including Miguel’s.

You turn to a photo of him and you, also displayed in the bookcase.

It’s one of the photos Lyla took in the past, the day she revealed that she takes photos, to be exact. It was the day you were painting picture frames at your apartment, in the middle of redecorating, when Miguel showed up to invite you for dinner as a thank you for looking after him. You remember it now. You had paint on your face and he didn’t tell you until later on, when he wiped it away.

The memory reminds you of Miguel’s face while you were cooking earlier, his cheek and nose dusted with flour. You grin at the memory and leave your bedroom, still thinking about Father’s Day. You silently debate about it as you walk down the staircase. You’d like to gift Miguel something but you wonder if it’s a good idea at all. You don’t want to upset him, to cause him any more pain than necessary. In the past, you’ve never spent the day with him, so you don’t know what he does, if he even reacts to it. This will be the first year you’ll be in his presence for the day and a part of you feels worried.

You reach the end of the stairs, now in the living room. You hear noise in the kitchen, alerting you that Miguel is there. You turn to the wall of photographs you put together, illuminated softly by a lamp Miguel turned on earlier when you both decided to take a break.

Miguel has changed a lot, this wall is a great sign of that but you still wonder if gifting him something on Father’s Day might upset him.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asks stepping into the living room.

You turn, startled. You’re still amazed sometimes at how he manages to sneak up on you. You’d think that a man of his size would make more noise when walking but no. Sometimes he walks so silently, you don’t know he’s there until he speaks up.

“Yes, I was just - looking,” you reply, glancing back at the wall, at a photo of Gaby. You smile softly at it for a second before giving Miguel your attention. He’s already walked to the coffee table, which has been cleared once more. He places two mugs on the surface, over coasters, and sits down on the floor again.

“What did you make?” you ask but you already have an idea as you make your way over.

“Give it a second,” he says with a soft smirk, knowing that the scent will reach your nose soon enough.

You reach the table, noticing the mugs filled with a dark liquid. Your favorite.

“I’m not even going to ask how you made it so quick,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle.

“I won’t reveal my secrets, then.”

You snort softly and turn your gaze to him, noticing he still has flour on his face. “I’ll be right back.” You head to the kitchen for a napkin, returning to the table in no time. You kneel on your side of the table.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you start as you fold the napkin while Miguel watches you with curiosity, wondering.

“What is it?” he asks softly, his head tilting to the side.

“You have a little something - right,” you lean over the table, carefully, and reach with the napkin. “Here,” you say, wiping his cheek and then dabbing his nose gently. You pull back, not missing the way Miguel blinks in surprise, his brows knitting slightly. He didn’t protest nor pulled back though, he simply accepted it, either willingly or because he was too caught off guard.

You place the napkin down and pick up the mug, taking it in both hands and inhaling the rich scent. “Always smells so good,” you mumble bringing it to your mouth. “Thank you for making it.”

Miguel nods, still blinking. His brain is having a moment, trying to catch up. “Si [yes], you’re we- Always,” he says. stammering. “I hope you like it,” he adds picking up his own and holding it with one hand.

“Should we unpause?”

“Yeah, I - I got it.” Miguel grabs the remote and unpauses as he speaks. “Thank you for, you know, my face,” he says as the movie starts playing again.

“Always,” you say humming, your eyes on the TV once more as you settle down and get comfortable.

You watch the rest of the movie without pauses, drinking your coffees in comfy lounging clothes. Miguel threw on a sweatshirt earlier, too, so you’re both donning sweatshirts now. It’s not until the movie is over that you realize it’s the same one he offered to you when you were sick. Of course, you threw it in the wash since you were sick and returned it to him, along with his blanket.

You glance at Miguel as he reads from a book. It’s a new one. Apparently he finished the previous one while looking after you a few days ago. He turns the page, his eyes moving across the page. You’re both still sitting on the ground, across from each other.

You turn back to your tablet, looking for gifts to give fathers. You don’t even know why you searched that up, but you did, almost mindlessly, as soon as you grabbed the tablet. So now, you’re “just looking.” You’re not buying anything. You don’t think so.

As you scroll, your mind is contemplating.

Should you, or should you not?

You know it might be a hard day for Miguel but at the same time, simply ignoring the day and making it seem like it’s a regular Sunday seems cruel to you.

You chew on your bottom lip.

Which is crueler? Ignoring the day, or bringing it up?

“What are you thinking about?”

You look up, caught off guard. Miguel is staring at you, his book in one hand held open by a finger.

“I… Nothing,” you say softly.

“I don’t believe you,” Miguel replies, knowing you too well. Something is bothering you.

“I… well,” you start, trying to give yourself time to think of a little white lie. “It’s just … I’m thinking about… Yesterday.” You nod, finding a truth. “When I went to the cemetery, I saw Harry there.”

Miguel nods, not giving away that he knows you’re telling him something else. He noticed the way you were thinking, giving yourself time. He goes along with it anyway, trusting that whatever was truly on your mind, you’ll feel comfortable to share with him later on if you wish to. At least, it doesn't seem to be life or death. Still, the fact that you ran into Harry makes his brows raise.

“You did?”

“Yeah. He didn’t see me. I - I fled like a criminal from Peter’s grave,” you say wincing as you realize that’s basically how you left, running away from there before he could spot you. “I didn’t want to run into him and have to give him an answer when I don’t have one yet. Or, have to tell him that I’m still thinking about it, you know? So, I just - avoided him.”

“I don’t blame you,” Miguel replies gently, placing his book down after saving his page with a bookmark. “It’s only been a few days since you saw him again after so many years. I hope he’d understand that his request might need more than a few days to be considered.”

Leaning back on the couch, you nod, relieved Miguel didn’t notice that you very last minute thought of the Harry situation. “I’m sure he would - at least the Harry I knew back then would, but I suppose that doesn’t matter much now. Maybe I don’t know him anymore. So many years have gone by and I’ve changed. Maybe he has, too.”

“Change - is good,” Miguel answers. He knows that himself. He wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for the changes he’s made in his life, for accepting and embracing them even when there have been times when it was hard. “Maybe he has changed - matured,” he adds, leaving out that maybe he’s learned not to abandon friends in need. He frowns, his hand curling into a loose fist for a few seconds before he relaxes. “It’s only been a few days. You still have time to think about it, figure out what you think is best for you. Not for him.”

Letting Miguel’s words sink in, you nod with a small smile. “I appreciate your encouraging words. I’ll admit, this threw me off guard more than I’d like, so I find your words reassuring. I don’t need to rush and make a decision,” you say. “I just need to not feel guilty or selfish about it.”

“That’s the last thing you are,” Miguel says leaning on the coffee table slightly. “You’re not selfish for taking your time, nor would you be selfish if you chose to - step back, even if it’s for now. I’m… I have no right to say anything. I know he was in your life since your childhood, and I’m no one to tell you-” Miguel says pausing to gather his thoughts.

“You’re my best friend,” you say softly, seizing Miguel’s pause to speak. “I appreciate your thoughts, your advice - I’ll say what you once told me - you’re someone to me.”

Miguel hums, a smile forming on his lips when he hears you reciprocate his very words from so long ago. Back then, he was unable to call you his friend, so he used the word “someone” instead. “You’re someone to me, too.” Now, he can say it though, so he does. “You’re my best friend.”

Smiling back at him, your heart is elated to hear those words from Miguel’s mouth once again. To have him verbally say it - you’re his best friend.

And he’s yours.

You push down the happiness, remembering you were talking about Harry and your decision. “So… you were saying?” you ask.

“Right,” Miguel says, also recalling what the conversation is even about. “I was saying that… Well, my opinion doesn’t matter at the end of the day. No one’s does. The decision is up to you, but no one would blame you for stepping back, or asking Harry for more time to think about it, but that’s just a thought. All I hope is that you don’t feel pressure, nor stress from your decision when you make one.”

You nod, thinking about his words as you rub your thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know right now. I don’t have a clear answer, and I don’t want to rush into making one.” You sigh and meet his gaze. “You’re right. It’s only been a few days, and I spent a lot of those days resting and sleeping, so I hardly even gave it a thought. A few more days won’t be so bad.”

“I concur,” Miguel says. “There’s plenty of time to think about it. Just - don’t get too stressed about it, okay? I have a feeling part of the reason why you got sick was because of stress you were - are - feeling about this situation.”

“I won’t, I’ll take it easy,” you reassure Miguel. “I don’t want to get sick again.”

“Me neither,” Miguel says, genuinely as he hated seeing you sick. “I hated seeing you sick, you know…”

You flash him a smile, moving your thumb from your knuckles to your wrist, feeling your hair tie. “I can imagine. I hated seeing you injured a year ago.”

He hums in response, understanding. If he hated seeing you sick with a cold, he can only imagine what he’d feel if something else - something worse - happened to you. He silently prays he never has to witness something like that with you. “Hopefully, it never gets to something like that again. For either of us.”

“I hope not,” you reply, still touching your hair tie. “By the way…”

“Yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want more café de olla [coffee]?”

Amused, he nods. “Yeah, I could go for another mug.”

“I got it then,” you say, standing up and grabbing both your mugs. Miguel thanks you as you head to the kitchen. You come back a minute later and place yours down, holding on to his. “Here,” you say, placing his in front of him.

He looks at it, smiling. “Thank you again, I appreciate it,” Miguel says softly before he notices your hair tie next to it, laying on the table. He looks up just as you sit down once more. “You dropped your hair tie,” he says picking it up, remembering earlier when you almost caught him playing with it.

“I did? Oh, I didn’t even notice,” you say, surprised. “I had it in my pocket. Hold it for me, let me get a napkin, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.” Miguel watches you return to the kitchen, still holding your hair tie.

You return and sit down, placing napkins for each other. You notice Miguel is still holding on to your hair tie. “I think I’m just going to leave it here for now. It was bothering my wrist earlier and seems like it fell from my pocket. I don’t want to lose it,” you say. “It’s my favorite.”

Miguel nods, holding it. He places it down gently, like it’s some delicate item that might break. “You can leave it here on the coffee table, so you don’t lose it.”

“You’re right, I’m going to leave it here,” you say with a smile before you pick up your tablet again, not giving it more attention than necessary to avoid raising any suspicions.

Miguel goes back to reading after a few seconds, seeing you go back to whatever it was you were doing on your tablet.

A little while after searching the internet for gift ideas, you subtly look up.

Miguel is leaning on the couch, his book in his hand. His eyes move across the page fast, intrigued by the plot of his book. Under the coffee table, which is built in a way that allows people’s legs under, you feel his lower leg resting against your own. You hadn’t even noticed it but now that you are, you’re aware of the warmth, finding it comforting.

Up on the table, his free hand rests there. His fingers are busy playing with your hair tie. He turns it around his fingers before he slips it down his hand to his wrist so he can flip the page.

You turn back to your tablet with a smile, saying nothing for now.

It’s much later when you’re both heading upstairs to sleep that he remembers he has it, still on his wrist. He stops in front of his bedroom and turns to face you.

For a moment you think he’s just doing his normal gesture, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his to be a gentleman but you notice his hand on his wrist.

“I have your…” he starts, trailing off.

“It’s alright,” you say from your door. “You can keep it.”

“I - what?” Miguel asks, taken aback.

“You may keep it.”

“Your hair tie…?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s your favorite.”

“I know.”

“So you should have it back, then.”

“You can give it back tomorrow if you’d like, but I don’t mind. Keep it safe for me,” you say before you yawn, covering your mouth. “Goodnight, Migs. Sleep well, okay? I’ll see you in the mornin’.” You give him a little wave and a sleepy smile before entering your room, leaving Miguel in the hallway.

His fingers remain on your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. For a few seconds, he stands still until he shakes his head, dropping his hand from his wrist and entering his bedroom at last.

Inside his room, he heads for the bathroom to do his night routine. He makes sure to take off your hair tie to avoid getting it damp, taking it back with him to the bedroom when he’s done and placing it on his nightstand. He takes off his shirt and throws it at the end of the bed before he gets the bed ready. In a few seconds, he settles under the covers with a sigh. He stares at the ceiling for several minutes, sleep slowly coming to him as he thinks. He eventually reaches for the hair tie and slips it into his wrist before he turns on his side.

Miguel’s hand searches the other side of the bed, looking for something. Once he finds it, he tugs it towards him along with a pillow. He easily slips the pillow into it, gently tugging the fabric down so the pillow is covered. At last, Miguel hugs the pillow, now covered by your sweatshirt, to his chest.

His eyes close as your scent reaches his nose.

“Lyla - do the thing,” he murmurs. Two seconds later, his gizmo plays the recording of your breathing.

With his sleep remedies in place, Miguel slowly succumbs to his slumber as he thinks about the day. There was training with the spider gang, which he enjoyed. He might join them again if they’ll have him. There was helping Reilly, who was acting strange today. He’s never seen Reilly struggle with a set before. Weird. Then, there was grocery shopping with you.

Miguel yawns quietly, shifting slightly to get comfy.

He bought you a coffee and you seemed to love it. Oh, and for some reason the lady working there thought you were his girlfriend. Strange. Then, you made pizzas and spent the evening watching the horror movie. Café de olla [coffee] was made and drank while you did your own things in each other’s company. The conversation of Harry came back.

Half-asleep and half-awake, Miguel sighs at that before he thinks about your hair tie, now on his wrist.

And to end the day, there was the nickname.

Migs.

More asleep than anything now, Miguel smiles sleepily, hugging your sweatshirt closer. “Buenas noches, dulzura [Good night, sweetness].” -Father’s Day-

Days later, you wake up around 8am. You go through your morning routine as usual, though you know what day it is.

It’s Sunday, but not just any Sunday.

You walk downstairs after changing into regular clothes, hoping to find Miguel on the first floor. You noticed his bedroom door is fully opened, which usually means he’s already awake but when you reach the first floor, he’s nowhere to be found. You check the office downstairs and the other living room. Nothing.

Stepping into the kitchen and dining room area, you notice a thermos with a note on it.

You reach for it, feeling the warmth from the bottle as you take off the sticky note. You almost get excited about the fact that he left you a note just like how you leave some for him on some days but his message doesn’t bring a smile to your face.

Frowning, you place the sticky note on the counter with his neat handwriting.

“Went to HQ. I’ll be back in a while. - M”

It’s not surprising that he’s at HQ on a Sunday. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve known that Miguel was always at HQ, even on the weekends. Over the last year, you’ve noticed he only goes for a bit on both days before returning home, and ever since you’ve been staying with him, he goes for an hour or so. Even then, he’s been going later in the day, not so early like today.

You have a pretty good idea why.

Father’s Day.

You wondered over the week if Miguel would mention it, whether he would react to it as the day got here. He didn’t say nor react over the week, even when Peter B. mentioned something about it to Miles on Friday in his presence at which you shot him a look.

You know Peter B. meant no wrong by it, but sometimes it seems a bit inconsiderate considering the situation and how Miguel’s loss is still fresh.

You open the thermos, the amazing scent of coffee greeting you. You sigh. The fact that he still made coffee despite the day hurts.

“You’re too good,” you whisper to yourself, thinking about him. “Lyla?”

“Hey, there,” she says appearing instantly. “You want to know about Miguel?”

“Yes,” you reply, not bothering to wonder how she knows.

“He’s… at the lab.”

“I know that much,” you reply.

”He’s just working,” Lyla says, shrugging. “He always works today.”

You nod, frowning. “So there’s no missions, no emergencies?”

“Nope. Nada [nothing]. He’s just… there.”

“I see.”

“Are you gonna - join him?” Lyla asks.

“Do you think he’ll stay there all day?” you ask, wondering.

“In the past, he has but this year with you being here… I don’t know, honestly.”

Noticing your frown and worried expression, Lyla adds, “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

You nod, grateful. “Thank you, Lyla.”

“You got it. Just - stay put, alright?”

“Alright.”

Lyla flickers away, leaving you alone. You check the time. It’s barely about to be 8:30.

You take a seat at the counter and drink the coffee in silence, thinking about how Miguel probably wants some alone time right now. You decide to let him be until noon, at which point you’ll show up to drop off some food so he can at least eat because you have a guess he hasn’t had anything except coffee.

After finishing your coffee, you eat something before going to your universe to check on things. You stay alert to your gizmo, just in case Lyla notifies you about anything, but no notifications come.

You return home an hour later after an easy patrol. Usually there’s no crimes on holidays like these, so there was no trouble. You do some light cleaning around the penthouse to waste time before you jump in the shower and get dressed for the day.

