#If I figure out a translation (if there is one) I’ll update you

[ldshadowdoodles]

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⠤⠤⠀⠒⠶⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠈⠀⠀⠀⣠⢀⣀⠀⣀⠀⢀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠚⣛⣉⠠⠀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠹⣯⢼⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣰⣷⢴⠳⠟⠛⠙⢻⣛⣟⣓⡋⠢⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣪⢵⣶⣶⣶⠦⣌⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣼⡟⣿⣿⠀⢀⠢⠁⠀⣰⣜⣿⢿⣿⠿⢿⠟⢕⠢⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠈⠒⠒⠁⠀⠈⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠟⢀⠀⠀ ⠲⣿⢧⡃⣽⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠟⠉⠠⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡹⠸⣇⢸⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠆⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡇⠀⣿⡘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⣯⡈⠈⢯⠎⠻⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀ ⣿⣷⣿⣆⢘⣆⠀⣷⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠮⠁⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⠦⣜⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣀⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⣤⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢋⠄⠀⢀⢠ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣎⣗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⠙⠛⡈⠀⠜⠈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⢠⡴⣏⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢿⡱⣏⠖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣠⣀⣠⠶⠴⠦⠤⠒⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⣏⠷⠈⠌ ⠀⠌⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⡈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠇⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠁⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣞⡄⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠎⠀⠀⣀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣈⢻⣿⣧⣗⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢖⡡⠔⣠⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡏⠈⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠽⢿⣿⣾⣽⡷⣦⢤⡀⡄⣀⠀⡀⡀⠄⠔⣒⢱⣜⣮⡴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡇⠀⢿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⡬⣫⡀⡱⣀⣖⣼⣾⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡟⠙⡷⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣻⣟⢿⣿⠟⣋⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⢛⣽⣴⢴⣟⢙⣿⣦⡙⠑⠓⠙⠃⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

[168] ok

-🌷

[gyumibear]

˗ˏˋ STUPID CUPID ˎˊ˗

“cupid, what you do to me….” | stupid cupid — nct dream

synopsis ── after your latest forum fails miserably, you’re almost out of an extracurricular! that is, until a mysterious account going by the name “cupid” brings you just the thing you need to fix your reputation: park wonbin, radio show host and your longtime crush. with the help of cupid, wonbin suddenly falls head over heels in love with you! you’d expect for this to be a good thing right? but no! everyone’s starting to notice how strange wonbin’s acting and now it’s up to you to figure out how and if you can get wonbin back to normal before anyone finds out what you’ve done. especially because “cupid” has disappeared… stupid cupid.

pairing — campus crush!park wonbin x journalist!reader

genre — smau + written. romcom. suggestive. love spell au. college au. angst. “strangers” to lovers.

warnings — hella swearing + crude humor (kys jokes). mentions/illusions to: food/sex/alcohol consumption. fighting (physical and verbal). mind control (what cupid does is essentially brainwashing). light jealous and possessive behaviors. use of pictures of yn but only for reference. everyone makes fun of each other a lot, but not maliciously. yn is a manga reader so spoilers for jjk, csm, the summer hikaru died & black butler. more warnings in the actual chapters, but please always lmk (!!) if i missed something. keep in mind: this story doesn’t describe the idols in real life and is written by a blk person so aave will be used.

playlist — stupid cupid nct dream. mutual butterflies ryan trey. don’t get mad wayv. cosmic red velvet. one kiss riize. love language hibiki. off the record ive. 2nite p1harmony.

notes — the taglist is open! (26/50) updates every saturday! creds to the respective artists for the graphics used! please consider reblogging or replying with your thoughts on each chapter!! it means the world to me but i appreciate spam likes too! you can join the taglist by replying to THIS post. asks will be deleted sorry </3… it’s just easier to manage for me.

profiles ── hate91.1 | public forum mods | specialz

act one let me monopolize that heart…

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ONE ── this week’s forum

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TWO ── nobody wants wonbin

ᯓᡣ𐭩 THREE ── chat… am i cooked?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 FOUR ── tell her the truth

ᯓᡣ𐭩 FIVE ── party ready!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SIX ── byob (bring your own baby)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SEVEN ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 EIGHT ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 NINE ──

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TEN ──

act two girl you got me crazy…

to be added…!

additional notes ── ah sunny back again with another smau! yippee!! um, i don’t have much to say except hii if you’re new round these parts.. i hope y’all enjoy because i worked hard and i hope this doesn’t flop? i’ll be sad. pleek.. pleek…?

early taglist ── @onlyhyunjin @pxnklover @glorism @nujeskz @soheendo @starwonb1n

2024 © GYUMIBEAR. do not repost, modify, or translate my work onto other social media sites.

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part Eleven

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

Part Eleven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, honey.”

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

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

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

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

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

“I can babysit Mayday.”

That catches both of their attentions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

★★★

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you want two kids?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel nods, watching as you hold Mayday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mwuah!” Mayday says loudly with a giggle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on.” 

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

“It’s nothing, really.” 

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

You stay silent for a few seconds, contemplating. 

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

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

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

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Your eyes… Because they turned red.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel notices your fists, instantly feeling regret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I will.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... with me at least.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel nods, shifting in his seat to stretch himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the spidey dance.”

“Peter has talked about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel holds your gaze. “I’m not.”

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

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

“I’d love to,” he replies quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The time has come. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you reply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Irreplaceable,” you whisper. ______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mindutme]

T’owal T’uesday #18

I finally made a new T’owal font! I’ve been meaning to for ages but font-making can be a bit of a pain and there were some minor details of the writing system I was still undecided about. But as I’ve been working on the font for Valya, I found a shortcut that made making glyphs so much faster, so I put that project on pause for a few days to make this font. It’s much simpler than the Valya one, since there are far fewer glyphs to make!

Here’s a bunch of random bits of text thrown together, typed in the new font! I’m calling the font Tsin Tsyon, which translates literally to “by hand,” since it’s a script-ish sort of font. I figure at some point I can make a few different fonts, so I can use different styles for T’owal text! There will probably be an equal-weight font kind of like Arial, and maybe a serifed one like Times New Roman.

The very top (underlined bit) is the name of the font. After that is the T’owal text from this post (“Conlang Conflict / Team Let’s Have a Bouba”), and then the text from T’owal T’uesdays 16, 15, 14, 10, and 9.

There are still some things to work out with this font—particularly, deciding some details with how the punctuation will work. I’ll keep you updated!

[ladamedusoif]

Tempered in the Fire - Part Three

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to infertility; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; period-typical misogyny; references to and non-explicit descriptions of past experiences of psychological abuse, sexual assault and non-consensual sex, and of domestic violence; abusive and derogatory language; smut; PiV sex; fingering; technical infidelity; angst.

Use of the Irish language with translations as needed.

Important A/N: In one section of this chapter, Reader recalls exactly how badly treated she was by her husband before he left. This means brief discussion of psychological, physical, and sexual abuse. I have tried to handle these issues as sensitively as possible and without gratuitous detail or description. (I am writing as a survivor of emotional abuse, and I want to express my gratitude for the vital advice and support of other incredible survivors, including of other forms of abuse experienced by Reader in this story).

Further A/N at the end of this chapter.

Taglist: @grogusmum, @insomniamamma, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @julesonrecord, @agentjackdaniels, @iamskyereads, @trulybetty, @pedrostories, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid, @gracie7209, @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @novemberrain221, @schnarfer

(FYI taglists haven't really been working for me of late so please do follow my writing blog if you want to stay up to date!)

Réaltín snickers as you tie her up hastily outside your little cottage, adrenaline coursing through your body. It doesn’t take long to throw a few things in your leather saddle bags: some clothes, your sewing kit and a supply of fabric, the money tucked under your mattress. It’s not much, but it might be enough to get you out of here before he comes looking.

You wrap your best shawl around your shoulders and go outside to check on your little milk cow, safe in her stall. She blinks her big brown eyes at you, kind and trusting, and you rub her muzzle affectionately.

Cáit, your nearest neighbour, peers through the window when she hears Réaltín trotting up the lane. She’s waiting at the door before you’ve pulled up, sensing all is not well. You spill out your excuses. 

“It’s family matters. All happened very suddenly. I can’t say more, but I’ll be back as soon as I can - will you look in on my cow, make sure she’s fed? You can have whatever milk she’ll give you, of course.”

Cáit nods, though she seems a little sceptical. “You’re sure you’re alright, a stór [sweetheart/treasure]?” 

You bring the shawl around your head and mount Réaltín again. “I am. Thanks, Cáit. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s only when you’re halfway to your parents’ smallholding that you realise you can’t stay there, either. In your panic and haste you hadn’t thought it through. If Searlas wanted to find you, it would be the first place he came looking. 

Dusk closes in, and slate grey clouds gather overhead. The heavens open and your tears start to fall as you bring Réaltín to a halt on a quiet lane.

Gró stirs his little bowl of vegetable and barley stew, lifting out pieces of carrot on his wooden spoon before dropping them back in the bowl and giggling at the satisfying plop they make. 

His father shakes his head. “Ná bí ag súgradh le do bhéile.” [Don’t play with your meal.]

The little boy is the first to spot the horse arriving out of the darkness, pointing to the window. Din looks out cautiously, dark eyes surveying the small area outside the cottage illuminated by the candlelight coming from within. 

Nothing.

The knock on the door is hesitant, and Din silently gestures to his son to stay put as he answers. 

She’s soaked to the skin, red woollen shawl weighed down with rain, eyes reddened and fear written all over her face. 

It is all Din can do to stop himself reaching out and pulling her close to him, to comfort and reassure her, to make sure she is alright. Instead, he simply stands back and beckons her inside.

She babbles her explanation: the errant husband returned, in the army, her worry that he would seek her out. 

“I’m so sorry, Din, I… I just didn’t know where else to go.”

She’s shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s the cold rain or her panic that’s doing it. 

Before Din can speak, Gró has materialised at her side, and reaches up for her hand. His big eyes look up at her with the kind of affection Din has only ever seen the boy show to him, and at times to Peigí. 

She looks from Gró to his father and back again. And then she breaks down.

“There isn’t much left, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to it.”

Din looks from the cooking pot to you, sitting in a chair by the hearth with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as your shawl and outer bodice dry out. 