Back in the kitchen now, you notice it’s nearly noon. There’s still no sign of Miguel even when you decide to make lunch since you didn’t eat much before you went out.

It’s an easy lunch, so it doesn’t take long to finish making it. After eating, you gather ingredients onto one of the counters to bake. You decided a few days ago that you wanted to bake something for Miguel today, even if you play it off as a regular baking day and not because it’s Father’s Day.

“Hey, he’s heading out and coming back,” Lyla says as you place the last ingredient on the counter. “He’s a little quiet but not in a bad mood.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it, Lyla,” you reply.

“Of course. Take care,” she says, deciding that she’s not needed. Miguel will have someone with him today. You. She waves goodbye before disappearing.

With Lyla gone, you start the oven and check on the lunch. You made plenty for both yourself and Miguel, so you begin to prep it for him.

Sure enough, you hear a window from the living room open a few minutes later. You look up just in time to see Miguel enter the kitchen, donning his suit. For a few seconds, you say nothing, trying to gauge his mood.

He reaches the counter, saying nothing. The oven beeps, indicating that it’s done preheating. It catches his attention, breaking him away from his thoughts.

“…Morning,” he says at last.

“Morning,” you reply. “Do you want something to eat?”

He starts to shake his head but his stomach grumbles with the scent of food in the air. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll eat somet-”

“I made lunch,” you interject gently. “I made plenty, if you’d like some.” You fix a plate and show it to him. Thankfully he accepts it and eats at the counter, thanking you.

You do your measuring of ingredients, subtly looking at Miguel ever once in a while as he eats. You can definitely sense a different Miguel right now.

He finishes eating and excuses himself after he puts the dirty dishes away, promising to wash them in a bit before heading upstairs.

You bake on your own for a while. Lyla eventually plays music for you through Miguel’s sound system, probably finding the mood too somber, or something.

Half an hour later, Miguel walks back into the kitchen. His hair is damp and he’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweats. He approaches the counter, watching you as you check the oven through the glass.

When you turn to see him, he offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The sight hurts you, but you don’t let it show.

“Hey,” he says. “How’s your baking going?”

“Um - good. No problems,” you reply, for a moment not knowing how to respond.

“Good, I’m glad it’s going well.”

You nod. “Do you - Did that meal fill you up? I can make something else.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m alright, thank you. Lunch was good - it was fulfilling.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Miguel nods, thinking. He sits down, watching as you wipe the stand mixer down.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, making you stop. “Today…” Miguel trails off.

“I know,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

He sighs gently, your words soothing him. He suspected you’d know but he still wanted to let you know.

“I’m better now,” he says after a few seconds. “I just needed - to be out of the penthouse for a moment. I’m sorry for leaving.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just left a sticky note,” he says, shaking his head at himself, as if disappointed at his actions. “Not - very nice of me.”

“Miguel,” you say, straightening up and meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to apologize nor give me any explanations. I understand you needed a moment, or maybe you need the day. And that’s understandable. No one would blame you for doing so.”

Miguel’s eyes soften, he offers a smile once again. This time, it looks more lively.

“Thank you for - always being so understanding, dulzura [sweetness],” he says, so softly.

“Always,” you reply, offering a warm smile.

Miguel keeps smiling, taking in the soft look on your face. You really are so understanding, so sweet.

“I’ll be here for you,” you add. “Whatever you want to do today, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods, looking at the counter now. “I really - don’t want to go anywhere.”

That makes sense. There’s probably families out and about, celebrating the day.

“We can stay here then. I’ll let you be.”

“No.”

“No?” you repeat.

“No, you don’t have to - let me be. You can… You can stay with me?” he says, sounding more like a question.

“If you want to… I can.”

“Yes - please.”

So you do. You stay near Miguel all day, like glue. You eat the baked sweets together, watch TV, and read. You make dinner together when it’s time and make conversation, keeping it lighthearted.

After dinner, Miguel asks if you want to go outside with him for some fresh air. Of course, you accept. You both climb out of the penthouse and up onto the roof.

Sitting down, your legs dangle off the building as you both watch the sunset. In the distance, you can see the traffic. You both sit there in silence for a while, watching the sun.

“That was pretty,” you murmur once the sun has set.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Miguel replies.

With a smile, you nod and lean back on your hands.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, making you turn to see him. “For sticking around with me. I really appreciate it.”

“Always,” you say softly, still smiling.

Miguel copies your position, leaning back on his hands. His fingers accidentally brush yours, so he shifts his hand to avoid squeezing yours under his weight.

You both stay like that for a few minutes. The silence is nice, comforting. You think about something as you look at the sky, and it’s not the first time. You’ve thought about it multiple times throughout the day but you’re still making up your mind, wondering if it’s a good idea.

You still debate it even when you both head back inside and tell Miguel you’re washing your hands in the bathroom even though it’s a lie.

You enter your bedroom and pull out the gift bag from the closet, debating. You sigh.

It’s probably not a good idea. Maybe you can wait until next year to give him these things, or maybe on another day that’s not Father’s Day.

“Dulzura [sweetness]?” you hear Miguel’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I - yes!” You reply, moving quickly to put the bag away. In your rush, you slam your elbow on the closet door, wincing.

“I’m coming in,” Miguel says after hearing your wince.

He steps in just as you put the gift bag inside the closet, except it falls from where you placed it. You catch it quickly, remembering that something could break.

“You hurt yourself,” Miguel says stepping closer. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You huff slowly, giving up and placing the bag on the floor carefully before rubbing your elbow.

Superhuman or not, a hit on the elbow always hurts.

“Hit my elbow,” you say, still rubbing it.

“I heard the hit, let me see,” Miguel says. “It sounded loud.”

“It’s okay, just hit it on the door.”

“Allow me?”

You nod hesitantly, your face feeling hot out of embarrassment that you hurt yourself trying to hide the bag. You show Miguel your elbow, and he hums.

“Damn, dulzura. You broke the skin somehow - hold on.”

“It’s... fine,” you say watching as he exits the room. He comes back in seconds, a first aid kit in his hand. He motions for you to take a seat on the one chair in the room, so you obey. Reluctantly.

He gets down on one knee and gets to work, opening the first aid kit.

“It’s not that bad,” you say, looking at it. There’s some blood but that’s about it. Of course, it’s still stinging like hell - somehow getting worse.

“You’re bleeding,” he says as he opens an antiseptic wipe package. “Here. Let me see your arm.”

You hold it out for him, looking at his concentrated gaze. He shocks you when he gently wraps his free hand around your forearm - his fingers warm.

He gently wipes your elbow, which makes you wince.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers gently. “Just want to clean the area.”

You nod. “I know, it’s not that bad,” you keep saying.

That makes Miguel look at your face. “Why am I surprised? You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He shakes his head and turns his attention back to your elbow. He was already gentle to begin with, but somehow he’s even more now.

“I’m not stubborn,” you say after a few seconds.

“Right, and everyone at HQ thinks I’m a beam of sunlight. They call me ‘solecito’ [little sun] - maybe you’ve heard members call me that before in passing,” Miguel says sarcastically, looking at you.

With serious faces, you stare at each other for a few seconds until your lips quiver, making Miguel’s quiver, too. Unable to hold back, you laugh.

Miguel chuckles, trying to hold back from full on laughing, but in the end, Miguel O’Hara laughs.

It’s a real laugh, so full of life. It’s the kind that makes his entire chest vibrate - rich and deep.

It’s the kind you’d do anything to hear again. And again. And again.

Your laughter subsides after a few moments but grins remain on your faces as Miguel continues to tend to your wound like you’ve come back from a rough mission.

“Solecito [little sun], huh?” you ask, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, I’m everyone’s ball of sunshine,” Miguel replies as he puts away the antiseptic wipe. “You ripped your skin - what were you even doing in such a rush?”

You look to the side. “I was - putting something away.”

Miguel turns to look at the closet, noticing the gift bag on the ground. He hardly noticed it earlier, more concerned about you than anything else when he heard you wincing.

“A gift bag?” he asks turning back to you. His mind quickly connects the dots as he tends to your cut.

“Yeah…” you simply say, staring off to the side.

“You bought something?” he asks gently while he places an adhesive bandage on you.

You turn to face him and nod. “I did, but I didn’t know how to give it to you, and then when I saw you this morning - or in the afternoon rather - I felt it wasn’t a good idea.”

Miguel hums, his gaze softening. He’s done tending your wound but his hand remains wrapped around your forearm.

“And you hit yourself trying to hide it,” he says.

“I heard you coming in.”

“I came upstairs to grab my sweatshirt and then heard you sighing. It sounded like you were disappointed, so I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t mean for you to hurt yourself,” he replies, softly.

“It’s not your fault - I was just,” you pause and wave your free arm. “I didn’t want you to see it and then, have to tell you about it. I realized it wasn’t a good idea, so.”

“I’m okay,” Miguel replies. “You didn’t have to hide it. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t show it to me. The first part of the day was a little hard but… the rest of the day has been better.” Miguel offers a reassuring smile. “Thanks to you. So... If you want to show me… I promise I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

You nod slowly. “Alright.” You shoot your web and pull the gift bag towards you. “Um - do you want to?” you say offering the bag to him.

He nods, releasing your arm at last. He accepts the bag. After all the trouble you went though, there’s no way Miguel isn’t accepting your gift, even if it makes him feel bittersweet.

He opens the bag, still on one knee, and reaches inside. He feels different objects but he goes for something that feels round and heavy, wrapped in paper, and pulls it out. He places the bag down for a moment.

You slide off the chair and sit on the ground, joined by Miguel a second later. He opens the package gently, sensing it’s something fragile.

Pulling off all the paper, he finally reveals the item and holds it up, his gaze soft.

It’s a pottery coffee mug with traces of the color lilac, but it’s the main design that tugs the most at Miguel’s heartstrings: two bees, one smaller than the other one, and “Father’s Day” written under it.

“You remembered,” he says tenderly. “You remembered what I told you about Gaby - that she loved the color lilac and bees.”

“I did,” you answer, smiling.

Miguel smiles, his chest fluttering with happiness and pure ternura [endearment] as he stares at the coffee mug. “And you made it yourself?” He asks, knowing that you’re a hobby person, you like to try new things.

“Yes. I went to two classes this week and worked on it then. It’s not perfect, being my first time with pottery but I hope you like it regardless.”

“I love it,” Miguel says sincerely, leaving no question or doubt about it. He holds it, not wanting to let go of it. In his mind, he already knows he’ll be using this mug every day for coffee.

“I’m glad you - love it,” you say softly, happy with your idea. “There’s more though.”

“Right,” he says remembering. He places the mug down and reaches for the bag. His fingers find a small box, so he pulls that out. His curiosity grows as he realizes it’s the size of a jewelry box. He glances at you, wondering.

“Open it.”

Miguel nods, opening it gently. His eyes widen for a moment as he finds a gold bracelet, the kind that he grew up wearing as a kid.

“You…” he starts as his eyes read Gabriella’s name on the gold plate. “She had one like this, much smaller, of course. She wore it all the time, day and night. You noticed that from the photos.”

You nod. “I hope you don’t… mind,” you whisper. “I thought… it’s something you can wear sometimes, a physical reminder of her with you.”

He nods, sliding his finger over the name.

Gabriella.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “You didn’t have to - this is real gold, it must have cost a lot.”

“Don’t worry about that, please. I’m just glad you like it. I was worried - it might be too much,” you admit.

“No, no, this is - I only have one thing of hers,” Miguel confesses. “The guitar I place on the ofrenda. It’s the only physical item left, and it was pure luck that it made it, so this… Thank you.”

You can only nod, relieved that Miguel is okay with the bracelet. He takes a few moments to look at it, lost in thought, before he finally reaches for the last item. He doesn’t know what it is but it’s a flat and long item. He peels the paper carefully, revealing an art canvas.

You notice the front is facing you, so you wait for him to turn it.

When he does, his eyes soften and fill with tears.

“Dulzura,” he says. “This is - beautiful,” Miguel says, his fingers tracing the painting. A tear slides down his cheek as he stares at the image you painted of him and Gabriella.

He’s in awe with how beautiful it is, so much he needs to take a moment. He looks away from you and closes his eyes, his chest filled with emotion. He lets a breath out, swallowing the knot in his throat and looks at the painting again.

It’s him in his Spider-Man suit, face uncovered, carrying Gabriella on his shoulders. Gaby is wearing her soccer uniform, one hand in the air while she holds her soccer ball in the other one. Based on the background, they’re, here, at the penthouse.

More tears spill from Miguel’s eyes - tears you’re tempted to wipe away. You swallow the knot that’s formed in your own throat from seeing Miguel grow so emotional, and clear your throat. In a second, you pull your sweatshirt from the bed with your web and take one of the sleeves. You lift it.

“May I…?” you ask.

Miguel’s red eyes turn to you, his tears running down his damp cheeks. He doesn’t say no or yes, so you dry his cheeks with your sleeve, gently.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Miguel blinks a few more tears, but a smile forms on his lips. “Someone on a rooftop once told me they’re happy tears.”

You smile and pull back, remembering the time Miguel did the same for you. You told him they were happy ones.

“Happy tears are good,” you say, nodding.

“Yeah, they are,” Miguel agrees, wiping his cheek. “Thank you - this is really - so beautiful. So, so… beautiful. Thank you.”

“Always,” you whisper.

Still holding the canvas, Miguel sniffles and extends his arm. He offers his pinky finger.

And of course, you accept the gesture with your own.

You give each other a pinky hug.

“Happy Father’s Day, Migs,” you whisper.

“Thank you,” Miguel answers, still smiling with his pinky finger wrapped around yours. "Thank you, dulzura [sweetness].”

A/N: I have many thoughts about certain things in this chapter, hehehe

But anyway - I made myself cry with the Father's Day part at 2am lmao

I WISH MIGUEL HAD GABY IN HIS LIFE !!!😭😭 Gonna be sad about this all day fr but anyway, I want to say thank you to the people that replied to my post from yesterday about what you'd gift Miguel for Father's Day. I did the same thing for Christmas and I really loved incorporating readers' ideas into the fic, so I figured why not do it again and they didn't disappoint!!! @lauraolar14 @only-a-universe-away @oharaslove thank you for the lovely ideas!!!!! <33333

Also one more mention for @lauraolar14 !! The hair tie scenes were based on this fan art that was inspired by a post of NC head canons of reader (I think I'm going to start calling her Dulzura from now on, lowkey) and Miguel as temporary roommates THAT I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT SGFRYEHRUH THANK YOU LAURA!! ❤️❤️ That's enough yapping from me!! I hope you guys enjoyed this one!! I cried and laughed, and hopefully you do, too (but in a good way, you know?)!!

THANK YOU!! IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME 🫶🏼🥺<3333333 Also, I hope you guys have a great start to your week!!!

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 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii

[pvffinsdaisies]

Northumbria Headcanon Masterpost

The artwork used was created by @ladybrainrot

Continuing on with my master posts for my portrayals of different characters, I’ve decided the next one would be for my OC portrayal of Northumbria. Since I did one of these for Scotland, I’ve been wanting to create another one, but I’ve not known which character to choose. Bria just happens to be my brainrot atm, though she’s not as developed as I thought.

Northumbria is an old kingdom that consisted of modern day northern England, and southern Scotland, through the 600s-900s. In my eyes, Northumbria stayed alive and in modern day represents the north of England- the cultural and the class difference. With that in mind, and also noting that I am not a big history fan, please do be weary that many choices made take into account modern day northern England, rather than the former kingdom of Northumbria itself. This is also just my take, as someone from the north of England. I am also aware that she is not 100% accurate- Bria originally started out as a 2p nyo England over four years ago, but as I grew up, I decided to revamp her a little, and she became my oc portrayal of Northumbria. Keep in mind, had I originally set out to make a northern England oc, not a 2p nyo England, she would probably be quite different than she is today.

PHYSICAL

Northumbria’s hair is a mousy brown colour, and it lies somewhere between blonde and brunette. This was done intentionally to show her similarities to both Scotland and to England, and how she’s the awkward space in between the two of them.

When left down, her hair reaches down to her mid back, but it’s frequently worn up to keep it out of her face.

Bushy eyebrows runs in the family, and she didn’t manage to escape this gene either.

Northumbria has softer, though not rounded, features. She has droopy/downturned eyes, a heart face shape, and a button nose.