“If you’re sure?”

He nods and ladles the stew into a bowl. You accept it gratefully, realising that it had been many hours since you last ate. It is a simple meal and all the better for it, the steaming broth warming your bones and the vegetables and barley filling your empty stomach. 

Din sits in the other chair and scoops Gró up into his lap. The little boy smiles in your direction as you eat, and you notice he’s wearing the little shirt you made for him. You summon up the words, speaking hesitantly.

“An mhaith leat do léine, Gró?” [Do you like your shirt, Gró?]

His enormous eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically, turning round to look up at his father and laughing delightedly at hearing you speak his language. Din ruffles his son’s fair hair and smiles at you.

“Thank you for mine, too. You didn’t have to. I’ll make sure you’re properly paid.”

You nod towards the bowl of stew. “This is payment enough. Once my things are dry I’ll get going. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you out. I panicked, and -“

Gró sighs and nestles in against Din’s broad chest, trying to keep his eyes open but losing the battle against sleep. Din stands, carefully shifting the little boy in his arms and gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the loft. 

“Stay.” 

“I’ve already outstayed my welcome, Din, I don’t know what I was -“

“Stay.” He repeats the word, half-order, half-plea, as he stands at the foot of the makeshift wooden ladder leading up into the loft. 

You nod, watching as the blacksmith expertly ascends with his son in his strong arms, a lantern in one hand. Din is wearing a sort of woollen jumper over his old shirt, and you can’t help but notice the stretch of the knitted fabric across his broad back and shoulders, the way it draws the eye to the muscles of his chest. 

An unexpected wave of pleasure ripples through you. You shake your head, as if trying to rid your body of the feeling.

While Din tucks Gró in, quietly humming to him, you rinse the bowls from dinner and tidy up the main room of the cottage. There’s what looks like a settle bed against one wall, and what you presume is Din’s bed against the other, near the back window: a basic frame, simple bedclothes, a trunk at the foot of the bed. 

“So you’ll stay?”

You turn to face Din, speaking in hushed tones as he descends the ladder. “I will stay for tonight.”

He looks at you, dark eyes hooded and serious. “You should stay as long as you need to. You are afraid of him, and I presume with good reason.”

“He might not even come looking for me. He’s gone so long, after all. But -“ You pause as the traumatic memories of the past swirl in your mind. “But him reappearing like this, and in uniform… He is not a good man.”

Din tilts his head and looks at you. You are grateful that he doesn’t pry further. “I can keep you safe here. He’ll never know.”

Before you can protest, he’s crossing the room and pulling out the rectangular, boxy bed frame from underneath the settle and rummaging in a small cupboard for blankets and pillows. “You can sleep here, if you’d like. Or in my bed, over there. Either way, I’ll sleep in the back store, or the forge.”

“Absolutely not. That back little room is too cold, too small. And the forge is no fit place for someone to sleep.” You help him arrange the bedding for the settle bed. “I grew up sharing a one-roomed cottage with my entire family, Din. This is no hardship at all, nothing irregular, as long as you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head and retrieves a half-burned candle from the mantle above the hearth, lighting it from the small lantern before handing you the lamp. Din leaves you to get ready for bed, taking the candle and going to change in the back store so that you have privacy. He calls out to you, checking that he can come back into the main room. 

“Come ahead, Din.” 

Tucked into the settle bed, you can barely make out his silhouette as he comes into the room. His solitary candle illuminates his strong profile as he gets into his own, wooden-framed bed across the room.

“Are you comfortable? Warm enough?” His voice, soft and low, carries in the quiet.

“I am. Thank you for this. I am so grateful.”

“Sleep well.” 

Lights extinguished, you can hear Din shift in his bed and his breathing enter a slower, steady rhythm as sleep descends. 

You lie awake in the dark, thoughts racing. So Searlas had fought for something - for his king’s shilling, no doubt, and they were only too desperate for men to fight in the wars against France. Searlas had spat bile and vitriol in ‘98 about the United Irishmen and the Defenders, the groups that had led the rebellion, blaming dangerous French ideas of liberty, equality and fraternity for poisoning people’s minds. 

It made sense, now, that he’d have abandoned you to take up arms against those ideas. But you knew Searlas too well for it to be a moral crusade, or a stand taken on principle. Most likely, he’d spent the intervening five years doing as little as possible for as much reward, and probably whoring his way around Europe.

You try to push him out of your mind as you seek sleep, your brain seeking comforting thoughts and images until it settles on the recent memory of a pair of sparkling brown eyes, looking at you in the firelight. 

Searlas’s hand is rough around your arm, and you know you’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. He drags you away from the fair and along the back road from the village, muttering abuse as you jog along trying to keep up with him. 

“I saw you talking to him. The way you looked at him, the way you whored yourself around him. Filthy slut that you are.”

“Searlas, he’s my second cousin, I haven’t seen him in years…he’s family, I was talking to family!”

He pulls you harder to him before knocking you, deliberately, into the thorny hedgerow that runs along the dirt road. 

“Watch yourself. You should be more careful of your footing. Stupid bitch.” He hauls you up and pushes you roughly along the road. 

“When we get home, I’ll show you what happens when you act like a common whore in front of the whole place.”

“Searlas, please, please don’t, not again…”

“You’re a fat, useless, barren slut.” He spits the word at you. “And you’ll take your punishment from your husband.”

You have learned since the first time he “punished” you this way that crying out, or crying at all, only prolongs the agony. So you try to will your mind out of your body as your husband pulls your legs apart and pins down your arms, spitting insults as he forces himself on you.

You are not really here. You are in the back field, in springtime, with wildflowers in bloom. You are looking at the slate-grey sea, wind whipping at your face and hair. You are not really here, not really at the mercy of this cruel and violent man.

Sometimes, you try to focus on the words of the songs of liberty you know, the poems that sing of a dream of freedom.

You are not really here. You are free. 

You wake with a start and for an instant you can’t remember where you are. A sickening panic thrums through your body and the sides of the settle bed feel like they’re closing in on you.

You sit up and turn your head only to be greeted by a pair of big dark eyes, staring intently at you over the edge of the bed. Gró smiles widely and begins chattering away, unaware that your addled brain is unable to keep up.

Din’s broad figure emerges from the back room, carrying a pot that he places on the metal crane over the fire, to warm its contents. He tuts when he realises that Gró is by your bed.

“Ná bac léi,” he says, somewhat sternly. “Tá sí an-tuirseach.” [Don’t disturb her, she’s very tired.]

Gró turns and reveals your head and shoulders, visible over the edge of the settle bed. 

“You’re awake. I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t wake you. He’s young, he is curious.” 

You shake your head and reach for your shawl, wrapping it about you. “Not at all. I… I woke by myself.”

Din beckons to his son and leads him by the hand in the direction of the door that opens onto the forge. “We’ll leave you for a bit. There’s some warm water in that pot over the hearth, if you want to wash. And a basin and rags, on the table.”

“Thank you, Din. I’ll be glad to make some breakfast once I’m dressed.”

He inclines his head towards you and carries the little boy into the forge. 

While Din works and Gró helps out around the forge, you busy yourself with cleaning, mending, and preparing meals for your hosts, by way of a thank you for their kindness. The cottage is well-kept and tidy - an indicator of Din’s meticulous nature, you muse - and doesn’t require more than a little dusting and sweeping to get it ship-shape again once you’ve pushed the settle bed back under the seat. 

The midday meal is simple - floury potatoes, piled high in a bowl, and served with butter, milk, and a little salt for Din. Gró eyes up the fresh pot of jam you had brought in your saddle bags, but his father’s wagging finger dissuades him as he eats his own little bowl of potatoes. Sitting at the wooden table, sharing the meal with them and listening to the chatter between father and son, you feel that familiar pang of loss, of yearning for what might have been. 

You distract yourself by thinking about the evening meal. 

“I can stay and make something for the supper, later,” you announce, as Din lifts his head and meets your gaze with those penetrating dark eyes. “And then I’ll leave you. I can’t abuse your hospitality any more than I already have.”

The blacksmith shakes his head as he peels another potato and dips it in the golden-white liquid in his bowl. “At least wait until you know it’s safe to return.”

You know, deep down, that it’s still too soon to know. But you also know that the smith and his son are already just about able to feed two people, let alone three.

Din turns to his son and ruffles his hair as Gró closes his eyes in delight. He whispers to him and the little boy grins before hopping off his chair and racing out to the back field, whooping and laughing to himself.

His father stands up and begins to help you clear away the empty dishes. 

“You - you were unsettled in your sleep, last night.”

You keep wiping down the table. “Was I?”

You can feel Din looking at you. “You were. And this morning. You sounded upset.”

“Probably just a bad dream.”

Din sighs and hesitates before asking the obvious question. “Was it about him?”

“It was.”

Tension crackles in the turf-scented air of the cottage. For an instant you think about telling him everything: every fist, every bruise, every torn garment, every time your husband used and violated you in spite of your protests. 

The image of Din wrapping you up in his strong, protective embrace floats into your mind, unbidden.

He breathes deeply. “He hurt you.”

“He did.” You finally look at the blacksmith, whose soft, compassionate expression comes as a surprise. “I felt more of his fist than his lips, I suppose you might say. But that was better than -”

You inhale sharply, summoning as much courage as you can bear. It is difficult to know how Din will react. But there’s something in your gut that tells you he can be trusted, unquestioningly.

“It was better than the alternative. When he…forced himself. On…on me.”

You stare down at the floor and feel heat rising in your cheeks. You have never told another soul about this, and are unsure why you’ve unexpectedly chosen this stoic man to be the first to know.

The silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the sounds of your breathing and the crackle of the hearth. 

When he eventually speaks, Din chooses his words carefully. “You have to stay out of reach of a man like that. If you could even call him a man.” 

He picks up his leather apron and the grey fabric he uses to cover his nose and mouth while he works, and opens the door into the forge, pausing for a moment as he looks back at you.

“Stay. Please. Until you know you’re safe from harm.”

You wake before him the next morning, stealing out of the settle bed to dress in the back room, before quietly putting on water to boil for breakfast and freshening up. There is still some milk in its heavy, lidded container and you pour it into an earthenware jug before setting it on the table.

You hear a stirring from the other side of the room as Din lifts his head from the pillow and yawns, somewhat startled at the sight of you. You bite back a giggle at his skew-whiff bed head, the wavy brown strands sticking up this way and that as his eyes adjust to the light.

He smiles and shakes his head when he realises you’ve prepared breakfast.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was awake, and I wanted to. I have to find some way to return your hospitality, after all.” 

Din discreetly reaches for the pair of breeches folded neatly near the end of the bed, and you instinctively turn away as he slips them on before getting out of bed and climbing the ladder to the room above, where Gró is already happily babbling away to himself. 

The blacksmith and his son head to the forge after eating, after you refused their offers of help with clearing up after the meal. As you wash the dishes in a stoneware basin, using some of the leftover hot water, you find yourself slipping, once again, into a fantasy of this being your life: this happy, safe domesticity, away from harm and mistreatment. 

The memory of the soft smile that had appeared on Din’s face that morning, when he saw you preparing their meal, enters your mind. You close your eyes, a rush of warmth and something like desire coursing through you.

“No.”

His eyes, now, warm and kind and so inviting as they looked at you. The glimpse of tanned skin under his nightshirt.

“No. It cannot be. No.”

You open your eyes and delve deeper into the tepid water, scrubbing the plates and mugs clean and resolving to leave today - just as soon as you could be certain no danger awaited you at home.

At mid-morning, the sudden sound of a woman’s voice inside the cottage is almost enough to make you drop the bundle of clothes you’re carrying inside from the washing line.

She’s small, with an unruly mop of wild auburn curls, and a demeanour that indicates her wiles and toughness.

Peigí. It seems strange to see her here, away from her yard full of half-mended carts and spares.

She doesn’t spot you at first, too busy hauling in a milk can and a couple of baskets filled with random packages wrapped in brown paper. Food, you guessed.

“Only me, lads! Came by with milk and a few bits and pieces I have going spare after calling into the village, I know a growing little chap who’ll eat them right up, so he will. D’you know they changed the coterie of redcoat bastards at the barracks, Din? And one of them’s a local lad, fecked off and left his wife there a few years ago and now he’s back and he’s going mad looking for her and -"

The woman finally looks up and sees you standing near the hearth. 

“Oh. Oh, lord bless us and save us!”

“Hello, Peigí. I’m sorry, did I give you a fright?”

She rounds the table to get a closer look at you. “God almighty, girleen, it is you!” She pauses and takes a step back, concern written on her expressive face. “Did… did you know about, er, him? Reappearing, that is?”

You nod. “That’s why I’m here. And by the sounds of it, that was the right thing to do.”

She turns her head quickly towards the door that leads to the forge, as if half-considering whether to summon Din to find out what, exactly, the wife of the prodigal soldier is doing lying low in his house. 

“You’re not… ye aren’t… you and himself, are you…” 

It’s pretty clear what Peigí is thinking, and you can’t exactly blame her. An anxious wave crashes through you, as you realise that your choice of hideout may well lead the community at large to suspect impropriety - on your part, of course. 

“No. And if anyone else suggests that, kindly correct them on my behalf.” You put the bundle of clothes on the table and fold your arms. “I had nowhere else to go that he wouldn’t suspect. I came here in a panic. Din and Gró took me in and fed me.” 

Peigí lifts the baskets onto the table, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Well, your instincts were right. Your husband - not that he should really claim the title, given how long he’s been gone - has been out to your smallholding looking for you, and to your parents’ place, and he’s been asking around for you.” 

She takes a few of the packages out and arranges them into little piles. “Look, I don’t know your business but I’m guessing you have a good reason not to want to see him again, for being so frightened that you’d flee your own home. So you can trust me, I won’t say a word.” The earnestness of her expression and the kindness in her eyes tells you that she means it. 

“Thank you, Peigí. I’d intended to go home later today, I can’t outstay my welcome, but…”

“But I’d give it another little while,” she finishes. “Until he decides you’re not worth the bother.”

The door from the forge opens and Din’s broad silhouette appears, face still covered with the grey cloth. “Peigí?”

“The one and same, Din. Brought you and that lovely little lad some bits and pieces. Now, where’s my darling boy?”

On cue, Gró tears in from the forge, little bare feet racing across the flagstone floor to greet Peigí with a tight hug as she sweeps him up into her arms. He immediately starts chattering away to her, pointing from his shirt to you excitedly. 

“Well, aren’t you a lucky little chap, having new friends to make you clothes and everything!” She swivels around to face Din, his son playing with Peigí’s curls. “You don’t need to explain why she’s here, the poor girl. And she should stay put, in my opinion. Provided that’s alright with her hosts, of course.”

“What have you heard?” Din’s voice is cautious.

“Only that he’s been sniffing around the place and asking questions. Nobody knows she’s out here, though.” She ruffles Gró’s mop of fair hair. “You know me, Din, I know everyone and I hear everything. And I’ll be out here quick as anything, the minute I know it’s alright for her to go home. That alright with you, girleen?”

“If it’s alright with Din.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “It’s fine with us. We will keep you safe.”

Peigí looks from you to Din and back again, eyes narrowed and one eyebrow arched, before setting Gró back down on the ground. 

“Right so, I’ll be off. See you next week, Din - if not before.”

You keep telling yourself that you’ll soon be able to go home. But, with every day that passes over the course of the next week without a visit from Peigí, a new, more uncomfortable feeling grows inside you.

I don’t want to leave here.

You settle into a comforting, reassuring routine: a little housekeeping and cooking, mending and sewing, playing with Gró, occasionally helping Din with checking the list of items left for repair. Gró alerts you if anyone comes down the lane to the forge, giving you time to scramble up the ladder to the attic and hide. It’s not that you expect Searlas himself - more that you fear he’ll find out if anyone from the locality spots you in the cottage. 

You notice Din smiling more, these last few days. Sometimes, you catch him looking at you, eyes kind and warm. And he, in turn, has caught you looking at him.

By night, you sit by the fire together for a little while: you with your mending or knitting, talking, sometimes - and more you than him - but sometimes simply being in a companionable silence that doesn’t demand interruption. 

This evening, he descends the ladder from Gró’s sleeping attic, candlestick in hand, and sets the light back on the mantel. The flickering flame throws shadows here and there, the brighter light of the fire illuminating Din’s profile against the whitewashed walls.

He joins you, sitting in one of the sugán chairs in front of the fire. He silently watches you, taking in your nimble fingers as you darn a pair of socks by firelight.

“You have a nice voice,” you say quietly, not even looking up from your work.

“I…” He seems a little taken aback. “Are you making fun of me?”

You look up, surprised and a little hurt that he’d think that of you. “Of course not! I heard you singing to the little lad and it was nice. It’s a compliment, Din.”

He looks sullenly into the fire. You reach over to pat his arm, to offer a little more reassurance and kindness, but he pulls away suddenly as if your fingertips were aflame. You jerk back your hand just as quickly. Had you broken some sort of rule?

“I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to - I meant no harm.” You cast your eyes down again towards the stockings.

“It’s only that I’m not used to it.”

You look up quizzically. “Not used to compliments?”

He meets your eyes and huffs a laugh. “Well, that’s true too. But I mean I am not used to being touched. At least, not by anyone other than my boy.” He looks away again. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Let’s call it evens, then, will we?” You yawn softly and let the darning rest in your lap. “I think it might be time for bed.” 

You go through the evening routine established with quiet ease over the past few days: packing away your darning while Din smothers the fire and pulls out the box-like bed frame of the settle bed for you, setting out the few meagre cups and plates for breakfast on the sturdy wooden table while he retrieves pillow and blankets for your bed. 

“There might just be enough jam for Gró to have for breakfast,” you tell him, peering into the bottom of the last jar you’d given them. Din stands beside you at the table and smiles. 

“He makes light work of it, I’m afraid.”

You shrug and place the jar on the table, resting your hands lightly on the edge. “I’m glad. It’s nice to make a child so happy in this world.”

For a moment, there’s no sound except the occasional crackle of the candles and the rain beating its steady rhythm against the walls and windows of the little cottage.

Din rests his own broad, calloused hands on the table. With trembling fingers, he places his right hand gently on the back of your left. 

He doesn’t look directly at you, instead stealing the odd glance as he tries to gauge your reaction. You turn your hand over so that your palm is touching his, letting your fingers intertwine with his long, thick digits as you softly squeeze his hand and turn to look at him.

His hands are still shaking a little, but his impossibly dark eyes are warm and wanting as they look intently into yours. 

He moves a step closer. He brings the back of your hand to his lips. You exhale a little, a breath tinged with pleasure and surprise, and your fingers seek out the rough stubble on his jaw. He lets go of your hand, gently, and traces his fingertips across your cheek with surprising delicateness.

His kiss is a little awkward, at first, as if he’s afraid you might disappear entirely as soon as your lips meet. When you lean in and reciprocate, though, he responds in kind: strong arms pulling you close as he kisses you hungrily, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

And then it’s over. 

He breaks away, breathing shaky, body almost trembling, face turned away from you. 

“No. We can’t. You’re… you’re married, it’s not the way to - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid a finger on you.”

You walk quickly to the settle bed, keeping your back turned to Din. “I’ll go in the morning. I’ve exploited your kindness for far too long as it is.” 

His own bed creaks a little as Din sits on it and sighs. “You won’t be safe. I can protect you, here.”

“I’m a married woman, Din, remember?” You fling a pillow down onto the straw-filled mattress in frustration. “So I shouldn’t need you to protect me. And I’d obviously only be a temptation. A harlot.”

You pick up your nightshirt and shawl and cross to the door that leads to the tiny back room, so that you can change for bed. You keep your face turned away and your eyes trained on the flagstone floor. That way, at least, he won’t see your tears.

“The thing is, Din,” you say quietly, as you pause in front of the simple wooden door, “over the last few days - in all the time I’ve known you, indeed - you’ve been more husband to me than he ever was, in the ways that really mattered.” 

“Mo chuisle.” [My darling]

His voice, soft but pleading, cuts through the stillness like a prayer. When you turn to face him, he’s standing by the side of his bed, big dark eyes threatening tears of his own, beautiful hands twisting and rubbing nervously together. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“Say it again.” You move towards him, shawl wrapped around your upper body.