She has dimples in her cheeks, which represent the Yorkshire Dales, and a few freckles which represent the Lake District

She is one of the shortest of her siblings, standing at 5’3 or about 160cm

Bria is chubby, with a pear body shape. A lot of her weight is in her stomach and waist, and she has a smaller top half.

Northumbria’s breasts represent the Pennines, a mountain range which runs through the centre of Northern England. The mountains are, objectively, not that big.

Northumbria has very bad hay fever, and she takes tablets every spring and summer, but they don’t do much for help. She loves the outside, though, and thinks a runny nose and itchy eyes are worth it to be out in the countryside.

She has problems with her lungs from spending so many years of her life working as a coal miner, she uses an inhaler to help her.

She doesn’t wear make up very often, only if she’s going out or if attending a formal event- and she’s not very good at it! Mostly, she just hasn’t had much practice, and finds most days she can’t be bothered with it.

Despite this, Northumbria is incredibly skilled with plaits and buns! Her hair is most often seen in just a simple three strand plait for simplicity, but she can do some beautiful techniques if she wants to.

She has a pink rose necklace which she wears all the time. It represents the red rose of Lancashire and the white rose of Yorkshire. Normally, these two rose come together to create the “Tudor Rose”, but for a little necklace, a pink rose will do fine.

Speaking of roses, she likes to smell like them! She always buys rose scented perfumes. It’s fair to say, these flowers mean a lot to her.

As well as her rose necklace, you will almost always see Northumbria wearing a flat cap. She owns a dark green one, but also a brown one. She takes a lot of pride in these hats.

PERSONALITY

Out of her and Arthur, Northumbria is definitely the friendlier, more extroverted one. If she sees someone she knows on the street, she will stop and say hi, have a little chat to them, before heading off on her way. Moments like this brighten her day.

Even if you are not yet friends, she prides herself as being someone you can stop and talk to, if you need it. She’s also not shy to striking up a conversation with someone new. She will talk to you like you know one another, even during small talk.

She takes the position of the mum friend, and she can be extremely comforting for when you’re upset. Guaranteed, if knock on the door and ask to talk, she’ll hurry you inside, make you some tea, and if you’re lucky, she’ll make you her favourite comfort food. She’ll always be sure to provide a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, words of encouragement, and some advice once you’re feeling better.

Bria is a very loyal person, especially to those she considers herself closest with. She will stay by the side of those she loves through no matter what. This is one of the reasons she has never seriously considered trying to gain independence.

However, she can also be very indecisive, she can change her mind and stance pretty frequently. This meeting her loyal nature can be conflicting sometimes. She finds constantly switching between being more loyal to England, and being more loyal to Scotland (who she’s (debatably) closer to.)

Northumbria is incredibly passionate, but her passion can come out quite aggressive. You can notice a significant flip from her usual calmer, motherly personality, to her yelling and shouting curse words. It can be quite intimidating if you’re not used to it.

Selfishness is probably Bria’s worst trait. She will always think about herself and her own situation first, and sometimes might never even consider someone else’s perspective on things. This can and has lead to her stabbing people in the back to try and better herself if she gets desperate enough (sorry Wales.)

She regularly feels ignored and overlooked, mainly by England, but she hasn’t figured out how to make herself be taken seriously by others, so no matter how much she shouts, nothing much will change.

Because of this, she has an intense desire to prove herself. She had a tendency to be vocal and brag about anything important or anyone successful who comes from the north of England. It can seem like she believes she’s superior to Arthur, but it’s more a desire to prove herself to be an equal. That, and just a good amount of pride and patriotism.

Northumbria has a hard time letting go of the past. She struggles to move on, now matter how far away it was. She still clings to her old coal mining job especially to define her identity. She won’t stop there. She’ll go back as far as the Viking age if she has to.

She’s incredibly humble and modest, which means she sometimes dismisses the bad things that have happened to her in the past, choosing to focus on the positives. This can give her a tainted view of her own history, and she looks back on many things with a far more positive outlook, her nostalgia can blind her to the hardships she faced in the past.

Northumbria likes to credit herself as being a realist, and being fairly down to earth. She is not blinded to current situations from nostalgia. And, whilst she finds some fantastical stuff appealing, she is not blinded to the reality of the world and the position she’s in.

She can be a bit of a hopeless romantic, but not in the sense that she has an unrealistic expectation of love. She’s more just looking for someone to see her, understand her, and settle down with her as her partner. She loves the idea of love, but she’s also aware of what it does and doesn’t actually look like.

Bria heavily values politeness and manners. A simple please and thank you never cost anyone anything, she finds it very rude and demanding to not use them, and she will remind her family if they forget!

She holds a lot of respect for people who are honest and who speak their mind. She doesn’t like when she feels people try and hide how they feel about something. She may be a bit shocked sometimes at bluntness, but eventually she’ll come round and admire the honesty. She makes sure to tell people who are like this that she appreciates it.

HOBBIES & INTERESTS

Northumbria loves to go out on walk around the countryside, however, given her lungs she has to really pace herself and try not to go too fast. She also avoids hikes that are going to be too challenging for her. But still, nothing will stop her from getting outside.

She enjoys cycling too, but again, has to pace herself and try not to do anything that exceeds her limits.

Whilst she doesn’t play, rugby is her favourite sport by a mile! She is extremely passionate about it, and she gets far too into the games. She also insists that league is the better, and rougher version. Her entire family disagrees.

Something she and her family can agree on, is a strong love for music. Bria’s preferred taste is pop music, she especially loves boy bands and girl groups. She is the world’s biggest Take That fan.

She actually used to play an instrument herself! The Northumbrian pipes, a smaller (and quieter) variant of bagpipes that come from the north of England. She and Scotland used to play together, but she gave it up in the 19th century, and hasn’t picked them back up since.

Whilst Northumbria is no top-quality chef, she’s actually very good at warm, comforting foods to fill you up. Her favourite to make is mince and dumplings- which also happens to be her comfort food- but she also makes a good shepherd’s pie or cottage pie. She also makes a brilliant yorkshire pudding.

She is a savoury girl all the way! Too much sweet stuff can make her feel ill. She is a devout fan of greggs.

She is not much of a baker herself, however, she does love to treat herself to a baked pastry or pasty. She especially loves Cornish pastries, and when her old sister, Cornwall, bakes them herself, she will never be able to resist them.

Whilst she no longer works as a farmer, she did used to, and she found a love for gardening from it. She grows vegetables and flowers, and gifts any spares that she had no need for to one of her siblings. Her garden is not large by any means, but it is very pretty.

Much like the rest of her siblings, Northumbria enjoys a night out on the town, venturing into pubs. She has a bias towards Irish bars especially, due to the surplus of them in Liverpool thanks to mass Irish immigration.

She loves reading, and she has a massive passion for Beatrix Potter and her novels. She has original copies of all of them on her shelf, as well as other pieces of merchandise like fridge magnets or garden ornaments.

Northumbria has a knack for poetry, especially nature themed poetry. Influenced by the amount of poets that come from or moved to the Lake District.

She attends the Viking Festival that takes place in York every year.

She enjoys watching soap operas, her favourites being Emmerdale and Coronation Street- which she keeps up with regularly. She gets overly invested in the storylines sometimes. Though, she’s aware they’re not the best quality.

Northumbria has some skill regarding sewing. She can fix a button or a zip on a dress, but she’s not skilled enough to be making her own clothes. She just repairs old ones.

However, she is very skilled at knitting. From the 1980s-2005, the world’s fastest knitter was a woman from the north of England. Northumbria herself is pretty fast!

LIFESTYLE

Northumbria uses the human name Ivory Ailith Kirkland, with Ivy or Ives as her nickname. I would’ve used a Cumbrian name, but alas with the language being extinct, there’s no websites online.

She has two pet hedgehogs who run around her house and her garden, they’re called Charlotte and Peach.

Ivory currently resides in Newcastle Upon Tyne, and she has the thickest geordie accent you’ll ever hear, although for many years of her life she lived in York. The city is still one of her favourites, and it’s very special to her, but she now only visits once a year.

Despite this, she considers the Lakes the place where her heart lives. She tries to visit at least once or twice a year.

Thick as her accent is, it’s really flexible. It changes quickly, if she talks to someone from a different area for even an hour she accidentally starts to mimic their speech. If she spends a week somewhere, she could probably pass as a native.

Northumbria speaks English, British Sign Language, French and Scots. She used to speak Cumbrian, Latin and old Norse. The latter two are long gone and forgotten, but she’s still convinced if someone spoke Cumbrian to her, it would come flooding back. Despite her flexible accent, she’s never been the great at studying new languages. They fly right over her head! She is, however, extremely prone to picking up new slang words upon meeting someone, even if she’s never heard said words before.

Since Ivory is not recognised as a country, nor is she self-reliant, she doesn’t actually have much nation work to do- if any at all! She travels down to Manchester if there is anything in the north she is needed for, and sometimes she will step in as England for Arthur is needed. Generally though, she has a lot of time to herself to explore the north.

She technically lives in a shared house in london, too, with the rest of her siblings (besides Ireland), but she doesn’t like it down there and isn’t needed there often at all.

Ivory’s wardrobe is simple, but still pretty. She prefers more earthy tones like greens and browns, but she’s never shy to a floral detail. Her clothes are comfortable and easy to move around in- generally. She’s a big fan of pinafores, simple tops and t-shirts, and cardigans. You’ll rarely ever find her in anything slim fitting.

Deep down, Ivory longs simply for a life of comfort. And, even though she’s a morning person, and she loves her morning walks, her favourite part of the day is sitting down on the sofa with a cup of tea in the evenings.

However, due to her longing for comfort, she’s developed a fear of the unknown. She doesn’t like stepping outside of her comfort zone if she doesn’t absolutely have to, and even then she may try and ignore it as much as she can.

She has a complicated relationship with the subject of potential independence. Her fear of the unknown prevents her from taking the idea seriously, even if she’s not comfortable with the current situation- and is constantly complaining about how ignored she feels and how she wants better. She identifies as northern before she does as English, and she is always making a point that she has way more in common with Scotland than with the south, but to her, complete independence is something she is too afraid to take seriously. It’s easier to joke about, which she has no problems doing.

Whilst Bria is pretty well-off now, she’s had some very low points financially in the past, and has gotten used to being poorer one out of her and Arthur. As a result, she is extremely money conscious. She is constant scouting for discounts, trying to get things at the lowest possible price, and checking her bank account after every single thing she buys. She gets nervous whenever she has to buy something that’s a bit more expensive than she’d like. She might miss out on fun opportunities with other people if she feels the cost will be too high.

This means that even through the winter, she’ll try her best to save as much money on heating and on electricity as possible. If it’s cold, you don’t turn on the heating, you put a blanket over you. If it’s dark, you can turn on some smaller lights, but by no means can you turn on the big one!

Due to her budgeting, she can get extremely defensive about her choice to always go cheap. If someone try tell her that she doesn’t need to be counting every penny anymore, that she can let loose a bit and can now afford nicer things, they can expect a whole lecture from her about how money doesn’t grow on trees, and it’s always good to have a bit of extra cash on you.

Ive is a surprise visitor, and is always dropping in on her family members unannounced, even though they all live hours away from her. It really can annoy her siblings, and you’ll find them complaining, “I wish she’d just let me know first.”

She is a heavy meat eater, and she will pour thick & heavy gravy over every meal she has until it’s swimming in it. Despite her fondness for gardening, she does not eat nearly enough vegetables.

Out of all of her siblings, she is the most non-religious, and at this point her relationship with her faith is very weak. She is the only sibling who doesn’t have a mythical creature who resides with her, and she feels she doesn’t see them as often as she used to do when she’s out and about. She still sees her brothers’ friends, like flying mint bunny for example, when visiting them, but outside of that they don’t really cross her mind much at all.

[greatunironic]

title: folktale (1/2) summary: "It’s outlandish. It’s implausible. It’s beyond the scope of man, beyond the imagination of children. He wants to shake his head, wants to dismiss it the same way they would laugh at the end of each campfire story, the same way folks would turn their noses up at the talk from the old miners who see things in the coal dust and dark and heat, because everyone sees something in the mine. That’s just the nature of the shadow." Deciding to find his own answers, Wayne picks the wrong (or perhaps very right) moment to return to his trailer. (part three of eating in the underworld)

excerpt: Because here’s the thing, he thinks:

Hawkins is strange. Never in a truly quantifiable way, more just something always a bit left of center. He’d grown up there, gone from a little boy to a young man and older too, and the strangeness, then, had always seemed normal, the quirks of a small town in rural Indiana where nobody looked too hard at what was around them. Wayne had noticed it more, after he’d gone to war, after he’d come back; maybe it was because he’d been removed, however briefly, his eyes opened when he came back. But he thinks maybe he’s always known, those oddities, those happenings that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

So he signs the papers they give him but he thinks that, even if he ran his mouth about what he saw, what he found, that growing stain upon his ceiling — who is going to believe him? No one believed Victor Creel, after all, when he said he didn’t do it, when he said it was something else entirely; no one listened to Joyce Byers about the body in the lake; no one answered the Hollands’ questions until they were forced to.

[bratshaws]

goodness gracious 79. brb x oc

i will beat the shit out of you how dare you

a/n: OHHH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOD okay, OKAY OKAY WHEW I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE LIKING THE CHAPTERS SO FAR BECAUSE I AM BECAUSE I KNOW WHATS GOING TO HAPPEN AND AAAAAAAA

check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: Michael and Bea have a talk, Bea has to heal from some shit and Rooster has an idea uwu

chapters:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

65/66/67/68/69/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77/78

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!)

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2 @emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads

-

“You know I’m not going to stop you from living your adult life, I just would've liked to have known about it.” Michael says while twirling the thick boba straw in his cup, slurping it loudly as the two are seated on the outside tables that overlook the busy streets on that Monday afternoon.

“We just wanted to resolve everything before we told anyone.” Beatrice answers, drinking her own boba tea with her brow furrowed just enough, “It wouldn’t make sense to say we were moving in together without a house.”

Michael hums in reply, popping the tapioca bubbles as he does so, with his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, “I guess it makes sense.” he mutters, crossing one leg over the other, bouncing the one supporting it quickly, “Did you tell mom and dad yet?” Beatrice shakes her head, holding the plastic cup with both hands on top of her lap, focusing her eyes somewhere else.

‘I will tell them,Mike. I’ll also…have to tell them something else.” her older brother’s inquisitive ‘oh?’ made her grimace, “I did a photoshoot…last week.”

“A photoshoot?”

‘Yeah, um, a friend of Evelyn’s who is a fashion designer asked me to be his model and I accepted because…it was really good money and I needed to save some for the car and…well the pictures were nice, they were just…swimwear.”

A tapioca bubble almost entered his lung when she said it, which in turn makes the fourth oldest Schiavoni cough up like a miner who spent forty years underground inhaling coal fumes. He hits his chest with his fist, clears his throat, then turns his eyes to his sister, who looked as guilty as before, “No, no,” he coughs again,” Don’t feel bad,I’m just surprised. You are a grown woman and you-” another one “You can make your own choices. So you had a swimwear photoshoot, so what? Good for you.”

“Really?”

“You don’t need our permission.” Michael explains once he finally gets his breathing pattern back, “You stopped needing it the moment you turned eighteen but some people in our family don’t think that way.” she knew he meant their parents and Guillermo, even if he didn’t say it outloud, “So listen, if it was fun and you got paid then what the hell do I care? It’s not like you were killing anyone.”

Beatrice’s lips curved in a thankful smile, looking down at the bright pink cover on the boba tea cup as she took in his words. He was right, she didn’t have to elaborate why she chose to do certain things anymore. She wasn’t a child. “Thank you,Mikey.” she says, her brother just waves his hand as if to say it was nothing for her to worry about, “And thanks for joining me on getting a new car.”

She did get the red Jeep wrangler she wanted, but she wouldn't be able to take it home until the end of the week,which was when all the paperwork and insurance would be resolved. But she was more than happy. Thankfully Michael was with her at the time, because he would casually lean over a Jeep, make a face and then turn to another one. Not to mention he knew more than the guy selling the actual cars, which made it easier for the transaction to happen.

“Do you think dad will be mad at me though, because of the pictures?”

“What is he going to do? Kick you out of your own house?” Michael scoffs with a smirk, gesturing to the air with his tea, “Bea, you’ll be thirty this saturday. You no longer need mom and dad’s permission for anything, if they get mad, well, that sucks because they don’t pay your bills or anything like that anymore.” he had a very good point, he always did, especially when it came to their parents.