“Mo chuisle.” He takes your hand and you instinctively move closer, leaning in to feel the warmth of his broad chest. Slowly, cautiously, Din’s strong arms reach around your body to hold you to him. 

You stay like that for a few moments, listening to his heart beating, learning the notes of his scent: fire and metal. His large hand caresses the back of your head, his lips find your cheek with soft, lingering kisses.

“Let me keep you safe, mo chuisle. Here, with us.” 

You look into his dark eyes, mapping the laughter lines around them and the contours of his nose, his mouth, his strong jaw. 

When you first met Din, you weren’t sure if he was a handsome man or a striking one. You were wrong on both counts. 

He was a beautiful one.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, before your lips meet his again. Slow caresses give way to more urgent, hungry kisses, your hands holding Din’s face as he holds you tight, feeling the softness and contours of your body under the layers of wool and cotton in your garments. 

You stay like that for a little while, lips and tongues blissfully moving together and hands roaming over each other’s body, exploring these strange and enticing new territories. 

Din trembles under your gentle touches, the feeling of someone else’s tender caresses almost overwhelming after so long alone. For the first time in your life, you know what it is to be held and cherished with care as he holds you, seeks out your softness and your warmth, presses his lips experimentally to the fragile skin of your neck and décolletage, and sighs with pleasure. 

His mouth moves gradually lower, and you loosen the neck of your blouse and undo your light wool bodice to grant him greater access. Those long, thick fingers, marked and calloused by his trade, trace the line of your breasts under your short linen stays.  

“Oh.” He exhales the word, closing his eyes as his fingertips press lightly into the soft flesh. 

“Din…”

Din’s dark eyes flick open and meet yours, his sadness palpable. “I’m sorry, mo chuisle, I’ll stop.”

You murmur a silent prayer that he won’t think less of you for what you say next.

“Din…don’t stop. I - I want to. I want you. I want you to have me. Please.”

He flushes and looks away, still holding you close. 

You speak softly but firmly. “I know that’s very forward of me, Din, but…” You run your fingers idly through his hair and he leans into your touch. “Why did you turn away?”

“Because I’ll be a disappointment to you.” His eyes meet yours again, dark and sad. 

“It has been a…long time.” He looks embarrassed, colour flushing his cheeks. “I…I’ve lain with, well…once or twice…but I…It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t -”

“If you don’t want to, you know that’s perfectly fine.”

“I want to. I want you.” He pulls you tight to him once more, and brings his hand to your breasts, gently kneading the flesh and slipping a fingertip here and there under your light stays as he sucks your neck and pulls your bodice open all the more. 

“I won’t hurt you, my darling,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Din, I know. You never could. Let me undress for you, a stór, hmmm?” 

Din looks on as you discard your bodice and your skirts, followed by your woollen stockings. You undo your short stays, leaving you as naked as you’ve ever been in front of another human being for a very long time: just your pale, light shift, undone over the décolletage and stopping just at mid-calf, the outline of your body entirely evident in the simple, thin undergarment. 

His dark eyes appraise you, mouth slightly open. The width and curve of your hips. The thickness of your thighs. The little protruding pooch of your belly. The line of your shoulders. The gorgeous weight of your heavy bosom.

“Oh, mo Dhia.” [My god]

Din hastily takes off his knitted pullover and undoes his breeches and stockings, and soon he, like you, is standing barefoot on the flagstone floor, dressed in just the creamy-coloured linen of his undershirt. He closes the short distance between you, caresses your cheek with one hand and reaches for the other, holding it gently. 

“Please take me to bed, Din.”

It’s strange, at first, to nestle beside him in his bed, to smile at each other and giggle quietly as you map each other’s bodies with roving fingers, curious lips, and wandering eyes. 

You are no virgin. But this has some of the sweetness and curiosity of a first time, or at least how you had once hoped a first time would be. On your wedding night, Searlas took your virginity and shattered your romantic delusions, adding insult to injury by checking the sheets to see if you’d bled.

It’s different tonight, here in the blacksmith’s bed. You are both a little awkward, a bit hesitant from your years alone, the time spent seeking a kind of release in your own hands, the years that passed without as much as a loving touch from someone else. 

The feel of another now, at last, sets you trembling. Din’s breath hitches when you caress him through the thin linen of his undershirt, and when you reach under his shirt and wrap your fingers around his cock he moans so loudly that you have to put a hand over his mouth, for fear of waking the little boy soundly asleep on the floor above.

You stroke him for a little while, hand still gently pressed over his lips to stem the flow of grunts and moans that threaten to spill out. 

“I’ll stay quiet if I’m kissing you, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your hand.

You smile and move your palm away, and Din swiftly finds your mouth again as his hands grope your breasts. It’s exquisite torment - the sheer pleasure of his strong, broad hands being on you, his soft, warm mouth meeting yours, while the ache between your legs grows more and more insistent. 

You take his hand and gently guide it under your chemise and between your folds. Din’s eyes widen. 

“Ever touched a woman here?”

He shakes his head. 

“Would you like me to teach you?”

A slow, entranced nod of agreement. 

You bring his long, thick pointer and middle fingers to the sensitive little nub you’ve learned to massage when you needed release in your years alone, guiding Din’s motions as you teach him what you like. What you need. 

He’s a quick learner, enraptured by the little whines his fingers start to pull out of you and the way your hips buck in response to the careful touch of his hand. He reaches for your breasts with his free hand, fondling them with endearingly clumsy enthusiasm while he continues to finger you. 

“You’re wet,” he grunts into the side of your neck, fingers now tracing around your entrance as he explores you for the first time. 

“For you,” you whisper, close to coming. “Because I want you to have me.”

Din’s kiss tips you over the edge and you whine against his broad chest as pleasure courses through your body. He looks astonished. 

“Good?”

“So good, Din,” and you return his kiss, still stroking his cock. “You learn fast, a stór.” 

His eyes are dark with desire and want as he plays with the hem of your chemise, hitching it up over your thighs. 

“Can I have you, mo chuisle?” His voice is hushed, reverent, almost; his face open and genuine as he gazes into your eyes. 

You nod and sit up, casting off your shift before helping him out of his shirt. Your fingers trace over the marks and scars on his body, lips pressing lightly to them, to the strong, beautiful muscles of his arms and torso, to the side of his neck. 

With his pointer finger, Din draws soft lines and circles down your breasts and around your nipples, before gently bringing his warm, plush lips to each one in turn. Strong arms wrap around you and ease you down onto your back as his mouth continues to explore your body. He strokes his cock and moans softly as your hips buck up towards him, marvelling at the way you are responding to his touch. 

He is a beautiful sight, nestled between your legs: broad body above yours, hands and lips exploring you, eyes blown completely dark with desire, and hard cock pressing against your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a long, deep kiss.

There is no moment of doubt in your mind, no worry about how this lovemaking is “wrong”, by virtue of the legal status that still binds you to a man who never held up his end of the bargain, nor had any intention of doing so. 

Nothing in your life, you realise as you reach down to help guide Din inside you, has ever felt so right.

He takes you slowly, gently, biting his lip as he sinks into you and bottoms out with a groan he desperately tries to suppress as he adjusts to the feel of your wet, warm pussy. 

He opens his eyes and caresses your cheek, smiling softly. “Mo cailín álainn. [My lovely girl.] Is this - do you like this?”

The feeling of his heavy cock pressing, filling, stretching you so beautifully is a revelation, a far cry from the pain and abuse that characterised your previous experiences. Suddenly, you understand why other young couples you’d known had been so desperate to go to bed together.  

“It’s just perfect, a stór. And for you, is this - does it feel good for you?” 

Din breathes your name and closes his eyes for a moment. “So very, very good, mo chuisle.” With a gentle kiss, he begins to move his hips as you whine softly at the gorgeous sensation. He moves slowly, at first, his sheer pleasure as he drags his cock in and out of you written all over his face and in every pant and whispered gasp of your name that issues from his soft lips. 

Your knees hitch instinctively, your body acting on your innate need to take him even deeper inside of you. Din’s broad, calloused right hand finds its way to your hip, making you cry out as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, while his left eagerly gropes and massages your tits. 

“That’s it, darling,” you purr into his ear, urging him on as he starts to fuck you harder and faster. “Yes - yes, Din, there - that’s…oh, god…” His eyes widen as he watches your head rolling back in ecstasy. He buries his face against the velvet skin of your neck, kissing and licking and nipping you until you’re stifling your moans against his dark, wavy locks. 

“My good, good girl,” he whispers, moving his lips to your tits and muffling his grunts and groans against your body as his rhythm starts to stutter and falter. He’s close. “Where, love?”

“Inside me,” you hiss, “finish inside me.”

He comes hard, moaning into his pillow as he spills his release deep within you. You trail your fingers through Din’s damp, mussed-up hair and kiss the side of his head, over and over, until he pulls out and flops back beside you. 

You turn to face him, chuckling softly at how wrecked he looks. “You’re very good at that, you know. Not bad for a man who thought he was going to disappoint me.” 

Din grins, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you in for a long, slow kiss.

Dawn reaches its gentle rays into the little cottage and finds two lovers still tangled together, naked beneath the blankets. 

Din wakes you with kisses: to your lips, your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. You nuzzle against him, still basking in the warm glow created the night before.

There’s a certain sadness in his kind eyes. Regret? 

“What is it, Din?”

He looks at you, reluctant. “I just wish you were mine, mo chuisle.”

In that instant the warm glow is gone, replaced by stark cold. He’s right. You’re not really his. You can’t be. 

But, says a little voice inside you, you are. What else are you, if not his?

You kiss his cheek and reach for his hand. “I am yours, Din. Don’t you remember what I said last night? I’m yours - and you are mine - in all the ways that truly matter.”

Further A/N: With thanks to @agentjackdaniels for her astute observation a long time back about the similarity between mo chuisle and mesh'la!

A settle bed was a common piece of furniture in eighteenth and nineteenth-century Ireland. Essentially, it was a kind of high-backed bench with a deep base that could be pulled out to act as a spare bed. A sugán chair is a traditional Irish form of domestic chair with a woven straw seat and wooden frame.

[astayinwonderland]

Silk and Fire - Chapter 1

Read more about the series and find updates here (;

pairing: namjoon x f.reader x jungkook

guest starring: jin, yoongi, hoseok

genre: romance | drama | smut +18 MDNI

summary: it's your best friend's engagement party and you agree to meet everyone at the venue. however, you end up running late and in danger. fortunately, someone's there to offer a helping hand... or hands.

status: ongoing

warnings: mentions of anxiety

wc: 1.7k words

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

do not copy or translate

“Babe, you’ll look amazing no matter what you wear,” Namjoon puts his book down to look at you. “I love that dress on you,” he smiles, dimples showing. 

“You’ve said the same thing about the last six outfits I’ve tried on,” you laugh. 

“I am just being honest”. 

Namjoon leaves his comfy reading chair and walks over to your figure. You stand in front of the mirror and stand on your tippy toes mimicking how you would look in heels. Strong arms hug you from behind, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. Namjoon has been quite busy with work lately and in moments like this he wishes he could whisk you away and take you somewhere secluded, nice, romantic, where only the two of you existed. But alas, this wasn’t that day. 

In a couple of hours, you two would be at your best friend’s engagement party, who would have thought she would be the marrying kind after all? Everyone would be there, including the one friend you have never met in person. You are quite excited to meet him finally, he has been travelling around the world for the past year, and in your eight months of dating Namjoon, all the group of friends can talk about is how much they miss their group of 7. 

“You smell so good, you always do,” Namjoon whispers and plants a kiss on your soft skin. 

You run your fingers through his hair in an attempt to make time go still, but your eyes catch the clock by your nightstand and you jump. 

“Fuck, Joon! Look at the time. I have to go to the salon, the dry cleaners, go get my shoes…” 

Namjoon laughs at the way you rush around your shared house, he asked you to move in while you celebrated your 7th month together. The question came abruptly out of his mouth, but it felt right. He knew you were very special from the moment he laid eyes on you. Your looks are breathtaking for sure, but Namjoon felt an intense attraction to you because of your energy and intellect. You are sharp and smart, in a very different way than he is, and that makes him head over heels for you. 

“Alright, alright… Sure you don’t want me to pick you up and get there together?” 

“The salon is right across the venue, I’ll walk there once I’m done. Don’t worry, love,” you smile at him. 

You should have listened to your boyfriend. You should have. Honestly, at least if he were here, you would not feel this stress. It is 7:30 p.m., and you should already be at the venue calming your best friend’s nerves. You are the maid of honour after all. But things went south from the moment the dry cleaners didn’t have your dress ready and you were far behind with your hair. 

“Please just do whatever… the easiest thing. Anything! I really need to go,” you beg at the stylist, and even though she does try, your anxiety isn’t going anywhere. 

By the time you finish, it’s 8:02 p.m. Your bestie sends you text after text. 

Where the fuck are you? 

Are you close? 

Hello!???? 

I’m freaking out please, are you ok? 

You feel too guilty and anxious to give a full explanation so you just text her one sentence. 

I’ll be there in 5. 

You quickly make your way out of the salon and cross the street. The night is a bit cold and windy, your cheeks hurt a little from the cool air brushing against your face. You run in your heels praying you don’t twist your ankle. As you try to look for your lipstick in your clutch, you find yourself already a few steps away from the hotel door. The revolving door activates as you step in but it stops, leaving a small space open between the glass and the entrance. 

“Fuck!” you bang on the door to try and move it, but nothing happens. 

A muffled voice comes from the outside. You turn around to find a cheeky smile, lip piercing, and big doe eyes looking right into yours. 

“What?” your voice is louder than usual since you can’t hear him properly. 

His face now comes closer to the reduced space between the glass and the entrance. 

“You need to step back.” 

You try to move but it seems pointless and your anxiety peaks when it dawns on you that you may be trapped here for a long time. Your breath is heavy and your palms start to sweat. Hell, your vision is blurry. The man watches you lose it in a matter of seconds, and he would be damned if he didn’t do something about it. Somehow, his large frame squeezed through the little space left, catching you before you fell to your knees. 

“Darling, if you are going to get on your knees for me it better not be like this.” 

You try to focus your eyes on the man that helps you stand. Your face leaning against his crisp white shirt, makeup transferring a little bit onto it. 

“Are you okay?” 

And now you get a closer look. His long dark hair falls graciously on his forehead and temples, the rest of it framing his beautiful face. It is a mystery how he squeezed in with those broad shoulders and big arms. Those same arms holding you in place. 

“Breathe,” he gives you a warm smile.

So you breathe and try to pull yourself together, but his hands reach your waist and pull you against him. A gasp leaves your lips. 

“See?” he points at a tiny red dot near the door. “That’s a sensor, if you stand up too close you might get stuck. You just need to move a little bit–” and he pulls you even closer to him, his hips slightly gracing your body. “--back,” and that does the trick. 

Finally the door moves. Just as hotel employees are coming to your rescue. 

“It’s okay, I'm fine!” you yell running to the elevator. 

The man calmly walks after you and watches you desperately run. 

“Thank you!” you yell. 

Elegance. Poise. Charm. Love. 

You find yourself in a small but beautiful space where ivory and gold decorate the room and the chandeliers shimmered light delicately down to the guests. You spot your best friend and her fiancé across the room. Luckily your little meltdown didn’t completely ruin your hair, so you make your way in saying your polite ‘hellos’ and hoping she doesn’t kill you for being this late. 

“You look beautiful,” you hug her. 

“What the fuck happened?” you can see worry in her eyes. 

“The question is, what didn’t happen? Everything went wrong today, I’ll tell you later.” 

“She was about to call the police and put together a search party in order to find you.” 

You look at the man who your best friend decided to marry. Min Yoongi is no ordinary man. He is respectable, admirable, handsome, and the most important thing, he is husband material and perfect for Camille. He loves her dearly, erasing past traumas and filling her with acceptance and reassurance. You couldn’t be happier for them. 

“I was not going to call the police, Yoongi,” she rolls her eyes. 

“Yes she was,” he gives her the fondest of smiles and kisses her temple. His PDA is rare, but when it happens it is from the heart and that makes you long for the perfect man for you. 

“Where is he?” you say scanning the room, and then your eyes meet his. “Please excuse me for a minute…” 

Namjoon smiles as he sees you. Black shirt neatly tucked into his gray pants. His black hair parted to the side. He makes his way to you and you to him, meeting him in a tight embrace that seems to cure all your anxiety. 

“I’m glad you’re finally here,” he gives you a peck on the lips. “Missed you,” 

“And I missed you too!” even though you don’t see him you know it’s Hoseok behind you. You give him a tight hug. To be honest you missed hanging with Namjoon’s friends as well. They bring a certain spark to all gatherings that is hard to match. 

Namjoon gives you a quizzical look. 

“The dry cleaners didn’t have the dress ready on time, then my hair appointment was delayed an hour and a half, and on top of everything I got stuck in the stupid revolving doors,” 

“No way…” and the most boisterous laugh you’ve ever heard in your life comes from one of the most handsome faces you’ve seen in your life. 

“It did happen, Jin,” 

“If it was going to happen to someone it had to happen to you,” he sweetly kissed both of your cheeks. 

“Have you seen Jungkook yet?” Hoseok asks, elegantly holding a champagne flute. 

“Oh is he here yet?” you ask intrigued, excited even. 

“You know he likes a big entrance,” Jin adds. 

Namjoon then offers to get you a drink which you accept. You stay with Jin and Hoseok making casual conversation, but you spot your saviour in the small crowd. What is ‘revolving door guy’ doing here? You excuse yourself and make your way to him, saying hello to Camille’s family as you cross the room. His doe eyes open wide and his lips curve in a smile. 

“You are here,” he says. 

“Yes. Why are you here? Are you following me or something?” you whisper, confused. 

“Maybe I am,” he smirks and takes a sip of his neat whiskey. 

“I’m okay, no need to check on me,” you do your best to smile and reassure him you are doing just fine.  “Thank you, again.” 

“Okay… I won’t check on you, but I will check you out,” and there’s that cheeky smile again.

Shock. 

“Excuse me?” 

“There you are!” Namjoon hands you a glass of white wine and puts his hand around your waist. “Ah! I see you finally met each other.” 

Your eyes go from your man to ‘revolving door guy’ and back to your man. 

“Babe, this is Jeon Jungkook.”

[eyelessfaces]

For the prompt list, may I humbly request "Have you eaten today?" with Llewyn? I don't know why, reading the list that just struck me (probably because we know he more than likely hasn't eaten enough but would be more concerned if you did or not) . Many thanks, you will be helping a retail employee have something to look forward to during my least favorite season lol. Good luck on exams!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

—

Your mouth quirks in a wide smile the moment you notice him sitting at the bar. You throw your sponge aside, postponing the boring task in order to walk up to him.

“Hey you” you throw with a sweet smile, leaning your arms against the counter. He smiles back at you as he gets rid of his fingerless gloves, shoving the pair in his pocket.

“Figured I'd pay you a visit” he smirks, readjusting his position on the bar stool as you pour him a glass of rum.

“Yeah? You're coming here just for my eyes?” you ask jokingly, though innocently really wondering if he’s coming here just to see you. 

“Yeah,” he confirms teasingly, scoffing. “I'm not even playing here tonight.” he declares, looking over his shoulder to take a glance at the stage occupied by a double act that reminds him a bit of him and Mike a few years ago. 

“I'm honored then” you half joke, pushing the glass over to him when he turns back. A smile quirks upon his face before his fingers come to wrap around the glass. You watch as he takes a sip of his drink, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth once the glass meets the surface of the counter again.

“Tough day?” you ask, quickly wiping crumbs from previous patrons off the counter.

“Yeah,” he scoffs in what could resemble a sigh, running a hand over his beard. “It’s fucking cold out there.”

“I know” your mouth curls into a compassionate smile. “I couldn’t run around all day like you do.” you declare. He sends you a weak smile in response, one that translates his deeply rooted exhaustion. “Hey, have you eaten at all today?” 