Michael was the second middle child, making him the fourth Schiavoni sibling. He always said it was the ‘middle child curse’ that made him so opinionated and rebelled when it came to their family. Michael was never really afraid of their parents, he did respect them but he also called them on their bullshit often that he had to move to NYC with Guillermo when time came. 

Beatrice never told him, but she admired his no nonsense attitude a whole lot. He was the wild child, the rebel one that got tattoos at seventeen by lying his age, who would do the craziest shit without thinking if he’d get hurt or not. Having his support meant a lot to her, because she knew if anything bad happens because of this, he’d have her back. Well,Leo and Marina too when she tells them, “But I have a question.” he begins, making his sister look towards him with her eyebrows furrowed in question, “When is the,” he taps his ring finger with his thumb, “Going to happen?”

It takes Bea a few seconds to understand, but when she does her face flames up “W-We aren’t thinking about that yet.” she lies, knowing very well that she was thinking about that a whole lot and way more often than she’d like ever since she saw the bridal shop, “We are just moving in together, Mikey.”

“And what’s the very next step people take? Marriage!” she blushes so much more when he says the word, sipping her mango tea loudly to keep her mind anywhere else, “Plus, you two look married already, it’s just about popping the question.”

They never talked about it, she knew she wanted to but she didn’t want to pressure Rooster into something like that. Especially with them already taking such a big step now with the new house and such, “I…I don’t know,Mikey. I-I’ll have to…check everything.” she murmurs, trying to remove the thoughts of her wearing a wedding gown, “Plus w-wouldn’t you think it’s too soon?” says the woman who voiced her love for him after two months. Oh the irony.

Michael arches one of his thick eyebrows, the one with the scar on it and makes a face, “People get married in Vegas after four hours of knowing one another.”

“That's a terrible example.”

“Okay, let me make it simpler for you, sis.” he wets his throat with tea before continuing, “Do you love Brad, don’t even answer me I know you do. And he loves you, because the dopey, love dovey look he gives you every time is enough reason for me to believe that. So what are you two waiting for?”

Beatrice frowns, biting her lower lip, “I…I don’t know? We never talked about it Mike,” she repeats, emphasizing on the words “And…w-what if he’s not ready? What if I push him to go through it and he just notices it’s nor worth it and–” Beatrice continued her rambling with her older brother just staring, his face unimpressed but yat amused, leaning back on his chair to slurp the last tapioca balls since he was pretty much done.

He leans on an open hand, watching his sister use her fingers to number the reasons why it’d be a bad idea to do it right now, which to Michael made no sense…but he also knew her. She was very anxious, of course she’s gotten better now, but it’s about her own thoughts running wild that he worries. If she wants to take a while to talk to Bradley about it, she would, if she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t force her either, “Alright, alright, fine, I get it. You want to wait a while, that’s fine.”

Beatrice lowers her hands to her lap, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles with a small frown, “It was just an innocent comment, Little Bitty. I’m just asking because, well, everyone really likes Bradley…even Guillermo.” he pauses, “...It is very weird to think about it, but he does seem less constipated when he sees Brad so I take that as a win.”

She laughs softly, giving her brother a smile and a gentle squeeze of the hand, “Thanks Mikey. I’ll…I’ll work on it, okay?” if her mind lets her do it, that is. She didn’t want it to get too nervous thinking about it either, so it was time to change the subject. So she did, she ended up asking Michael about his new place, that was apparently just a few streets down her soon to be old house and his new job.

He was going to be a boxing trainer at his friend’s gym, which was understandable considering how long Michael was a boxer alongside Guillermo - except Guillermo chose another career path as an engineer since it’d be a more stable job for him. “I’m happy you are back.” she says with a smile, seeing his own lips quirk in a grin, “I missed you.”

Michael pouts his lower lip, slapping a hand over his chest, ‘Oh, my heart– but I missed you too. I know adult life makes you go distances you’d never plan to but I really missed Cali, I really missed…not having to wear clothes heavier than myself during winter.” he murmurs, earning a soft laugh from his sister, “Plus,I’ll be an uncle again so, guess who is going on a shopping spree buying every size of ‘my uncle is the best uncle’ onesie? Me.”

“Leo’s baby will have another uncle though, Mike.”

“I’ll print huge a huge Michael on it, then we’ll know.” he laughs, looking down at his watch to check the time, “What do you say we just walk around, like the old times- is Mr.Scoops still open?” Beatrice nods, making her brother groan in anoyance, slapping his forehead, “Why didn’t we just go there? Do they still have the Freeze Burn milkshakes?”

“I think so–”

“We are getting those then,” he says, already standing to his feet and tossing the empty plastic cup to the trash bin, Beatrice blinking her wide eyes and trying to keep up with his long strides to the car.

“But, we just had something sweet!”

“There’s never enough sweet stuff!” he adjusts the sunglasses over his eyes, “Come on! Live a little! Have a sugar rush before you turn thirty!” Beatrice noises out a complaint, but sighs and nods, following him into the car since she had no other choice. As soon as she enters the car, her eyes suddenly lift to a vehicle, a vehicle that she hasn’t seen in ages.

A blue Corvette, one of many that Eric owned. Now the person inside the car was too distant for her to identify clearly, but she kept her eyes on it until it disappeared by a roundabout, narrowing her gaze when Michael turned on the car, driving the opposite direction and furthermore making her lose the blue car from view. It’d be insane if it was Eric, she knew Shells said something about seeing him somewhere when she was with Bob but…no, it was just a coincidence.

That’s all it was, nothing more nothing less.

She just leaned back on the car seat, sighing through her nose and watching the buildings go by as Michael drove them away.

When they get to Mr.Scoops she refuses to get anything besides water, trying to hide her disgusted face when Michael grabbed the sweetest and artificially colored milkshake they had there, already slurping it soundly as they walk by the park close by. Beatrice just sips her water, feeling her own stomach turn just by watching him by the corner of her eye, “You don’t know what you are missing.” he says with the straw in his mouth.

“A violent stomach ache, that’s what.” she replies in a muttered tone, walking alongside her older brother down the stone path. She couldn’t help but remember how her first date with Bradley ended up there, on a bench not too far from them, making out and completely forgetting about their ice creams. Seems like it's been more than seven months now, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s easy, it’s all about self control.”

“Which you don’t have.” Michael’s only response was a bored ‘eh’ and a shrug, continuing to sip his milkshake like a little boy who just got his favorite treat.

“You know, when I found out about you and Brad,I’ll be honest, I got a bit confused.” he says suddenly, making Beatrice turn to face him with her brows low, “Not because I didn’t think you’d be able to get someone like Brad, but because he’s a military man and such. I just thought that you know, with him traveling so much you wouldn’t get used to it.”

“He got deployed a few months back,” she explains, closing her water bottle, “I was okay during it.” she wasn’t okay, she was able to manage it.

“How long.”

“Two months.”

Michael nods, “I mean I know some people spend years away, two months is child’s play isn’t it?” Bea frowns at his words, she knew he wasn’t trying to be mean or pessimistic about it, but she couldn’t help how her frown deepened, “I mean how the hell are you going to give me nieces or nephews with him gone?”

Ah.

Of course.

“Michael!!” she scolds, eyes wide and face a violent red, slapping his shoulder with more force than necessary “Michael what the hell!” her brother hisses in pain, pressing the cold plastic cup against his red biceps to cool it down.

“That’s the very next step after the next step!” he defends, shrugging his shoulders, “What? He likes kids! You like kids! Make the kids to I can be the cool uncle again!” of course his reasoning would be that, “The more the merrier.”

Beatrice groaned, looking away from him to glare at a group of trees not far from where they walked, crossing her arms below her bust, “You are worst than mom, I swear…God and when she finds out about us moving in together, I’ll never get any sort of silence because of that.” the amount of teas, herbs and random gifts her mother would give because she wanted another grandchild would be astronomical, “Didn’t I say how we didn’t even talk about the ‘m’ word? WHy do you think I talked about the ‘c’ word?”

“What’s this? Middle school? You can say those words outloud, the fuck.” Michael murmurs, chewing the end of his straw to chew the flavored ice stuck in the plastic recyclable tube, “I’m just saying, that when it happens, you already know who will be the baby’s favorite uncle. Maybe I’ll even buy more onesies and keep them saved for you.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes in his direction then shakes her head thinking how her brother was just relentless and would never stop doing that. But…he wasn’t wrong, ever since she accidentally bought that duck onesie she couldn’t help but think about it. She had seen pictures of Bradley when he was younger, when he was a little baby with a scrunched up face and light blonde hair, he was an adorable child. Would it be wrong, or weird to think about it without talking to him?

Yes it would so she should just stop thinking about it right now.

“You are just awful.” Beatrice mutters bringing the water bottle to her lips, feeling the cold liquid travel down her throat and hit her stomach, the siblings kept on walking on the park until they reached a bench where Michael sat down without telling her, Beatrice just turned her head when she could no longer hear his footsteps only to see him with his legs crossed in front of him, sipping the rest of his milkshake.

“I’m not awful,” he says when she sits down next to him, “I’m just saying that hey, it’d be cool if you got married and gave me nephews and or nieces, I don’t mind either.” he chuckles, enjoying how his sister’s face warmed up and how her eyes rolled so hard she was sure she could see her brain. But she leaned back on the stone bench, watching the few people walking by that afternoon alongside Michael.

“You know what this reminds me of?” she hums in question, waiting for him to continue, “When nonna used to take us bike riding. You were still really young then but, man, she’d just get us after school and she’d even ride a bike herself.” he chuckles, shaking his head, “...crazy lady. Hard to believe it’s been seventeen years since she was gone.”

Beatrice frowns, biting her lower lip, “Yeah.” furrowing her eyebrows “It’s hard to believe.”

“She used to keep those soft candies in her music box, do you remember? I don’t know how she did it, but you knew every time the tinkling music showed up you’d get a caramel or something of the sort.” Michael chuckles softly, his own eyelids lowering at the memory, “I haven’t heard it in years. The music box.”

“Dad keeps it at home.” she says,”In his room.”

‘Hm…you know she left it for you right?” he says and she nods, still looking away, “Why don’t you take it with you when you move in with Brad? I think nonna would like to know you have it.”

But the brunette just chewed the corner of her mouth, crossing her arms tighter over her chest, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I haven’t touched it since–well, it’s been seventeen years since I touched it.” and she wasn’t sure if she’d be ready to get it again, to see it once more would probably bring back the tears she held for so long. It seemed selfish but she didn’t want to have that as a memory, she knew she’d remember a lot of things the second she held it in her hands.

“...did you allow yourself to grieve?” Michael’s sudden serious voice startles her, his eyes looking ahead, “Or did you cry for a little bit, got sad and moved on?”

“Of course I did!” she almost sounds offended when he says, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Michael’s green eyes turned to her light toned ones, licking his lips before he spoke again, “I just think it’d be good. You have avoided it for seventeen years, I don’t think you fully allowed yourself to cry and be sad about it.” 

“Michael–”

“Beatrice–”

She frowns when he cuts her off, glaring at the ground below her feet with her teeth clenched, “Michael I just…why would that–I mean…”

“Because,” he begins, using his half empty milk shake to gesture his words, “Nonna wouldn’t want you to hold onto that, especially when you are going to get with someone you love.”

Michael had a point. He always had a point. Okay, maybe she didn’t allow herself to feel sad, to cry and let go but it was because…knowing her nonna wasn’t there to see her live with someone she loved, to find the love she always wanted was…very disappointing. She wanted her to know Bradley, she wanted her to be there when she eventually got married, she wanted her to be there at the special moments.

But she wasn’t. And she didn’t know how to deal with it now. “...okay.” she says, quietly, knowing there was no way to win this argument. “Okay.”

“Good!We’re going to get it when I’m finished here.”

“What? But–”

“Ooh!I’m finished look!” he tosses the empty plastic cup into the trash can, “Time to get it!”

-

Bradley opens Beatrice’s front door with the extra key she gave him, blinking when he saw that her living room was quiet and empty, not even Jolene was there, “Baby?” he calls, not expecting to hear her voice coming from the bedroom in the loft area, it was too early for her to go to bed. He steps over to the staircase, seeing Jolene’s head pop over the last step with her body shaking excitedly upon seeing him coming up.

He pets the pittie gently, but his eyebrows furrow when he sees Beatrice sitting cross legged in the middle of her bed, supporting her face on one hand with a small box in front of her, “Hi.” her voice sounded quieter than normal, almost cracked and upon close inspection once he approached the bed, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

‘Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He wastes no time in kicking off his shoes so he could climb on the bed with her, wrapping her in his arms so her head touched his shoulder, “What’s the matter?”

Bea sniffles, dropping her hand to her lap as if it was dead weight,”Do you remember how I said I never opened my nonna’s music box?” she asks quietly, his brain wracks for the memory and he nods, “This is it. I got it today from my parents’ house.”

Bradley’s eyes drop from Beatrice’s head to the vintage looking music box with floral patterns on the lid, the latch bronze in color and the wood a reddish brown, “Michael suggested it.” she explains after a few seconds of silence, “He was right, I didn’t…I didn’t grieve a lot and I guess…I guess I needed this.”

“Okay.” he murmurs, kissing the side of her head, “Did you open it?” she doesn’t move for a few minutes, but then he feels her arm reach from under his and unclasp the lid, slowly opening the small box. A tinkling music surrounds them, a tiny ballerina spins in a circular platform in the middle of the music box, where there were two compartments on the sides with a few pieces of jewelry in them.

Beatrice picks a specific one, “This was her engagement ring.” she whispered, holding it up for him to see, sniffling quietly, “She wore it until the last years of her life, then she kept it here in fear she’d lose it while washing dishes and whatnot…I thought she’d want to be buried with it.” It was a beautiful ring with a small diamond in the middle and two gems on the sides. He couldn't figure out what it was.

Beatrice was so focused on explaining what it was she didn’t see Bradley’s eyes intently staring at the ring. Earlier that day he ended up visiting a bridal website - for curiosity of course- hoping to find a ring that’d scream Beatrice’s name…but everything was too big, too fancy, nothing that would remind him of her. But this one. This one was a lot more of what he had in mind for her, small yet beautiful. “It’s really pretty.” he says after he noticed he got too quiet, but Beatrice didn’t seem to notice.

She holds it above her finger, “She had long fingers,” but she doesn’t try it on, “You know? She was…yeah…” she smiles sadly still holding it, “She was something else.”

“Are you okay?”

Beatrice’s response was a weak laugh, but she nodded, “I am.” she inhales deeply, still pressing her temple to his shoulder, “It’s just…strange I guess, to see everything again after so long…but Michael was right, my nonna would want me to do this.”

He didn’t know what sort of conversation she and Michael had, but she seemed a lot lighter than she usually was, like a weight dropped from her shoulders. “I’m going to take this to the house when we move in, I think it’d be like…a blessing of some sort you know?” she smiles, “She’d like to be there.”

“...Yeah I get what you mean.” the box of memories his mother kept would also go, he had decided a few days back that he’d probably get some things off the box to decorate the halls of their new home, maybe not everything, but some of the things would be good to look at whenever he walked around the place. “You think your nonna would like to know we are living together?”

“Well she was old school, Brad.” she murmurs, gently placing the engagement ring back inside and pushing the lid closed with a soft ‘click’ “She wouldn’t know how this works.” she chuckles, “To her it’d be strange that we uh…live together before anything.”

Marriage.

She didn’t say outloud, but he knew what it meant, “...would she be upset about it?”

“No, not upset.” she says a bit too quickly, her face reddening, “Just…confused I guess. But she’d like you so that’s always a bonus.” she smiles, picking the music box gingerly with both hands before she kisses his cheek, “I’m going to put this away.”

Bradley nods with a little grin, but his eyes drop to the side in thought when she walks away. He wondered if…no, he wasn’t wondering, he was going to do something about it after her birthday. He had to, he had to prepare. While they never talked about it, it was there, in the air, like a waft of something that never left: she’d want that, she would. Just by the way she spoke about it or the way she held her nonna’s engagement ring was enough of an answer for him.

While he was excited about the birthday party for Bea, he was even more excited for what would come after. And he just had to do some things first and foremost.

[angelaofwhite800]

Supernatural x sister!reader (Bring it) Chapter 8: Jericho (pt. 3)

Word count: 1,918

Jericho California, 2005

Songs: "Evergreen" -Richy Mitch and the coal miners

"Hermit the frog" -MARINA

"Icarus" -Bastille

As the Winchester siblings met up on top of the bridge, Y/n rushed forward to see if Dean was alright. Dean, Caked head to toe in mud and sewage, was more concerned with other things. Dean rushed past Y/n to his beloved car and started inspecting it to make sure that all was well. Sam and Y/n chuckled at this, Sam asking Dean

"Car alright?" Dean shut the hood of the car and let out a sigh of relief 

"Yea, whatever she did to it seems alright now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!" He yelled out, making Y/n laugh. Dean sat on the hood of his car, flicking some of the mud from his hands

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure" Sam said, then asking "So where does the trail go from here genius?" As he sat on the hood of the car next to Dean. Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. Y/n standing in front of the boys, took a few breaths through the nose and then looked at Dean saying

"You smell like a toilet" With a disgusted look on her face. Dean tilted his head slightly before replying 

"Oh yea?" And grabbing Y/n, pulling her into a hug and rubbing his hand on the top of her head, getting mud and sludge all over her as well. Y/n, struggling and yelling at him to let her go, was finally released, huffing in annoyance with her oldest brother. Sam laughed at the two of them causing Y/n to turn and look at him, putting her arms out as if suggesting that he get a hug as well. Sam immediately stands up and puts his hands up in defense, backing away from her

"You stay over there, pond frog" Y/n tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at Sam

"Oh i'm a pond frog am I?" She asked before lunging forward to grab him, trying to make sure he got his fair share of river sludge. Sam took off running in the opposite direction and Y/n chased after him. She gave up a few moments later, knowing there was no chance of her catching him. Dean sat on the hood of baby, laughing at his little siblings. He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, especially not Y/n or Sam, but seeing them laughing and joking around and having fun... it was his favorite thing in the world. They didn't get it often, so when it happened, it was very special to him

The three of them eventually got into the car and drove to the nearest motel. When they approached the front desk Dean tossed the fake credit card he had in his wallet at the time onto the front desk saying 

"One room please" The man standing behind the front desk picked the card up, squinted at it, and commented

"You guys having a reunion or something?" The Winchesters shared a confused look before looking back to the man 

Sam asked "What do you mean?" 

The man explained "Had that other guy, Burr Defromian, came in a little while ago, bought out a room for the whole month." Y/n, Sam, and Dean all shared a look, before returning their gaze back to the front desk manager. Sam, quickly jumping at the opportunity before either of his siblings could say anything, replied

"Yea, thats our uncle. We were supposed to meet him here, but ya know, plans changed at the last minute and he decided to just have us meet him at the river front" The front desk man nodded along with what Sam was saying as he turned to start booking us our room "He did ask us to swing by his room while we were checkin in to grab a few things for him. Do you mind grabbing us a key?" The man behind the front desk seemed to buy it. He gave them the key for a new room, as well as the key for 'Mr. Burr's' room. The three of them went the the room that they now knew their dad had been staying in and opened the door

The room, smelling of fast food that was clearly days old, body oder, and salt, was an absolute mess. Pages of news paper clippings and printed out articles lined the walls. There was a ring of salt surrounding the bed, indicating that John was trying to make sure something wasn't able to get to him. Y/n looked around before stepping inside, followed by Sam who was pulling Dean in by the back of his jacket collar. The three of them started to look around at the things on the walls and shelves trying to decipher some clue as to where their dad went

"I don't think he's been here for a few day's at least" Dean said after picking up and smelling a burger that had been half eaten and left sitting on the motel dresser. Sam and Dean looked around at the papers on the wall on one side of the room, while Y/n looked at the one's on the other side of the room

"I don't get it" Dean started, looking at the pictures of all the different victims from Centennial highway from over the years "Different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" As Dean was speaking, Y/n's eyes finally landed on a piece of paper pinned to the wall with the words 'Woman in white' written on it, which was hanging right above a printed out version of the article that the three of them had found in the library the previous day. That's when it clicked. Constance Welch was a woman in white, an angry spirit who punishes men for being unfaithful to their wives

"They were all cheaters" Y/n said in response. The boys looked at her confused before she pointed at what she was looking at on the wall. The boys came over and Y/n went on, saying "He figured it out. He found the same article we did about Constance Welch. She's a woman in white." Dean turned to the articles of the men Constance had killed and said

"You sly dogs" With a smirk. Y/n rolled her eyes at him before he went on, saying "Okay so if we're dealing with a woman in white dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it" Sam looked at the pictures on the wall thoughtfully

"She might have another weakness..." Dean walked over shaking his head, saying

"Dad would wanna make sure, he'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" Sam shook his head

"No, but if I were dad, I'd go ask her husband. If he's still alive" Sam and Y/n walked away from the wall, Sam examining more things around the room, Y/n walking over and taking a seat on the bed

"Okay, how about you two go see if you can find an address, I'm gonna go  get cleaned up" Dean said, taking off his jacket and heading towards the bathroom. Y/n hopped off the end of the bed and went over to Sam

"Can I have the key to the other room? A shower sounds like a good idea right about now" Sam handed her the key and she left the room walking a few doors down and walking inside. Y/n went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. As she stood under the warm water, she closed her eyes, finally getting a moment to just be by herself and relax. even if it was only for a little bit. As the hot running water washed all of the caked on mud and sludge, Y/n started seeing things. The dream she had the other night in the car, of the fire. She opened her eyes, panicked, but every time she blinked, glimpses of it played. She turned the faucet off and looked around panicking. blink, glimpse, blink, glimpse. Over and over and over. she hopped out of the shower and turned on the sink water to the coldest setting it could go and splashed the icy water in her face. The pure shock seemed to do the trick, because when she blinked she was no longer catching glimpses of the horrible scene. She got back into the shower, now running the water on cold 

When she got out and finished, she opened the door walking back to the room where her brothers were, she saw Dean walking out. He saw her and called over

"Hey! I'm going to get food from the diner down the street, you wanna come?" He asked. The thought of greasy diner food sounded amazing to Y/n right now, she jogged over to her brother

"hell yea." The two of them started walking over to the impala when Dean looked over and saw a man pointing two police officers from the bridge in their direction. Dean turned towards Y/n and pulled out his phone, calling Sam. before Sam picked up he simply told Y/n, "don't run". Y/n looked at him confused before noticing the cops walking up to them, and panic started to set in for Y/n. Sam picked up the phone and Dean told him that the cops had spotted them and that he needed to leave. He then hung up a turned around just in time to greet the officers who were approaching them

"Is there a problem officers?" Dean asked. Y/n made sure to stand behind Dean, keeping her distance from the officers. Y/n is historically very bad with dealing with the authorities. She tends to either run away or get very snappy, despite the many times that her family has tried to coach her to just play it cool

"Where's your partner?" one of the officers asked Dean. Dean tried playing dumb asking him 

"What partner?" But they clearly remembered Dean from the bridge and were not buying it. One officer went to go investigate the motel room that Dean had come from, while the other one stood there and talked to Dean

"So, fake federal marshals, fake credit cards. You got anything that is real?" The officer asked. Dean, knowing that at this point they weren't going to be able to talk themselves out of this situation, decided he was able to get snappy

"My boobs." He said with a straight face and then flashing a cheeky smile at the officer. He grabbed Dean, starting to try and arrest him. He was able to turn Dean around and pull his hands behind his back. Y/n, stood there, watching panicked, not knowing what to do. Dean, now facing his little sister, mouthed the word 'Run' and Y/n immediately took off running

"We got a runner!" The officer who was detaining Dean called out to his partner. The officer who was going to check out the motel room immediately turned and started chasing after Y/n, who had already gotten quite a bit of a head start. She ran through bushes and ducked around the corner of a building, freezing when she realized that the alley she had turned down was a dead end. Before she could even turn around the officer who had been chasing her tackled her to the ground, causing her to get more then a few scrapes on her face and legs. Before she knew it, she was having a panic attack, cuffed in the back of a squad car, next to Dean, on the way to the police station 

To Be Continued...

[bcnes-archived]

@calmlythrilling sent masked mirror for a memory

You're a doctor. You've known you would be a doctor since the age you were old enough to figure that's what you really wanted - the day you dismissed the childish notion that maybe you did want to be a mechanic or a coal miner or a moon shuttle conductor instead. And because you are a doctor, you've seen death hundreds of times over, felt it keenly on more than one occasion. Patients and men you loved dying under your hands.

This is your first time experiencing it from the other side of the table. Your pulse is threadbare and slow in your ears. You can hear nothing else, but you feel blood dripping down the side of your head, out your ears and your nose, pooling in the back of your throat. You've spent the last god-knows-how-long observing your body as though outside of it, trapped in your own mind for whatever brief moments of lucidity you still have left to experience, documenting numbly as your veins collapse and organs slow to a shut-down. Only the occasional changing of the scenery, what little there is, blurred and darkened, indicates that you have been in and out of consciousness; at some point, someone must have maneuvered you onto your back, though your wrists are still raw and chafed, the skin peeling away with too much ease. The pain is unbearable. You realize this is the goal of their test: not the dying, but the pain. Someone grabs at your hands, firm, but gentler than the Vians. Scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum, pisiform, trapezium... even the most time-tested methods of distraction can barely keep your focus away from the feeling of it all.

It's Jim. His voice is the only thing you recognize. You feel relieved, could cry that you won't be spending the last of your time alone - and then guilty, because he shouldn't have to watch you die. He's already seen so much of it. He should have escaped already, should have left the moment he'd realized what you'd done to give him an out. Spock is there, too, because where Jim is Spock follows. You're not a doctor, Jim is insisting, as though the Vulcan's diagnoses are ever incorrect. At another time, it might have been funny to think that some of your last words will be spent agreeing with Spock of all people. But you feel disinclined to poke and prod at him - when his face comes into focus he is bent over you, his hand on your face. Not melding, which you are grateful for. The last thing you would want is for him to experience this much pain. As far as diagnosticians go, he has a far better bedside manner than most. You tell him as much. It must not have been as comforting as you'd imagined it would be. Comfort isn't part of the test, either.

What is part of the test is this: a young girl, maybe Joanna's age, being expected to suffer and die for men she has never met before and will never see again. You wonder what logic there is to measure the worth of a species against one woman, what makes it a fair weight to place on her shoulders. Why can compassion only be learned through pain? You have never experienced pain on a level quite like this before, but that has never stopped you from putting your life on the line for others. You'd just done as much for Jim, for Spock; you can't let them die, but more than that, you can't let them suffer. You love them enough to understand how much their lives are worth compared to yours. You can't let her die, either, though you do not even know her real name. To push her away is cruel, but allowing her to save you would be crueler. You are coherent enough, for a moment, to understand this.

You pray Jim will be just as understanding, though you know in reality he will never forgive you for this. There's equally little logic in worrying about the memory you will leave behind - you have no control over that. You have frighteningly little control over anything, but at least you had enough to take the decision out of their hands. For that, you can live - well, die - without being forgiven, leaving them with the memory of anger. The least they deserve is to live long enough to one day meet someone who will be just as worth dying for as they were.

[themovieblogonline]

“Coal Miner’s Daughter” (1980): Country Music Legend Biopic as Love Story

Coal Miner's Daughter is the rags-to-riches story of legendary country music singer Loretta Lynn. The film covers the Kentucky native’s early teen years in a poor family, getting married at 15, and her rise to become one of the most influential country musicians of all time. Based on Lynn's 1976 biography of the same name by George Vecsey, the movie stars Sissy Spacek in an Oscar-winning performance as Lynn. Tommy Lee Jones, Beverly D'Angelo, and Levon Helm all shine in key supporting roles. Country music icons Ernest Tubb, Roy Acuff, and Minnie Pearl deliver cameo appearances as themselves. https://youtu.be/V8I2cF51Npc "Coal Miner's Daughter" (1980): Country Music Legend Biopic as Love Story Films that Forever Matter Series by John Smistad I had this good friend in college. Julie. Kinna flighty. Okay. WAY flighty. But super fun. One of the joys of life Julie and I really liked to share was scoping out a new release movie in a theater. On this one occasion we were in a Houston area mall looking for a flick to catch. Which one? Hmmm. A promo poster suddenly caught our eye. Looks good we agreed. So “Coal Miner’s Daughter” it would be. My cinematic enthusiast life was just about to be changed forever... "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." Loretta Lynn (Sissy Spacek, in a simply stunning Oscar-winning tour de force) speaks these words of gratitude to her husband Doolittle (Tommy Lee Jones) deep into the 1980 biopic "Coal Miner's Daughter". It's a classic case of "Be careful what you wish for...for you will surely get it!". At this point in the story country music legend Lynn is being run ragged on the road. And the merciless treadmill wouldn’t stop until she succumbed to a complete nervous breakdown on stage.   At the same time, her hubby is drinking himself into oblivion. “Doo” feels there’s nothing else to do, having done his job as the driving force in pushing his sweet singing wife to superstardom. Incidentally, Spacek herself performs all of the Loretta Lynn country music classics we hear in the film. And she is consistently right on note.) "Coal Miner's Daughter" is a captivating chronicle One of striving to reach your dreams, surpassing even your wildest ones, crashing to the ground in a frightening nose dive, and then fighting back to redeem what once was. And may never have been again. But above all else, it is a glorious love story. The Lynn's are a true husband and wife team. This couple come to realize that all the fame and fortune in the world really doesn't mean a damn if you lose yourself, and those you love, to get there. And, moreover, to stay there. Personal Memory... I’ll never forget Julie tightly clutching my left arm for dear life during the entirety of an unexpectedly jarring wedding night scene in a roadside hotel room. The bruise didn’t last. The intense emotion of the moment has. Video Review of STEVEN SPIELBERG’S Directorial Debut “DUEL”! On my YouTube Channel now @ this link: JOHN SMISTAD, “THE QUICK FLICK CRITIC”, talks Steven Spielberg’s Highway of Horrors Classic “DUEL”!! – YouTube Read the full article

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[star-lemonade]

Country Side Vacation (2/2)

Rating: R (AO3: E)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader x A.C.E Donghun

Word count: 3.3k

Genre: smut, romance

CW: smut, mentions of overstimulation, threesome, friends with benefits, a bit of unnamed ex bashing xD

Request: Ok so this is random and it just came to me and I just thought I need it from you bc you’re the only one I know who wrote Poly- So basically can I request something where it’s like you and all of ace are friends and there’s a water fight or whatever that you walk in on and coincidentally you’re wearing a white shirt and it becomes see through but you don’t realise and join the water fight and then ace get flustered and it’s just a nerve war and teasing back and forth and some spice and ty ❤️

Splash. The cold water brought you forcefully back to the present, to Junhee’s parent’s yard and the water gun fight that had escalated while you had been daydreaming.

There was a sudden silence as the five guys looked at you in shock. Sehyoon had not moved from the spot where he had swung the contents of the bucket at you. Chan who had been the intended recipient apologized.

“Oh no! I’m sorry!”

Junhee ran up to you but tripped and stumbled on the way.

“I guess Sehyoon thought you needed a shower.”

Donghun’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Oh, ha. Ha.”

You felt annoyed because of his taunt. It should not aggravate you as much as it did. Yes this was why you had never made a move on him. He had a cruel streak to him. An ability to put the finger where it hurt most.

“I will get you a change of clothes. Come!”

Junhee had composed himself, buttoned up his shirt halfway, which made it look even more inviting to take it off and gestured towards the house.

Inside it was cooler and you shivered. Junhee led you up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms. There were not a lot of personal items here so you guessed this was a guest room. He opened the closet door and rummaged for something you could wear.

“Here.”

In his outstretched hand were a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Both look too big for you. Were you imagining it or was he a bit nervous?

Something soft and heavy landed on your head. You flinched.

“You will need one of these.”

Donghun’s hands rubbed the towel over your wet hair as Junhee watched, biting his lip.

“You really need to get out that shirt.”

The low whisper made a shiver run down your spine. He wants me to take off my clothes? An arm wrapped around your middle and you suppressed a gasp.

“It’s almost transparent after all. Now what do we do when the others see you.”

You were stunned. All thoughts had vacated your mind. There was only the heat of Donghun’s hand on you and the soft towel on your head. Was that his breath on your neck?

“Hyung.”

Junhee was still there. How you could have forgotten he was in the room was beyond you. The buttons on his shirt were not properly buttoned and your fingers itched to align them as intended. Junhee and Donghun looked at each other.