He scoffs. “Barely. This morning only” he declares, voice muffled from being surrounded by his glass.

“Llewyn what the fuck” you scold him, sighing before disappearing through the door behind the bar. 

He scoffs again, shaking his head in incomprehension. 

You come back less than a minute later, a plate of cheese and charcuterie in hand that you put down right in front of him, making him raise an eyebrow when he looks back up at you. 

“On the house.” you nod, pinching your lips in a smile. “Well, it's on me. Pappi's gonna get my ass if he hears about this. The guy loves his money” you correct, pointing down at the plate to get him to react when he’s stuck staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

He finally snaps out of it. “Thank you. You didn't have to” he smiles sheepishly.

“It’s alright” you shrug him off.

“Have you eaten tonight?” he asks, almost accusingly. 

“No, not yet” you declare. “But I have eaten since this morning” you snap back, a teasing smile over your face.

“When are you getting off?” he asks.

“Uh… In like twenty minutes”

He nods, and smiles as he pushes the plate in the middle of the surface so the both of you can share it. You chuckle and take a piece of cheese.

“Have anywhere to stay tonight?” you ask, and he barely has time to reply; you can see he doesn’t.

“Alright, you’re coming home with me. And we’ll get something better to eat. We’ll feast”

“Sounds good to me” he laughs, sending you a sweet smile that makes your heart sway. “I’ll take you out once I’m rich and famous” he chuckles, earning a smile and a laugh from you. Seeing you laugh makes him smile all the brighter.

[objectivesthatareobjectified]

Codes I’ve noticed in The Book of Bill so far (obv spoilers for TBOB so yeah)

Cool game theory puzzle solvers pls help me

First is this code (I haven’t solved the one on the very first / second page) it’s a Caesar cipher that’s shifted by 3 (get it cuz he’s a triangle) and it translates to “the guy who writes the codes” (ty @siritheneo for helping me)

This barcode, when scanned, just says “HEY NERD”

If you go to this website it takes you to this page:

I still haven’t figured out the code for this yet but I’ll update when it get it

This barcode scans to this number: 9780997025491 which when googled takes you to links about this book

There’s also these glyph-thingys, they’re also on the Goth Moth

(Also on the second page of the book)

Anyways that’s all I have so far :3

[rabbittwinrithings]

An Announcement

(The announcement below is copied from my discord)

   Hey everyone! This announcement has been a long time coming, I’ve just been pretty busy these past months. This announcement will have some good news, but also, some bad news. 

   First off, the good news: 

   End of last year I graduated from college and a few months after I got a new job! I had to move to a whole new state and it’s been perhaps one of, if not the, best experience of my life. This job has been amazing. My new place has been amazing. And just my life in general has been amazing! I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so content in my life! Sometimes I’ll just start looking around and be struck with disbelief that things turned out so well for me. Basically, I got a really nice job in writing and I couldn’t be happier! 

   With this new job, it has also given me time to discover old and new hobbies such as writing my own new material, reading, and I’m getting back into playing/running Dnd! (And once I get my hands on my sewing machine next month you better bet I’m gonna start sewing again!! And get back into cosplaying!!!) 

   But with this all new amazingness comes with a down side. My new job offers little time in the terms of modding. By the time I’m done with work I’m usually exhausted. (this may also be health related which I’m trying to figure out, but we’ll see.) And on the weekends I find myself looking for new hobbies. 

   Let me rip the bandaid off real quick:

   For now, I will no longer be working on my mods. That doesn’t mean I hope nothing new comes out of them. I’m still hoping to make an announcement later that may open up *some* of my mods for fan made expansions (if users wish to do so,) but I’m still trying to get all that sorted out. There was a lot of update work being done, and I’m still figuring out what to do with it. 

   I also still love seeing mod patches like replacers, translations, and such (like always, just shoot me a message first so I know they’re coming out.) 

   This also doesn’t mean it’s forever over. One day, I may return, but for now, I’m stepping aside.

With that sad news said, I want to let all of you know what a ride all this has been! I first started modding because I wanted to find a creative writing outlet, then it turned into realizing I could make a portfolio for a future career with it, and then, finally, I realized how many people enjoyed my work. There were a lot of times where I self doubted whether or not I was a good writer, but seeing the overwhelming support over the years for my art has helped me get over that. My final years of college weren’t great, and modding and you all helped me through the vast majority of it. Because of all that, I want to thank each and every one of you for your support!

   Now, just because I’m stepping away from modding doesn’t mean I want to stop creating. Like I said, I still love writing in my free time, so maybe in the future I can post various personal writings I make here. 

   And with that, once I get everything figured out about the future of my mods, this server may be taking a shift in a new direction from being solely about Sidekicks of Tamriel, but just as a general Rabbitt Winri server and whatever personal projects I pursue in the future. (I will also be changing my various social media accounts accordingly too.)

   Once again, I cannot thank all of you enough for what you’ve done for me! None of this would have been possible without you!

[nikutsuneart]

The Sleeping Realm Theory’s 4th Anniversary!!

Hey everyone, I don’t think i’ve ever made a formal post here (on I guess my art account??) about the good ol Sleepy Boy Theory. I figured I might as well with the anniversary but as of today, it’s 4 years old! Where DOES the time go?

A lot has happened since this bad boy (several releases for one and a global pandemic for two), and as the official keeper of the crypt I’d like to thank everyone who has shared their Love and even their Great Distaste for it over the years. It’s wild to think it still lives on as such a footnote in this series’ history that I still saw people seething about it just last week.

It’s been discussed around the world as well as translated into more than one language! It’s a global reach I’ll never fully grasp, a talking point for people I’ll never meet, and it’s something that I’m immensely proud of!

To this day we’ve made points and discussed findings I still don’t see anybody ever talk about, like the kbg world logo or the location of Kairi’s heart. And if that sounds new to you, may I recommend checking it out once more and peeping those cool updates

~THE OFFICIAL SLEEPY BOY DOCUMENT~

And for those who don’t wanna sit and read, there’s a mostly up to date video format where me and AuroraPeachy read thru it together!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Anyway all that’s to say happy birthday to what amounts to a kingdom hearts college thesis! Here’s to another year of not being debunked somehow 🥂

[lilyginnyblackv2]

“Father” Based Words in Buddy Daddies

I figured a lot of Buddy Daddies fans might be interested in this video from Unseen Japan called “How the Japanese Words for Parents Lost Out to English.”

I also thought that this would be a great video to talk about how Kazuki, Rei, and other characters usage of words for “dad” and “father” in Buddy Daddies thus far (as of Episode 9, though, if there are any further interesting usages or things I feel could be added after the series ends, I will definitely include and update reblog on this!).

In Episode 3, when Rei asks Miri:

“What about your real father?” He uses the term 父上 (chichiue), which is far more formal than other terms that we see other characters use, such as Miss Anna. She refers to Kazuki and Rei either as お父さん (otousan) or パパ（達) (papa (tachi)), usually she uses Papa when talking about Kazuki or Rei directly to Miri:

(Miss Anna to Miri:  “Are you happy to have two papas?”)

While using otousan when directing her speech at Kazuki and/or Rei :

(”Two fathers, you say?” - She uses お父さん - otousan here, which gets translated to “father,” just like Rei’s use of chichiue did, because they are more polite and formal ways to say “dad.” But, we’ll talk a bit more about this later). 

We’ve never had Kazuki mention his mother and father separately, just in a more unit type of way (”parental abandonment” etc.). But, we see that he refers to the other mothers as ママ友 (mamatomo), which can be translated as “mom friends” or “other mothers/moms,” like in Episode 6:

(Kazuki: “Of course, the other mothers all say the same about their kids.” - Since he is talking more generally here, and not, for example, about his group of mom friends, it makes sense that the English translation went with “mothers,” instead of “moms”).

When talking about himself, he sometimes uses papa, specifically when talking to Miri about himself, like in this Episode 6 scene:

(The English subs use: “Anna-chan told me a little story,” while the Japanese itself has Kazuki saying “Papa heard something from Anna-chan” or something more so along those lines, that’s a bit unnatural sounding, and usually English speakers don’t refer to themselves as their parental role, unless it’s something like “As your father/mother/etc...”).

And, speaking of that phrase, in Episode 6 as well, when Kazuki states:

“As a father...” He uses chichiue. Like Rei did when talking about Miri’s father, which we’ll get to in a bit. I believe there is one time when Kazuki is referring to himself as well, and “dad” gets used, either in the sub or dub translation. I can’t remember the exact scene though. But,that fits with the point that, generally speaking, Kazuki is pretty informal with his speech. Like how he calls Kyutaro, Kyu-chan, as opposed to Rei, who calls him Kyutaro-san (more formal). Miri seems to be following after Kazuki in this way though.

This post is getting quite long as it is, so I’ll put the rest of this under a Read More:

Although, the teen Miri that Kazuki envisions, isn’t just informal in her speech, but also rude.

The subs have her calling Kazuki, “old fart,” which is an appropriate way to translate ジジイ (jijii), both a very informal and rude way to refer to one’s father.

Getting back to Kazuki though. He uses chichiue when talking about the idea of “father,” right. “As a father...,” but not for himself. Since chichiue is distant sounding. It’s colder and more formal (Draco Malfoy refers to his father as such in the Japanese version of the Harry Potter books, for example).

This then brings us back to Rei. He referred to Miri’s blood father as chichiue, and then he thinks:

“Father...” using chichiue and thinking of his own. 

When he calls out to his father, he uses 父さん (tousan), which gets translated to “Dad!” It’s a very common way for older children, teens, and adult children to call their fathers, so that makes sense. Most children speaking English, at least in the states, switch from “Daddy” to “Dad” when they’ve reached the age Rei is here (probably near his preteens). 

But Rei’s father replies back:

“Don’t call me, ‘Dad.’“ He uses 父 (chichi), which is more formal. Over on Hi Native, a Japanese individual did a break down on politeness levels for different father words:

Text: 

お父様 - otousama - formal polite

父 - chichi - formal

お父さん - otousan - polite

父さん - tousan - less polite

親父 - oyaji - casual

パパ - papa - casual

His father requests that Rei uses “Boss,” a term not attached to fatherhood at all, and it is the word Rei does end up using:

(Rei: “Forgive my long absence, Boss.”)

As we can see here in Episode 8, when he calls his father, “Boss.”

But, of course, when it comes to himself, Rei is a Papa. He calls himself Miri’s Papa, responds to Papa, and has used it for Kazuki as well.

Rei’s own experiences with his father, his ideas and concepts of fatherhood, and his own relationship with politeness levels all played additional roles in his reluctance to referred to as “Rei Papa/Papa Rei” at first. 

But, as you can see, Buddy Daddies has used a variety of different words for “father” over the course of the show, each with their own levels of politeness, tone, and warmth to them, and many of which are mentioned in the above video I embedded into this post. So definitely give that a watch if you haven’t yet! 

[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Hello everyone, I hope that everyone’s enjoying the story and that you’ve all been well since last time. I thank all of you who take the time to read and vote for these updates. I would love to hear any feedback or reviews you may have.

Last time, we were voting on what the next steps were. The winners were Translate and the getting new books from the stables, and I’m going to try and combine these. Let’s see where the story takes us.

An effort was made to translate the tome, the words in a nigh forgotten language and she could translate it, but for the fact that she didn’t have her own linguistic notes, or a book to help her understand the rules of grammar and syntax, she was having trouble parsing the right inflections and meanings of the words she was trying to translate.

Looking at the window, she found that it had been two hours since she started, and she had only gotten roughly half the page partially figured out. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she picked up the page again, found her notes, and promptly found that she had made three mistakes within the first few notes.

Determining that the translations were a lost cause, she packed up her books, leaving the one for private reading on the bed for later. Surely, Luna was a lady of culture and wouldn’t judge her for such reading materials.

On second thought, hiding it inside her bag for later would be best.

With her reading materials secured, she returned to the quest for more knowledge. Navigating the stairs, she found the back entrance to the stables unguarded, and the two lads that had helped her earlier absconded, perhaps to a scheduled break or other tasks around the inn. No matter, taking the key from her pouch, she opened the stall. Snooping around, she made sure that the book to be translated when they got to the library was separate from the others, with the spell creation notes next to it. Pulling out a few books, she flipped through the first pages, finding more written in the translated text, so they were added with the black book.

Finally, she unearthed the scrolls, and grabbed several of them, looping a length of cord around them so she could more easily hold onto them. Her stomach was reminding her of the hours since she ate, and she turned to head back in, ensuring the tarp was in place and the stall was locked behind her.

Pausing long enough to give Edmond a handful of oats and a scratch between the ears, she smiled at the placid horse. “Rest well, it’s a long road before the next time you get a proper stall like this,” she offered, trying to bolster her own spirits by spoiling him.

Getting a wuffling noise and him turning towards the water trough, she decided to take her own advice and enjoy the civilization that was being afforded her right now. 

Getting inside, the innkeeper approached her, giving her a broad smile as he came near. “Hello lass, settled in alright? Will you be wanting to eat down here or should I have one of the lads bring up a serving of the special?”

“If you could have it brought up, that’d be great, thank you,” she answered before looking at Luna out the front door thoughtfully. “Perhaps have her plate stay warm until she comes in. I don’t know if she’ll be up to playing for the inn tonight after her show in the town square.”

“Can do, the mayor’s covering that, and will you be wanting a dri-” he began, cutting off as she placed a coins in his hand.

“Wine, something red if you have it, if there’s any change, keep it, if it’s not enough, let me know. I’ll take the bottle.”

“Certainly, if you’re sure, we have a nice local one that’s a few years old. Great flavor, and a decent nose, afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”

“That sounds delightful, please send them up, I will be working in the room, so just knock and I’ll respond.”

With that the pair parted ways, and she found herself back in the room, settling in to work on the scrolls. It felt good to have things going her way, making progress, and being able to study and research again.

[skeletonpunching]

Buddy Daddies extra materials: Kurusu Kazuki's Instagram archive (posts + stories)

I'm sure by now we're all aware of our good friend Kurusu Kazuki's Instagram account, where he posts endless food pics and chronicles the joys and struggles of parenting. I haven't been archiving/translating them so far, because Instagram makes posts easy enough to browse and auto-translate, but now that he's branched out into Instagram stories, I figured it would be best to have a convenient record.

As with the other extra materials (the diary entries and sticky notes), I'll be keeping all the Instagram content in a big central index post, which will be updated regularly (under the cut).

EDIT: There is now a part 2 for this post, which contains everything from ep 7 onwards. Please check that post for future updates.

This post contains the content associated with eps 1 to 6. (I split it out because this was getting so long and unwieldy that Tumblr glitched whenever I tried to edit it.)

@fantastic_sweeper0516 

Kazuki-papa here Papa to one child (in daycare) | Working hard to raise a child together with my partner. 👧 miri (4yrs) November 8

[Dates are mostly in my timezone, not Kazuki’s.]

January 1

It’s cooooold~~~ #happynewyear2023

January 3

There’s really no one around during New Year’s, huh

January 5

All set.

Heheheh. This is gonna be absolutely heavenly

January 6

Heading off to work~

January 7

Looks totally delish #mentaiko

#cooking

Done!

January 11

Another chilly day...

January 13

Can I do battle with these...?!

January 15

I’m making the world’s tastiest Hamburg steak~~ #japaneseblackbeef

January 16

Oh yeah, from yesterday. I cooked the greatest Hamburg steak...

January 18

Morning!

January 19

So tired...

January 20

Haven’t had this in ages, but it was good.

January 22

Apparently this is tastier.

January 23

If you’ve gotta banana, you’ll get by.

[writing: “Miri’s banana”]

January 24

They like it, and that’s the important thing...

January 29

WOW. Already so cheap, and there’s still a discount... #isthisheaven

January 31

Why are needle eyes so small~~~

February 1

What should I write in the daycare notebook...?

February 5

The low-malt beer life starts now.

February 7

Which do you prefer as a daycare outfit (for a girl): skirts or pants??

[results: 47% skirts, 53% pants]

February 10

The results from the other day. It was close... After surveying your opinions, I'll be buying more pants!

February 11

Mission complete.

When should I start preparing for my daughter to have a boyfriend or something?

For reference... 1. I think you'd better be ready by the time your daughter is in middle or high school...... 2. Kids these days start from elementary school, so... 3. Miri-chan is so cute, you should steel yourself now‼️‼️‼️ 4. Kids grow up quick these days, I figure you'd better be ready from age 4! 5. Probably when she's in upper elementary... 🤔💭 6. Miri-chan is a cutie, so... Looks like she might have a BF starting from the middle of elementary school 😅

Is that so.....?? 1. I hear it starts happening here and there in middle school 🐾 2. Miri-chan is totes adorbs so you gotta get used to it now🥺 she's probably super popular already... 3. Now. You should have started by now. 4. Lots of kids these days are mature for their age, so from daycare onwards... 🤔 5. Miri-chan could land a boyfriend anytime, so you'd better brace yourself now... 6. Age 9

For real??? 1. Right now! 2. Right now 3. It starts popping up once they get to upper elementary. Hang in there, Kazuki-papa! 4. I remember getting really into romance once I was in middle school. But in this day and age, even elementary schoolers would be totally into it... 5. They start dating in elementary school these days, don't they? And I guess the thinking about marriage starts in high school. 6. Around age 12? Sometime in middle school

February 12

After I made the bento, Rei and I ate the leftovers.

February 15

The fried chicken I put in the bento the other day. It got such rave reviews I made it again

Go to Part 2 (which contains everything else)

[ghostoffuturespast]

Works In Progress 2023: A Cyberpunk 2077 Year In Review

I thought for a hot minute about doing one of those snazzy templates that’s been going around, but editing photos just ain’t my MO and rather than going by month I picked 12 favs that I’ve posted in 2023. Some of them were popular, some of them weren't. Overall, I think I did pretty good for just doing vanilla photomode on console.

You might be wondering why there's a picture of a sticky note. I don't remember when I started doing this, and I'm horribly inconsistent as you can see by the dates, but I'll jot down my word count for my wip chapter and then jot it down again when I remember to later.

I write slow. A lot of times I sit down to write and it feels like the wheels are spinning in place. My minutes and hours don't stretch very far, typically don't add up to much. But days, weeks, months. That's when I can at least measure the progress.

Fic: So It Goes 40/44 - 438,946 words

My V x River Ward and tinfoil hat conspiracy theory long fic. I've spent way more hours on this then I have on any of my VP.

I got tagged by @just-a-cybercroissant @therealnightcity and @wanderingaldecaldo to do some WIP Whenevers. I post my VP pretty regularly, so it’s always seemed silly to do work in progress posts for them, and I don’t know when I’ll have any new writing to share since in between work and the holidays, I haven’t had much time to sit down with anything since my last chapter update. And I've been feeling very... stingy, lately. Especially when it comes to mine and other people's writing. So take this WIP/Year In Review as my offering. Both these series, as am I, are all very much still works in progress. 

I confined my reflections for this year below the cut. If you don’t want to read my long-ass essays, you can admire the pictures, maybe check out my fic, or just move along and have yourself a lovely day.

We’ll start with the easy one.

VP

After at least a year of multiple playthroughs (I’ve played all the lifepaths, done all the endings), it only occurred to me at the beginning of this year to start taking VP. Part of the reason I never did before was because I didn’t realize it was a thing and then by the time I did, I figured I didn’t have much to offer. I play on PS5 and only have access to vanilla photomode, so seeing everyone else’s high-fidelity, ultra ray-tracing, modded, posed, full on virtual photo shoot photos, I was like there’s no way. (Not that I’m hating on PC modders, it’s just not everyone has access to mods or a PC capable of running the game, and I’m all for making art and creative endeavors accessible.) On top of that, all I’d ever heard from most other folks was how much vanilla photomode sucked. In the glamorous world of VP, I didn’t think there was any room for me.

But I started snapping pics anyway. And sure, there are a lot of limitations with vanilla photomode. But what that really translates to is opportunities to get creative. I am also a hoe for subverting people’s expectations, and very much believe when there’s a will, there’s a way.