“I will leave you two alone.”

Donghun’s hand disappeared and he left through the open door. You were sure your face looked like a tomato and you felt a bit bad that Junhee had witnessed it. Even though you were not exclusive by any means, or even a couple, it felt like something you should be sorry about.

Trying to pretend like nothing happened, you took off your shirt. Getting naked in front of Junhee seemed normal at this point. He had seen you clothless many times, there was no point in getting nervous now.

You loved the fabric of the shirt. It was faded blue and very soft from frequent washing.

“So what do you think?”

The clothes were not very stylish or sexy but you could not have guessed by Junhee’s expression. A blush had crept onto his face and he swallowed audibly before answering.

“It suits you.”

An old pair of shorts and a wash out tee suits me? What an odd thing to say. He looked away trying to find anything else to focus on.

“Let’s go down stairs before they break anything.”

Downstairs you found Donghun and Yuchan sitting in the shade under a tree in the garden.

“Where are the other two?”

“Getting some food. For lunch.”

For the evening Junhee’s parents had left a feast to be prepared on the grill. They had marinated meat and filled the fridge with side dishes. You were sure that you were going to explode from the amount of food you would eat later.

A huff came from Junhee.

“More like they wanna have some alone time.”

“Oh Junhee, leave them be. At least that way they don’t sneak around here.”

Donghun did not give any indication that the situation upstairs had happened. Why had he done that?

Indeed Byeongkwan and Sehyoon returned an hour later with food from the convenient store that was 5 minutes away. Judging from the faraway look on Sehyoon’s face, Junhee had probably been right about their alone time.

By the time you had eaten, it was time to start preparing dinner.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be on holiday. You just eat and sleep.”

Chan grinned and sat the bag of coals next to the grill.

“Can you do this?”

Junhee asked and gestured at the bag. He did not trust any of the guys to do it and not burn down his parents house.

“Sure.”

Coal was not your favorite but you started the fire and watched the black glaze over white. Chan sat the container with the meat down next to the grill.

“You look like a miner.”

Donghun rubbed something off your face with a disapproving frown. You had smeared coal dust all over.

“Don’t.”

You swatted his hand away. _I know I’m dirty. No need to feel superior. _

“That looks perfect.”

Junhee beamed at you after looking at the white coals in the grill. That smile could melt ice and stop wars.

“I knew I could trust you with this.”

He handed you a can of beer.

The food was delicious and you ate too much. The sun was beginning to set and it was cooler now. The leftovers compelled you to take another bit and you gave in.

You picked up a spoonful of rice and sauce. Unfortunately halfway to your mouth you got distracted and felt the impact on your shirt. You looked down and saw a chili red stain on your chest.

“Look at you, so clumsy.”

Donghun whispered next to you. Your lips trembled. Why is he picking on me so much? You shot up and stormed into the house.

_I know I’m ugly and clumsy. No need to point it out every second. _

Junhee caught your arm on the stairs. You had not even heard him calling out your name.

“Hey. Is everything alright?”

HIs brows were furrowed and his hand had tightly onto your arm as if you were at flight risk.

“I just…Donghun…”

He took two steps up which put you on the same step.

“Let’s go to my room.”

His room turned out to be the one you had been in earlier and where you had gotten the clothes.

“What is with Donghun?”

You sighed.

“He is always saying these hurtful things to me…”

Junhee studied your face and you looked away. The double bed was made which seemed surprising to you. On the other hand you had never been to Junhee’s apartment and night had he ever spent the night at your place. He had always left.

“You think his comments are hurtful?”

What a weird question. He is always making fun of me. Does Junhee not see it the same way. He stepped a bit closer and his hands came up to your shoulders.

“Is it possible that you are a bit sensitive?”

Your first instinct was to deny that you were being “sensitive” but Junhee did not seem to agree with your point of view.

“Do you… maybe… like Donghun?”

The question came seemingly out of the blue, but it made you feel even more defensive.

“No.”

It had come out too fast to be convincing and sounded more like the opposite. Which, of course, was the case. Donghun had his good moments when he was not being a brutally honest sadistic jerk. Junhee for his part was pretty naive but even he could tell you were lying. You sighed.

“I like him, okay? It’s just…. He is so… he can be… ehmm… too much. He can be kinda brutal in what he says.”

“Because you care what he thinks of you and it hurts when he is making fun of you.”

Sometimes you forgot the Junhee was good at picking up social things. He could read your mind. Or so it seemed at times.

“Yes.”

You felt like a puncture balloon, slowly deflating. It had been on your mind for such a long time that it felt odd to have said it to someone. The fact that someone else knew made your feelings more real.

“Maybe you should do something about that.”

His thumbs drew slow circles on your shoulders. Junhee was so supportive it made you emotional. Such a good soul. Never leave me.

“Junhee…”

Arms wrapped around you and next thing you knew your nose was buried in the nape of his neck. He held you tight.

“You can do it.”

His smell was familiar and immediately, unconsciously relaxed you. It was the smell of cuddling, movie nights and good times.

“I believe in you.”

Don’t make me cry, Junhee. You hugged him tighter. He kissed on top of your head and rocked you from side to side.

“Let’s go back. You can get him alone later.”

You nodded. Even though you wanted to stay in his arms you let go.

When you left the room, your heart jumped while Junhee literally jumped. There was a figure standing in the hallway next to the door.

“Hyung! You scared the living shit out of me!”

Junhee whined at Donghun. You on the other hand were more concerned with how long he had been there and, more importantly, how much he had heard.

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

Junhee pouted but Donghun was not looking at him.

“I’m sorry my teasing hurt you.”

He looked down and wrung his hands.

“I actually like you a lot.”

This was not how you expected this evening to go. You were speechless.

“Donghun…”

“Sorry for eavesdropping, too”

So he had heard. Oh this is not good. What do I do?

“Can I make it up to you somehow?”

He met your eyes and smiled sweetly. It seemed like he was sincere in feeling sorry about hurting you and your heart felt warm. A warm fuzzy feeling radiated from it through your body.

“Maybe you can make her feel good?”

Junhee suggested suggestively. You turned around to look at him in shock. If someone had asked you before, if Junhee would ever suggest to someone else to fuck you, you would have said no. He had always seemed attached to you and you always thought he wanted you to himself.

“Would you… like that?”

Donghun got your attention back with his question. Would I?

“…yes.”

Your answer was quiet and breathless. Donghun looked stunning, you noted. The sleeveless shirt showed off his arms and his long hair was untied now.

“Good. Have fun.”

Junhee passed you and was almost to the stair when Donghun said: “Wait.”

Junhee stopped with his hand on the railing.

“Do you want to stay?”

He looked very confused at this question. Donghun studied your face and added:

“I think she would like that, am I right?”

It was true. Junhee felt safe and if there was a way for him to stay, you would love that. You nodded.

“If that’s okay with you, both of you, then yes I would love that.”

Your face was on fire but you had gotten that out surprisingly confidently. Junhee thought for a moment while you tried hard not to let your nervousness show.

“Okay.”

He came back and three of you entered the room you had left before. Donghun closed the door and pushed you and Junhee against it. Junhee’s back was pressed to the door, you to his chest and Donghun was behind you. You could feel his breath on your neck, hot against your cool skin, and then his lips made contact. They moved down to the nape of your neck and you gasped. Junhee, who had been taken aback, started to move too. He cupped your face and brought your lips together. It felt like coming home after a hard day. Your hands dug into the fabric of his shirt. It was thin, too thin to keep the heat of his body from escaping. Junhee was an amazing kisser, but the way his thumb brushed over your face made your heart flutter even harder. It was so tender.

When Donghun switched to the other side of your neck you sighed into the kiss, starting to feel wound up. Being sandwiched between these two guys was hot, figuratively and literally. Donghun pulled away and you seized the opportunity to get some air. Junhee’s lips were redder than before, slightly swollen. It suited him well.

You turned around and grabbed Donghun’s shirt. He let himself be pulled in, as you leaned back so Junhee was still pressed against the door. Donghun’s lips were full and warm. The kiss started a bit more tentative but he got bolder fast. You revelled in the feeling of Donghun’s tongue in your mouth and the little gasps Junhee made, when you ground your ass against his hips. It was always lovely to hear him, to the point where you suspected a little kink coming in.

Donghun pulled away when it started to get interesting.

“I think Junhee really wants to take your clothes off.”

A wicked smile appeared on Donghun’s face. You looked over your shoulder at a very flushed Junhee.

“Now that you mention it, he has been very weird since it put them on…”

He bit his lip and avoided your eyes. His shirt was asking to be unbuttoned. You ran your hands up, over his chest to his shoulders.

“Tell me.”

“You’re wearing my clothes. It’s so hot.”

There was fire burning in his eyes as he said that. You had never worn his clothes before and the thought had never crossed your mind either. Now however you felt your face burn. You agreed, it was hot.

Junhee’s hands flew to your hips and began moving up. The palms of his hands ran over your sides as he pushed the shirt up and over your head. A kiss followed, but he cut it short and spun you around.

“Take his shirt off.”

You huffed but did as he wished. Donghun was slightly more built than Junhee and your hands flew to his chest as if it was magnetic. He watched your face as you ran your hands off his hot skin. Being shirtless was the optimal way to get as much of your skin against his. You wrapped your arms around his middle and kissed his neck. He even let his head sink to the other side to give you better access. Donghun was undeniably worked up as evident by how hard he was against you.

“Tell me, how do you want to go about this?”

They had both lost their clothes and you did not know where to look. Junhee was the most gorgeous person in every room he had ever entered and Donghun with his longer hair and piercings was positively breathtaking.

“I mean don’t think we have time for …ehm I don’t know if you like it..”

“In the butt?”

You offered flatly. Poor Junhee it’s not easy for him too, today.

“Maybe Donghun can fuck me and I will take you to my mouth?”

It sounded obscene to say out loud and your face had not stopped burning since this started.

“Fine with me. Junhee?”

He only nodded with a tense face. You got on the bed deciding doggy style was the way to go today.

“Do you have condoms?”

“Yes.”

Junhee opened his suitcase and rummaged inside. Donghun used the time to run his hand down your back to your ass and give it a squeeze. His fingers came down to your clit and he circled it. A sigh escaped you and you let your head sink to the mattress as he continued to rub it. One finger entered you, curled up inside and left too soon.

“Here.”

Junhee sat on the bed by your head. He patted your hair and you came back up to your hands.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, start already,” you whined.

He did not waste any more time and pushed in. You moaned at the wonderful feeling of being filled. This whole day had put you on edge and now it was finally paying off.

“You feel so good Hunnie. Don’t stop.”

His rhythm faltered when you said that. I hit a nerve, haven’t I?

“Fuck me harder, Hunnie.”

He grunted disapprovingly but his thrusts came harder now. You did not know if it was the nickname or something else that he liked. Junhee sat on the bed watching with an uncomfortable looking erection. It was hard to hold yourself up on one hand, so you got down on your elbow and used your other hand to stroke Junhee. He closed his eyes and bit his lips, so he did not see it coming when you took him into your mouth. His hips jerked and it took everything from him not to thrust up.

Donghun had slipped out when you had moved forward without warning. He ran his tip down to your swollen clit and back up, circling your entrance just to make you go insane.

Unfortunately you could not say anything about that because you were busy with Junhee. When he finally pushed back in, it was with a pace that was neither fast nor slow, but made up for it with force. You moaned and had to get your mouth off Junhee who was breathing very controlled. That, you had seen before. He was closed but did not want to come yet.

“Junhee, let me hear you, please.”

The control he had on his breathing broke and he moaned as stroked him. You clenched around Donghun at the sound, breathy and beautiful.

“Oh, Junhee, so good, so gorgeous, don’t stop.”

He shuddered at the praise and moaned again, louder this time. The sound almost pushed you over the edge. Almost.

You rested your head on his thigh and watched as he calmed down.

Donghun leaned forward and his breath tickled your neck.

“Do you want to turn around?”

“Sounds good.”

While the doggy style had been enjoyable, it was also unlikely for you to come in it. Donghun’s face was tense and his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, when he entered you again. This time you were on your back and wrapped your legs around his hips. He let you control the pace and settled for kissing your chest. His tongue ran over your nipple and you flexed your inner muscles for more friction. You were so close now, your fingers tangled in his hair and legs guiding him into the perfect pace. His moan came so unexpectedly. He had been very quiet before but now his wonderful voice came out. You came to his moan in your ear.

A few erratic thrusts later he collapsed on top of you.

Epilogue

Chan had his arms crossed and glared as you exited the house into the garden. A sour expression on his face. He sat completely alone in front of a dwindling camp fire.

“Seriously?”

He pouted but instead of funny it looked hurt.

“Everyone is off, having sex and I’m here alone.”

“Chanie..”

He looked away sulkily as Donghun tried to contain the damage.

“Maybe.”

You sat down on his lap which caught him by surprise.

“Maybe next time you say something beforehand.”

His hair was beautifully soft and twisted a finger in it. Mouth wide open he could not say a word.

A/N: I hope you liked it anon :))

[buckyswinterbaby]

Always By My Side — Prologue

Synopsis: Young Bucky and Ziarah learn about the story of the fates and soulmates. Whether the tales are true or not is left to be seen.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Black!OFC Ziarah Heartwell

Warnings (will change with each chapter): none that come to mind for this chapter besides a referencing to God.

Word Count: 1,189

Acknowledgement: I’ve created this AU alongside my best friend Taylor in roleplays, along with many of the plots and scenes that will be featured. I’m posting this with his expressed permission as we both continue to work on the story in our chat. Credit for its creation goes to both of us.

Please like, comment, and reblog (I love that shit). Click here to fill out the form to be added to my tag list!

Note: This is is kind of a teaser/prologue to the series I’ll be posting the first chapter to soon called Always By My Side. It’s an AU my best friend Taylor and I have been building off of an imaginary friend prompt. I’m hoping this snippet will give you a bit of insight into the purpose of the soulmate bond in their world so you have some context going in. Hope you enjoy.

Addition: I said I’d tag you when I posted my WOC OFC story so here’s the first part, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer!

[Brooklyn - Late 1920’s]

Faded hues of yellows and oranges could still be seen through the thin panes of glass of the Barnes residence. The table had just been cleared from supper, the delicious aroma of Winnifred’s cooking still clung to the air.

Bucky and his sibling gathered on the floor in front of their mother, all freshly bathed and dressed for bed. The anticipation was clear in the younger ones’ faces as they prepared for their nightly story, though Bucky decided Rebecca’s shown the brightest. The woman couldn’t help but laugh as she settled into the wooden rocking chair that had soothed all of her children throughout the years.

“What story would you like to hear tonight, dears?” Winnifred’s smooth voice interrupted the youngest pair’s fit of giggles.

Charles, the second oldest after Bucky, was the first to answer. “Tell us the one about the coal miners again!” It was always his answer as he loved the voices his mother would use during her retellings.

Rebecca seemed less than sold on the idea as her freckled nose scrunched in distaste. “That one is silly! I want to hear about soulmates. Will you tell us that one, ma?” The glint in her eyes only seemed to grow as her mother hummed in agreement.

The rhythmic creaking of wood on wood could be heard as she began to rock, summoning the tales of lovers separated by miles being brought together with a bond that only true love could create, or so they said. Her blue eyes fell to Bucky’s, which mirrored her own, as she began to speak.

“They say the bond of soulmates is rare, God’s way of bringing together two people destined to meet and fall in love. The first stories were from long ago, before planes, cars, or even trains existed. When the corners of the earth were undiscovered and untouched by man. A time when mere miles could act as a barrier to keep others from ever meeting. The two individuals would see visions of one another, guiding them closer together over time. A mirrored reflection of their fated love.”

The children listened to her words with great interest as she continued her story, even Bucky’s attention seemed to turn her way. He had heard the stories a million times when he was younger. He’d lean in the doorway as she rocked a babe in her arms, telling them the tale that he had deemed himself too old to care about. Yet, as he found himself at the age where the pretty young dames around were of great interest, he also found himself considering the possibility. That there was someone out there in the world who was destined to love him in the truest way.

Bucky was sure it was a fairytale at its core, meant to spark a light of hope and possibility in the young eyes of youth. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more akin to fate at play.

[Brooklyn - 2004]

Ziarah leaned over the top railing of the bunk bed she shared with her older brother. The boy on the lower bed rolled her eyes at the continued antics of their nightly routine as this was the third time his sister had been brought to bed that night alone. The four year old grinned goofily as her mother, Hanna, adjusted the silk bonnet on her head.

“Lay back and tuck in, my little bumblebee,” the woman said fondly, climbing the first few rungs of the ladder to pull the blankets up to her daughter’s shoulders. Once she was satisfied, she climbed back down to sit on the stool she kept nearby for bedtime stories. “Which one shall we read tonight?”

Hanna couldn’t help but sigh as Zara popped straight up in her excitement, wiggling out from under her pile of blankets and stuffed animals as she made her way right back down the ladder and onto her mother’s lap. She knew any scoldings she would give would be fruitless so she settled for gathering the girl warmly in her arms.

Zara seemed to consider the question for a moment, emerald green eyes scanning the small bookshelf tucked only a foot or so away. Her gaze settled on a small book on the second shelf. As her mother selected it, Zara’s hands reached out to run over the watercolor themed cover. Shades of blues and pinks blended together to create the scene of a galaxy, two lover constellations drawn into the stars.

“Ahh, yes, the lovers. This was one of my favorites growin’ up as well,” Hanna mused, memories of her own childhood swimming to the surface of her eyes. She shifted her daughter in her arms slightly so she could open the cover more easily, clearing her throat before she began to speak. “Once upon a time there were two fates, old and wise women who spun the tales of all humans. They did not control the stories as much as they were scribes--”

“Momma, what’s a sk-shir-scribe?” Zara looked up at her mother for an answer, her head leaning back against the woman’s shoulder.

“It’s someone who copies things down to keep a record,” she answered, placing a kiss on Zara’s forehead before continuing. “Of life. Occasionally, the threads of time would become twisted and out of line so the women would step in to correct it. That is how the existence of the soulmate bond came to be. Some time ago it was believed to be caused by the distance that separated two people meant to be together, but now they believe it’s changed--”

“To what?” Zara’s eyebrows knitted together in a line as her cheeks puffed out at her impatience.

Hanna couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics. “I don’t know, love. Though, perhaps if you let me read more than one page without interruption, we’d know by now.” While the color was barely visible, the girl’s cheeks heated up as she bared her baby teeth, one of her less subtle ways of defiance. Even so, Zara nodded for her to continue.

“They believe it’s changed to times when one or both halves won’t survive without the other. The fates trigger the bond to preserve life and sanity, to provide support to both halves when they need it the most. The occurrence is more rare than ever now, as it relies on both sides truly needing it,” She went on to finish the rest of the story as Zara’s eyelids seemed to grow heavy. She was ever so careful as she stood to carry the girl back to her bed, tucking her in for what she prayed would be the final time that night.

Zara let out a large yawn as she pulled her stuffed bunny, Frankie, to her chest. “Momma,” she called out through another yawn, blinking over at her lazily. “Do you think that I have a soulmate?”

She was asleep before Hanna could even answer, but even so she gently brushed her thumb over the girl’s soft cheek. “I hope that you never need to find out if you do or not.”

[bundleofyarrow]

Chapter 10 of A Bundle of Yarrow is now up over on AO3! or you can read the latest chapter below the cut. thanks to all of you who follow me on here and let me know you’re still craving some Milo time, it helped motivate me to write some more. maybe it’s not obvious but, knowing there are people out there who appreciate my writing makes me want to write! either way, this is a shorter transition chapter, building up for some drama come Turffield. as always, i love all the feedback <3

Galar Mine

“I want this one!”

“And I get this one over here!”

Leon and Milo stood crossing their arms of their chests as you and Sonia hovered around shining crystals emerging from the cave walls. The mines glittered reflecting the light of lanterns, immediately mesmerizing you.

“Everything here is the property of Marco Cosmos.” Leon says stiffly, as if practiced. “Just one of those jewels costs my entire year of pay.”

“But look at this!” You point to a green one and aim puppy eyes at Milo while Sonia bats her eyelashes at Leon. “Wouldn’t this be beautiful on a ring?”

Milo looks strangely nervous. “We got little influence in this stuff! The League is just one part of Marco Cosmos, ‘n we’re employees of it. I’d be shocked if they even gave us a discount.”

The both of you pout and follow the boys and Charizard walking further into the cave. The air was dry and cool, every little sound echoing in the rocky tunnels. It was surprisingly well-lit for a cave, but as you all started to encounter miners at work, you had your answer as to why. Clangs of steel hitting rock and the low rumble of minecarts soon overtook the glistening sparkles of the crystals. Every once in a while you stop for Leon to take selfies with fans.

“Galar is a very industrial region.” You muse out loud, poking at a piece of coal at the top of a large stack. “You all are really into machines here.”

“Energy is our main business and export.” Leon’s eyes scan the various activities of the miners, as if he’s looking for something in particular. “The Chairman is trying to find a sustainable source of energy, because mining won’t last forever. And if our energy dwindles, so does the health of all Galar.”

You sit with this for a bit. Alola is a lot more laidback, and not as populated as here. While everyone adopts new technology as it comes out, there isn’t a rush towards anything in particular. One might say many parts are in decline, but you begin to miss the small villages among lush greenery.

“Champion Leon!”

Out from a side tunnel pops out a kid, probably a bit older than Gloria and Hop, in a full magenta coat and mop of platinum hair.

“There you are, you must be Bede.” Leon rests his sunglasses on his cap and he offers to shake hands.

The boy, Bede, ignores the gesture. “I hope you’re ready for me to beat you in the Champion Cup.” The arrogance on his face is insufferable as his eyes move over your group. “And that none of you plan on getting in my way.” Running a hand through his hair, he holds out a bag to Leon. “Here’s all the Wishing Stars I’ve found so far, make sure they get to Chairman Rose.”

And with a nonchalant gesture, he departs. Charizard lets out a brief but low growl. You couldn’t help but feel like Bede just saw you as bit extras in the play of his life.

“Charming.” Sonia rolls her eyes at his departing silhouette. “Make sure to beat him good, Milo.”

The curt nod from the usually soft Milo surprises you.

“Well folks, that’s it for me.” Leon stretches like he’s going on a run. “I have to get myself back to Hammerlocke to deliver these to the energy plant there. If I take too long I’m definitely going to have Oleana chaining me to a desk.” He turns to give a quick hug to Sonia, fist bump Milo, and then wraps his arms around your shoulders. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Promise.”

With a final squeeze, Leon takes a few steps back and waves to you all before departing. Charizard leads him back the way you came, and soon the warm glow from his tail fades from sight.

“We should be on our way too.” Sonia looks to her phone. “Not only because there’s no service here, but Milo needs to open up the gym challenge. Turffield is going to be swamped.”

Milo begins walking in a different direction. “I know the mines pretty well, I can lead you through ‘em.”

The path through the mines are pretty uneventful, mostly winding tunnel after tunnel of miners and various extracted resources. Sonia and your conversation about when she did the gym challenge fills the air as Milo seems lost in his thoughts. The Pokemon in the mines are mostly peaceful and keep to themselves, doing their own digging or resting in dark corners. Every once in a while, Milo looks up to the cavern ceilings, searching for something.

“The exit should be gettin’ close.” He announces after checking the ceiling again.

You were about to ask him why he was doing that when you hear a fluttering from behind you, causing you to jump, scaring Sonia in the process. “S-sorry! I thought something was behind me-”

That’s when you notice something’s on your arm. And not just a little thing but a Pokemon.

You’re about to let out a scream when Milo makes a hushing noise as he walks over to you.

“It’s okay, fella ain’t gonna harm ya.” It was a ball of fur with wings, and what you think is its nose is suctioned to your arm. You’ve never seen such a Pokemon before, and if Milo wasn’t there you’d think it was trying to suck your blood. “It’s a Woobat, they are actually quite friendly, if a bit odd.” Milo lightly places his hands on the Pokemon, reminding you how he so easily calms creatures down. “Hey now, you have to ask permission before you give someone a kiss.”

Eventually you feel the snout of the Woobat peel off your skin, which thankfully isn’t painful just a little weird. But it left behind the impression of a heart on your arm. “A heart? That’s kind of cute.” You look to the Pokemon, who doesn’t have visible eyes but a cheerful smile with a single fang.

“That’s actually major good luck! Woobat don’t give that to just anyone.” When Milo lets go, the Pokemon hovered in the air next to you, and chirps happily.

You chance a look at the cave ceiling, and in the dim light you can see a bunch of heart-shaped impressions. “Were you looking up to see where the Woobat gathered?”

Milo’s gaze joins yours. “Sorta, I was checkin’ the time and how close we were to the exit. They tend to hang out near the entrances of caves, and that we don’t see Woobat means dusk hasn’t completely fallen yet.” His hand lightly touches your shoulder. “So we’re makin’ good time!”

Before the moment can sink in, he gives you a small smile and squeeze on the shoulder before moving back to the front of the group to continue leading. Not only do you and Sonia follow, but so does the Woobat. He hovers around you, sometimes visiting Sonia and Milo, but something about you has caught his interest. So you take out a few berries, and begin tossing them into the air, giggling as the Woobat swoops in skillfully to catch each in his mouth.

“Careful, you’re going to spoil him.” Sonia nudges you playfully. “But I’m glad to see you in good spirits. It’s been a wild few days for you, hasn’t it?”

You try not to think too much about it, but you nod. “I’m still trying to understand it all, but all I can do is move forward, right? To think I’m going to be battling Milo tomorrow is… strange.”

The peach-haired man in question turns to face you. “Just do it to have fun, that’s my perspective. If you’re having a good time, then win or lose, you’ve accomplished what you set out for!”

Woobat chirps in agreeance, and though you still find him a little strange, his presence is a positive one.

So you choose to believe them, that no matter what happens, it will be for the best. You’ve spent so much time in Galar worrying about your future. And as light from the outside begins to peek into view, you’re determined to better cherish the moment, for what was coming around the corner, you never would have guessed.

[bangtansorciere]

legacies | house information

Tucked between the third and fourth castle wing, the Hall of Fame is more a gateway than a passage. Your footsteps echo off the high, arched ceilings, the stone walls and marble floors refracting every sound until it reverberates off your skin. It’s warmer than you thought it would be, the large stained glass windows rich in color and texture, heat emanating from somewhere, nowhere. Along the walls, the founders’ portraits move, their eyes following your every step. They whisper together, laugh together, words passed between the boundaries of their gilded frames, peculiar in their silence. Imbued with remnants of their souls, the founders live on, ever watchful of Bangtan Sorciere’s initiates. The plaques of their histories, accomplishments - their lives - shimmer, eternally golden. Beside them, still portraits of the current professors hang lifelessly, though beautifully, waiting for their magic to ascend.

At the apex of the wall hangs a black frame – its obsidian surface polished to a glimmering sheen. A dragon figurine sits at the top left corner, its body - scaled in jagged plates of agate – lazily stretched over the top edge, and its tail – lanced in spikes of onyx – furls around the right length. Despite its languorous posture, it rests majestically, an air of nobility oozing out of its being. Limpid eyes of emerald stare at you, their chlorochrous lustre luminous – as though glistening with the knowledge of old.

Underneath the magnificent creature, is the portrait of Kim Namjoon, the founder of House Ajoonis. Wisteria-hued hair is swept back from his chiseled face, revealing a crisp undercut; while ink-blackened eyes glint through sharp eyelids: the unfathomable depths rich with wisdom, and something darker – something carnal. Pillowed lips of velvet tug into a wry smirk, and as his turbulent gaze locks onto yours, you find yourself swept away by their undertow.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Ajoonis.

Next is a frame carved from amber, and as light filters through the pellucid casing, it casts honeyed shadows of saffron across the wall. Phoenix sculpture perched in the bottom left corner, its wings are spread over the edges of the left and bottom length. Feathers of scarlet and vermillion blend with those of carnelian and jacinthe in a brilliant display – as though the tufted appendages were made of a radiant, blazing fire. Rubies encrusted in the eye sockets, the creature’s avid gaze bores into your soul, the ardent pools somewhat threatening – as though they could ignite your very being at any moment.

Depicted in the painting is Kim Seokjin, the founder of House Jincubus. Carob eyes twinkle: the murky pools swirling with barely contained desire; and framed by flavescent scarlet hues: the gold undertones of his complexion deepen, causing his flesh to shimmer with each movement. His lustrous visage has you gasping, and unable to tear your gaze from him, white-hot spikes prickle at your spine.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Jincubus.

The third portrait boasts a frame of copper - the burnished exterior incandescent with shades of sinopia and russet. Winding around the right side is a basilisk, it’s coiled body thick, and corded; the surface of its skin ridged in countless scales of rust. Under the gilded effulgence of the flickering candlelight the creature is resplendent: foiled plates glittering - the scintillation making it seem as if it’s languidly slithering along the edge. From the deep inset of its serpentine head, eyes of sapphire peer at you, the azure tincture gleaming in interest - as though it’s beckoning you closer in order to sate its curiosity.

The canvas itself is emblazoned with the likeness of Min Yoongi, the founder of House Yoonus. Sable tresses fall into his eyes, the tips brushing against the line of his brow. Partially obscured, the coal of his irises are shrouded in riddle, faint inklings of intrigue intermittently peeking through the fierce, defensive shield of his regard. The carefully guarded secrecy piques your own curiosity, and breath hitching, you step closer - endeavoring to unfurl the mystery.

❂ Delve deeper into the legacy of House Yoonus.

Pinned to the middle of the Hall of Fame’s wall, is a frame carved from sunstone - the mottled mineral streaked in pale shades of honey and gamboge. Stood atop the top right corner of the portrait is a griffin, its sharpened talons gripping the edge and its immense wings splayed out in all its marvelous glory. Entire body cloaked in down, mellow tinged light seeps through the feathers, causing them to glimmer in splendid tinctures of nacarat and citrine. With its head facing you, eagle’s eyes, chiseled out of heliodor, observe you carefully - the surreptitious reflections of light in the gems making it seem as though its gaze follows your every movement.

Beneath the creature is Jung Hoseok, the founder of House Seokubus. Dark hair, the shade of blackened umber, is parted at the side, and chin cocked in a display of power, he stares down at you. Gaze locking onto his, the edges of his lips twitch, and the shapely folds of his mouth tugging into an arrogant grin, he cocks an eyebrow at you. The gesture has you reeling, and throat constricting, you audibly swallow.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Seokubus.

A frame of silver - the argentite surface so refined it twinkles as though made of diamonds - encases the fifth portrait. Along the bottom edge of the casing lies a siren, its figure sprawled out over the entire length and its head peeking at you over its shoulder. Calcareous flakes encrusting its skin, the scales are lucent: crystalline hues of palladium and platinum blending together, and flaxen light spilling over them, they shimmer. Through half-lidded eyes, twin gems of aquamarine glimpse at you, the jewels glinting almost coquettishly - as though enticing you towards it.

Painted on the canvas above it is Park Jimin, the founder of House Jiminysus. Azuline hair, the colour of deep ultramarine, is tousled in deliberate waves, the tresses parted at the side and spilling over the right of his forehead. Blatantly leering at you, onyx eyes sweep over your figure, and as tempestuous depths lure you into its sensuous currents, he winks. Immediately, your breath hitches, and tingles of pleasure jolting down your spine, you’re ensnared in their riptide.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Jiminysus.

Another frame, this one made of gold so supple, so soft, it seems born of tenderness itself. Yet, even delicate, beautiful things like this are ripe with immense power: the reddish yellow texture giving away the pure rawness of the metal. At it's left corner, the frame's gold has been carved into the shape of a hippogriff; the auric tail-feathers burnished to a lustrous sheen that draws attention to their intricate patterns - each so clearly detailed it’s as though the metal itself has encased the creature for eternity. Amethyst eyes - glinting in the light in an alluring display of violet and indigo elegance - catch your eyes; almost as though willing you to swoon for it, to adore it.

Held affectionately within the frame is Kim Taehyung, the founder of House Taeros. His dark tresses curtain his regal features in waves, all the candlelight finds the high edges of his cheekbones, and he eyes you conspicuously down the length of his nose. Full lips set in a pout and long fingers wrapped around the edge of a tea cup, you get the sense you have interrupted him. Rather, that you have been invited, and that he has willed your company towards him.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Taeros.

The final frame seems to emanate from moonlight itself, emerging from the stone rather than clinging to it. It’s opal borders are iridescent, manifesting light itself without offering shadow. Resting in the bottom right corner, is a pegasus with its wide wings unfurled. As if illuminated from within, its diaphanous feathers gleam in nacreous pearl and its gossamre mane glows in prismatic moonstone; not unlike a haunting. Through soft, tourmaline eyes - the hues dancing in shades of blush and orchid - it watches you curiously, the sparkle in its gaze youthful and playful.

Illustrated in the painting is Jeon Jungkook, founder of House Koopid. Despite his boyish features, the curiosity in his expression runs deep - deep enough it bleeds into desire. Though tips of his dark hair falls into his eyes, you are certain there is nothing he does not see, nothing he would not take should he ask it of the world. Raising a single chalice, he studies you inquisitively, pointing a single digit at you as though demanding you drink with him, this drink a game of wit.

❂ Delver deeper into the legacy of House Koopid.

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter.

Skyward

Ao3

Chapter 1: Earthbound, Heavensent

The brake lever squealed as Katsuki yanked it hard, a toothpick clenched between his teeth as he cast a look at the elevator. The ancient metalwork shuddered and groaned as it came to a screeching stop within the shaft, its rusted top barely brushing the jagged top of the stone roof. I keep tellin’ the old man that damn elevator is too ancient! Katsuki thought bitterly, leaning back in the torn cloth stool on which he was perched. The wire elevator door squeaked as the miners wrenched it open; the mine cart was even squeakier as they wheeled it in across the coal dust-covered metal tracks. Katsuki crossed his arms as he squinted at their haul. 

“What do we have?” Vlad grunted as he crossed the rocky mine, a massive wrench hefted on his shoulder. He didn’t wait for his workers to answer, plucking up a black slab of stone to inspect it critically. “Coal again, huh? The market’s becoming saturated with the stuff… If we don’t start finding something more valuable, then we’ll be out of business.” He tossed the coal back into the cart. The men looked defeated as they pushed it away, preparing to unload it alongside the mountains of coal they’d already mined that day. 

Vlad strolled to a large wheel attached to the machinery lining the blue stone walls. He gripped it with his gloved hands, grunted as he turned the rust-covered wheel to shut down the mine workings for the day. The pipes overhead squealed and shuddered and groaned as high-pressure steam changed course within their bowels. Just as Katsuki was slipping down from the stool, a pipe released a high-pitched whine and began to swell up, bulging with building-up steam. 

“Boss!” he exclaimed, and as Vlad whipped around with narrowed eyes, the pipe aneurysm burst. “Damn it!” Katsuki cried as hot steam gushed from the open pipe just mere inches from him. The heat bloomed across his forearm and legs, the water vapor hissing against the cloth of his overalls and white cotton shirt. Somehow he managed to avoid being scalded as he scurried to the nearest bypass valve. “This damn mine is gonna be the death of us, not the market!” he yelled over the wailing steam. 

As he closed off the pipe, it shifting the steam pressure to another path. The stream of vapor rapidly dwindled until only condensed water dripped from the jagged-edged hole in the metal. Katsuki sniffed in disdain, rolling the toothpick around in his teeth. Vlad only growled at the busted pipes and pulled the brim of his hat down over his blood-red eyes. 

“If this keeps up, we’ll all be starving soon,” he mumbled. He tapped the wrench against his broad shoulder with a small sigh, then lifted his hat to look at Katsuki. “All right, lad, your turn to lock up for the night. Go grab yourself some grub first; I know you skipped lunch today to repair the elevator.” 

“Yeah, only on your orders, old man!” Katsuki retorted snidely, trying to retain his pride as his stomach yowled and scratched within his belly. His mouth twitched in discomfort as the beast of hunger raged inside him. It would be a pain to trek to the village, even if it was ten minutes or so, but… he could really go for some meatballs about now. His boss tossed his head invitingly, indicating for Katsuki to follow the miners on their departure. Snorting, Katsuki grabbed his bag and stomped after them. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself, leavin’ a kid like me to lock up the mine,'' he huffed as he tromped alongside the large man. “What if I get eaten by wolves, huh?” 

“You, eaten by wolves?” Vlad laughed, tilting back his head as he guffawed. “I’d be more concerned about you eating them !” 

“Come on, now, I ain’t some beast !” 

“Are ya sure? You’re pretty beastly to me, youngun,” Vlad teased and threw a burly arm around his neck to yank him close. Katsuki snarled as his nose was pressed right into his sweaty armpit, dank with sweat and toil and the tang of coal dust. As Katsuki squirmed around, bleating to be released, Vlad continued to chortle and dug his knuckles into his scalp, mussing up his ash-blond hair. 

“Fuck off, ya old geezer!” Katsuki finally managed to yank his head away and sucked down a breath of fresh air, relishing the taste of dew and earth replacing the musty sweat of Vlad’s armpit. “ You’re the beast! You smell like a dump; you go home to yer wife smellin’ like that?” 

“At least I have a wife,” Vlad grinned. Katsuki flushed in anger and looked away; a few paces away, fellow mine worker Tetsutetsu— and the only one around Katsuki’s age— was regaling an older gentleman about his lovely wife Mina who was cooking his favorite dish that night. Katsuki wasn’t exactly jealous or anything; why the hell should he be concerned about things like that? Still, it did get lonely, living by himself in his house on the hill. 

“Fuck off,” Katsuki repeated. His quiet tone made Vlad hum thoughtfully and gave him the sense not to push the issue further. Katsuki wasn’t jealous or anything, not at all. He just lived his life, working in the mine and trekking back to his shack on the hill— day in, day out, all by his lonesome. 

Katsuki stopped at the general store in the middle of town, while Vlad and the other workers continued on, trundling home to their wives and families. Katsuki’s expression was pensive as he quietly ordered some meatballs from the young woman manning the counter; though the place was mostly a general store, the old woman who owned the place also had a little to-go diner set up in the corner, mostly because the miners trekked by on both their morning and evening commutes. The woman filled a metal thermos with steaming, sauce-coated meatballs and he fished out some crumpled bills to pay. 

As he walked the path he came, he used his fingers to fish out some of the meatballs. He popped them into his mouth, silently chewing with lidded eyes. His footsteps crunched on the dirt path, echoing through the fields flanking him on either side. His only accompaniment was his shadow, bobbing alongside him as the bright white moon cast him in its gentle light. He actually did hear a coyote howl in the distance, making him look into the hills with a slight shudder. As he did, he caught a glint of pink light in his peripheral vision. 

“What the…?” He stopped on the path as he squinted at the strange pink light twinkling in the inky black sky. He could almost mistake it for a star, except it was slowly descending to earth. 

“It’s heading toward the mine!” He took off down the path, ignoring the canteen of meatballs swinging against his thigh. He was too concerned with getting to the strange, slowly falling star dropping towards the mine. The pink glow grew brighter and brighter, flickering like a soft flame. 

Within, he thought he could see… a body? 

“Is that a person ?” he exclaimed in disbelief. Finally, he came to the scaffolding overlooking the large shaft leading down into the mine. The glow was heading downwards, towards the center. He slammed his meatballs down, cursing as they fell over and sent sauce spilling across the wood; he hurriedly righted it, cursing again as it scalded his skin, and looked back to the strange falling person. 

He could see clearly now; it was a girl in a white nightgown, the fabric and her short-cut chestnut hair gently fluttering as ribbons of pink magic streamed around her. She drifted down over the large platform holding the winch, so Katsuki scrambled up the rickety steps on all fours to clamber like a beast across the platform. He stood up on the edge, panting slightly from his feverish dash, and held out his arms. 

The girl gently floated down, the wisps of rose-colored magic swirling around her like water. It tickled his skin as it flickered around him, and it was cool like water, too. It rose goosebumps on his skin as it rippled over his arms, soon joined by the soft kiss of her cotton nightgown. She suspended over his touch for a second, the magic swirling around them like a storm, before it slowly retracted into the glittering gemstone pendant hovering above her neck. 

“Whoa…” he murmured, his red eyes reflecting the beautiful coral of the pendant. It has a gold insignia painted on its round surface. As the light retreated within its translucent surface, the girl stopped hovering and flopped down into his arms. The sudden weight shocked him, bringing him to his knees. He groaned as he just barely held himself in a crouch, arms straining to keep the girl from plummeting out of his grip and into the mineshaft below. He crab-walked his way away from the edge, hefting her over the edge of the platform and gently laying her down.  

“Damn, girl,” he huffed while rubbing his burning muscles. “You couldn’t have drifted a few feet left?” He crossed his legs underneath him as he caught his breath, looking down to inspect the strange girl that had fallen from the sky. 

His eyes slowly drifted up to the sleeping girl’s face, and he drew in a sharp breath, because this time he didn’t even have words to express the beauty his eyes beheld. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her plump lips slightly parted as she breathed slowly. Her short brown hair framed her face, which was pale despite her rosy cheeks. He reached out to stroke his knuckles across the soft skin of her cheek in a featherlight touch; she felt cold, and he wondered how far from the sky she’d fallen if the chill of the atmosphere had seeped into her skin. 

“Just where did you come from?” he murmured. She dozed on, her chest rising and falling with unlabored breaths. He grabbed a nearby blanket, inspecting it for grease stains as he unfolded it, before gently laying it over her snoozing form. He pulled back the blanket a little to peer at her strange necklace, but it just gleamed typically in the moonlight, showing no hint of the strange magical power at play just a few moments before. “Strange…” he said aloud before covering her again, tucking the blanket under her chin. 

He still had to close the mine. Grabbing his forgotten meatballs, he got up and piled almost all of them in his mouth by the time he made it down the stairs. His cheeks bulged like a chipmunk as he began cleaning up the mine. Every so often he glanced up at the platform, but the mysterious girl slept on, peacefully unaware that she’d drifted down from the sky like an angel. 

After an hour, he’d finally taken care of all the tasks for closing down the mine. He scampered back up the stairs to find the girl just where he’d left her, though she did hum something unintelligible and shift a little under the blanket. With the way her head was turned, he could see her chubby cheeks shining in the moon. 

“Guess I’ll call you ‘Cheeks’ since I don’t know your name,” he chuckled with a slight smirk. He squatted down, bundling her into his arms; now that it wasn’t unexpected, she was lighter than he realized. He easily held her close to his chest as he stomped down the stairs, carefully tucking her in one arm as he doused the lanterns at the mine entrance and closed the gates behind him. The girl murmured something and buried her nose into his chest, smiling faintly as she breathed in. Heat tinged his ears as she snuggled into him. “Do you have any idea who you’re cuddlin’?” he muttered, but couldn’t help but smile a little. She was kind of cute, for a girl who fell from the sky. 

He eventually shifted so that he was carrying her piggyback, the blanket wrapped around her to shield from the night wind. Her head bobbed gently against his shoulder with each step he took down the long, winding path leading up the hill, where the silhouette of his humble home was barely visible against the starry night sky and cloudy mountains in the distance. As he walked, the moonlight bathed him in its gentle white glow; his shadow walked beside him, with that of the girl wrapped around him like a cocoon. 

He glanced up as the light was suddenly eclipsed to see the shadow of a plane passing over the full moon. He scowled at the bird-like silhouette; it circled the moon like a hawk, spying on the earth below. That’s a bad sign… 

He pushed the girl up on his back before setting off at a quick pace. The mysterious appearance of the girl and that strange biplane in the sky were undoubtedly linked, and so he needed to hide her before the moonlight betrayed them… because the sky could not be trusted.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

[inactive-shroomiehomie]

May I request either a Carisi or Barba fic where he is charmed by reader's Southern accent, even though most New Yorkers are critical of it? And it's not a smooth Georgian drawl like Amanda's, it's a twangy Appalachian east KY/east TN coal-miner nonsense haha

A/N: Ok, I love this. Being from Western Kentucky myself, this one was so fun to write. Thank you for the request! I really hope you like this one 💖

Warnings: Child Abduction/Trafficking

Summary: There's a bunch of missing kids and SVU needs to get to the bottom of it. You meet Barba for the first time when you go to get a search warrant.

Word Count: 950

-

"I think I'm going to want a lawyer."

There was a knock against the one way mirror to the interrogation room that made your mouth shut. You looked at the glass but not at the reflection of yourself, but at your boss behind it. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose.

"Lawyer or not, we're gonna find out what you did to them kids." You hissed at the perp sitting in front of you. He feigned innocence, trying to keep the devious smirk he had under control.

You stood up from your seat, purposefully making a loud noise with the chair as you pushed it into the table and left. As you shut the door, you leaned your head against it to look at Olivia. You shrugged at her, not knowing what to say- defeated.

"I tried, Cap."

"I know you did, (L/N). You're new here. Don't beat yourself up." She started walking away, motioning for you to follow her.

"Look," You started, "We have this guy at the playground at the time of the abductions. We know he owns the same make and model of the truck that witnesses saw leavin' the scene." You huffed, running your hands through your hair. "This guy done somethin' with them kids and we have nothin' but circumstantial evidence."

Olivia nodded while she listened to you. The two of you made your way into her office. She sat down at her desk and took her glasses off to look at you, "Alright. Here's what we need to do. You and Amanda go down to the ADA's office and get a search warrant for any of his properties and his vehicle, I'll get Fin to go to TARU to check out the GPS on his phone."

"Gotcha, boss." You nodded, preparing to leave her office.

"And detective-"

You turned around to look at her, leaning up against her door frame.

"Mr. Barba can be a little... brash."

You chuckled to yourself, "Ma'am, I'm from Kentucky. Folks from down there are born t' take things lightly."

She smiled at you, waving you off to go do your job.

-

"So what part of Kentucky are you from? What brought you to New York?" Amanda asked as the two of you neared the elevator.

"Originally, I grew up in Henderson. But I moved t' Louisville fer my job. But I guess..." You shrugged, pressing the elevator button. "I've always been drawn t' New York."

"I always thought it was pronounced Lewis-ville. That's how you say it?" She smiled at you, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup." You nodded, a light laugh coming from you as you guys entered the elevator. "It's nice t' meet another southerner up here. One that understands how we talk."

Amanda nodded and raised her fist up a bit, which you gladly met with your own, "Agreed."

The ride up to the ADA's office was pretty quick. Amanda led you to where you needed to go and even greeted the nice receptionist, which you came to find out her name is Carmen. She smiled and waved her hand, giving you permission to walk in. Amanda knocked on the door and the two of you walked in.

"Ah, Detective Rollins. And... a new face." He greeted, giving you a curious look.

"Y/N L/N." You stuck out your hand for him to shake. He accepted it.

"Rafael Barba." He drew his words out looking you up and down, which made you blush. "Where did they pull you up from?"

You let go of his hand and shoved your thumbs in your pockets. "Kentucky actually. I worked vice down there fer quite a while." Your accent seemed to be thicker at the moment. Were you nervous?

Rafael hummed and walked behind his desk to shuffle through some papers. "What are you two here for? Search Warrant?"

"You guessed it." Amanda answered, staring at you. She could tell how fidgety you became. "I'll go call Liv to e-mail the info to you."

You looked back at her with your eyebrow raised, "Don't leave me-" you mouthed. All she did was wink at you before walking out.

"So, how long have you been with SVU? Haven't seen you around here yet." Rafael sat down in his chair, propping his feet onto his desk as he twirled a pencil between his fingers.

"Only about a week or so." You breathed out, sitting in a chair in front of his desk. "I'm really likin' it up here so far."

"Your accent is really thick." He blurted out, "I actually kind of like it."

Your face grew even redder. You would melt into a puddle if that were possible.

"U-Uh.. Thank you?"

Rafael stood up and rounded his desk to stand in front of you. He shuffled in his spot, crossing his arms. "I'd honestly like to hear it a lot more."

What.

You swallowed heavily. "Well," You started, standing up to face him, "How's 'bout when this case is over we grab a coffee?"

Rafael smirked. Damn, how was he so cocky?

"I'd like that."

You nodded, looking down to your shoes and tucking your hair behind your ear. You reached into your blazer pocket and plucked out a business card. You held it out to him, trying not to make eye contact.

"My personal line is on there."

He plucked it from your hand, reading over it briefly before tucking it into his own blazer.

"I'll be sure to-"

"Liv said she sent the e-mail over." Amanda said as she entered, interrupting Rafael. "But Y/N, we gotta head back. Liv said something's come up."

You nodded and looked to the neatly dressed man in front of you. "Good t' meet ya, Rafael."

Rafael cleared his throat, a light pink dusting his cheeks when you said his name.

"You as well, Y/N."

As you and Amanda left, Rafael couldn't keep his eyes off of you. This man was smitten and he had only just met you.