Environmental and landscape shots were my first subjects before I started branching out into portraits and then capturing story moments. Through VP I found an entirely new way to enjoy a game that I’d already played a ridiculous number of times along with also finally being brave enough to share my V with other people too. I’d always worried about that before, if people would like her. Granted, I know Grandpa’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you like her or not, I certainly think she’s made a name for herself over the past few months. Even if most people haven’t really gotten to know her the way I’d hoped. 

I’ve taken hundreds of photos this past year. Most of which I’ll never share. There’s a lot of flops, a lot of weird experiments, ones that didn’t quite turn out the way I’d hoped, but I’ve learned something from every single one of them. I know how to spot good lighting, frame shots to create optical illusions, get a very limited toolkit to work in my favor, parkoured on all of the things, and heck, I even figured out how to make Grandpa smooch other NPCs. I’ve done atmospheric, mundane, down right goofy, as well as things that most people probably thought weren’t fucking possible.

I can’t say how long I’ll keep doing this, I’m sure I’ll move on at some point, but for now I’m still enjoying myself. There's a lot to explore in this game and I just can’t stop digging Night City.

Now, for the more complicated thing.

Writing

So It Goes… My peace, my war, my greedy and most ravenous of ghosts.

I’m operating under the assumption that most people following me here probably haven't read my fic or aren’t all that interested in reading it to begin with. It’s fine. But you need to understand this fic, my writing, is the main thing that brought me here. This is also Grandpa V’s story. Most of you have met her, but unless you've been reading, most of you do not know her.

I wrote around 185,000 words and posted 10 chapters this year. 2022 was about 253,000 words and 30 chapters, along with several unrelated one shots. However, I don’t think I’ve done a single chapter this year that was less then 10k, and my longest managed to hit 27k. As of the last update I posted, the fic is currently sitting at around 439k words, 40 chapters, and still isn’t done.

I have four more chapters to write. I have written a metric shit ton of words. This is, by far, the longest and most intense creative project I’ve ever endeavored to complete.

When I started writing, I was expecting this fic to be around 100-150k. That seemed to be the average for most long fics. I did not plan on being an outlier. I'm not sure you can ever really plan for that, but I guess I enjoy subverting my own expectations too.

For those of you who are reading my fic, it is my sincerest hope that it shatters every expectation of where you think it’s going. It’s not a joke that I tagged my fic “#an ode to my tinfoil hat”. An ode it has turned out to be. I’ve been sitting on this theory for two years. I have told no one about it. I hope it sticks the landing and hits the way I want it to. I don't know if it will. But fuck, I just want to be done with it so I can move on with my life, take a break, and give myself the opportunity to make and focus on other things before I have to get back on the damn horse.

I wrote less this past year then I did in 2022. I had a lot of life changes, most of which were good, but with times of change come times of adjustment. Along with some realizations that maybe you don’t understand as much as you thought you did. Looking back, I’ve been in a state of unsettled, kuzushi, for a really long time. Which is not a good place to be. It’s how your ass ends up on the ground with a knee knocking out all your teeth. I thought I knew better. Thought I had enough practice to get away from it. But bad habits have good memories.

I think given the circumstances, I accomplished a lot with my writing this year. I don’t know if my writing is exactly where I want it to be. I doubt it every will be, but it’s evolved, grown, and I wrote a pretty hefty stack of words considering I started working full-time again, bought a house with my partner, moved, and have been dealing with the millions of other beans that life tends to throw one’s way. That being said, and for full disclosure, I’ve also been dealing with some of the worst cases of jealousy and envy I’ve had since I was a teenager. 

Frankly, it sucks. They walk with me every fucking where I go, hold my hands to whisper back all my doubts. Try to persuade me to my baser instincts, to be cruel and lash out. But that's not aikido. Luckily, I’m not 16 anymore so it’s at least been easier for me to identify the problem. Though I’m still coming up short in terms of actually being able to do anything about it, and will be for at least a few months more. 

Yeah, I keep talking about it because I don’t know how many people know that I've been feeling this way. And I’m tired of not talking about it in a room full of creatives, because yeah, I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. And not talking about it just makes all that pent up resentment worse for everyone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. But with the way I work and think, it’s a slow, tedious, and incredibly time-consuming art. With how much my fic has snowballed over the course of writing, it’s left very little room for the other hobbies in my life. And as my fellow writers probably already know, writing is an incredibly insular craft. And unlike a picture or an image, which only requires a glance, reading a bunch of words requires time and commitment.

So, when you put yourself out there and share what you wrote, it’s a lonely feeling not knowing whether or not anyone connected with what you put on the page. Especially, when the people who do read aren’t compelled to voice anything and when the people you’d hope would read don’t. And then you're stuck in the dark, not knowing, because neither of us says a goddamn thing.

I started writing this fic prior to actually joining the CP2077 fandom. And I joined the fandom because I felt alone. I’ve been here a while now, albeit in a few different places, and that feeling still hasn’t gone away. I’m still trying to find camaraderie with my fellow writers and carve out something that kinda sort of resembles a home or a sense of community. I watch my peers around me as they seem to build that with each other, except me.

I’m envious of the things that people make and jealous of the relationships those have created and fostered between said people, because for the life of me, it’s been a struggle to cultivate that since I got here. I know it’s selfish, but I also don’t know what about me makes people so hesitant. There have been a handful of strangers that have shown up for me regularly, but as far as people I call friends in this fandom that have shown up and actually stuck around, I can only name one right now. (I know we're all busy. And I acknowledge my writing's not for everyone. I know maybe some of you are quiet, or shy, or probably a thousand other things. I get it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less. People will never know unless you say. Never know unless you take the time to interact or engage. Be brave. And that's true for a lot of things.)

The propensity is for the negative to outweigh the positive. I've got a lot of numbers on my fic, so you would think things would be fine, but at this point they just feel empty. They don't bring me any comfort or real satisfaction. And I hate feeling like the people I know don’t care and that most of you are just talking around me. That I’m some kind of annoyance not fit to interact with. Which may or may not be the case. I don’t know. Again, most of you have never said anything. And maybe I need to accept the fact that most of you never will.

But this is me trying to start conversation.

It’s really shitty, knowing that the thing I want the most is also the thing holding me back. I know how to work on it too, not that it’s any guarantee. The problem is I’m still writing and in a needy state of greed. And because I’m slow, I don’t have the time or the energy to be generous. I can only take right now. I can’t give. 

Relationships require both.

I can’t bring myself to read other people’s writing. I can’t comment, or like, or share if I haven’t read anything. I'm desperate for conversation, but I also don't have the time or assurance to facilitate it with other people right now. And for some reason people never seem to want to talk to me, especially when it comes to writing. I want to be part of conversations, talk deeply with other people. But I can’t speak right now, I'm not in a place to offer generosity without someone first giving it to me.

And generosity and grace is what we all need.

Four more chapters and I hope my ghosts will finally let me read in peace.

[winniethewife]

You Can’t Always Save Everybody.

(Miguel O’hara x Spidersona!Scarlette Web)

Holiday Special

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

A/N: A break from the regularly scheduled updates for some holiday angst. Takes place in the same universe but before our story takes place. Image By @joycemelanee1 on twitter

Words: 435

It was the first Christmas after Miguel had died. Valentine had been invited to stay With Peter B. and MJ, they had just recently gotten married (for the second time) but despite their newly rekindled love they were more than willing to take in a stray with nowhere to go for the holidays. After dinner, on Christmas eve, Val wandered over to the window that looked out on the city, it had just started to snow, and she couldn’t help but think about last Christmas.

~

Valentine Looks around the room trying to spot Her husband, they had been invited to this Christmas party By the member of a band that was under the same management company as Miguel’s Band “Scarlet’s Web” the place was packed and the music was loud but that was relatively normal for her, Just as she was about to give up and call Miguel to figure out where he was when her spidey senses started to go off and she turned around to see Miguel sneaking up on her with a grin on his face. She gave him a smirk.

“Nice Try Tiger.” She laughs as he looks at her and snaps is fingers.

“Darn, Chiquita. Your pequeña araña abilities always get in the way of my fun” He says with a laugh. He pulled her in close holding on to her waist. “Well not all of my fun.”  He says flirtatiously.

“Whatever do you mean? I don’t think I’m getting in the way of any fun.” She says sarcastically. He laughs.

“No, No of course not. Mi Esposa es el alma de la fiesta.” He says flirtatiously as he grabs her hips sways against her, causing them both to laugh.

“Mi escandaloso marido, causando conmoción.”

“Hey, who you calling escandaloso? Eh?” He chuckles while leading in to nibble on her ear. “Chiquita, Que linda mi niña” He whispers as he continues to move with her in time to the music, their own private dance in the corner of the party.

“Merry Christmas Tiger.”

“Feliz navidad querida”

“You okay Valentine?” Peter B. asks, She had been standing at the window watching the snow fall for a while.

“Hm? Oh yeah…Just a little a haunted by the ghost of Christmas past.”

“I get that. If you need anything…I’d like to say I’m the ghost of Christmas Present. But really that’s just because my presence is a gift.” He winks at her and she laughs.

“Thanks. I’ll be there soon. I promise.” She says before looking out on the snowy scene of Earth-616B.

Won't you bring back my baby to me?

~

Translation

pequeña araña: Little spider

Mi Esposa es el alma de la fiesta.: My Wife is the life of the party

Mi escandaloso marido, causando conmoción: My scandalous husband, causing a commotion.

Chiquita, Que linda mi niña: Little one, how pretty my girl

Masterlist

Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[marcarella-pizza]

A Buddy Daddies Drama CD Update (Vol 2): 9

Buddy Daddies Vol 2 is essentially “How many embarrassing scenarios can we make Kyu-chan act out”.

I’ve heard it all. Including things I never thought I’d ever hear.

Oh yeah and I’ve got half of it translated already!

Remember when I said I needed a break? Yeah that didn’t happen. I figured that I could have an even longer break between now and the next drama if I just started it lol. And I was right - this one is way easier. Like 10x easier.

I’ll try to get it out for this weekend but no guarantees~ Here’s my teaser for you:

Rei: Sake suki, onnazuki , bakuchi suki?

Rei: Likes alcohol, likes women, likes gambling? Rei: If they like alcohol, women and gambling?

Kazuki: