#as much as i dislike the community i used to be a part of on here i never realized how much i took for granted not having to see the

[mysterycitrus]

just out of curiosity, why are you writing a tim fic when youve also said you dont actually like him? :o (im SO sorry if this comes off sounding paggro bc i swear its not meant to be 😭)

i dislike tim for the same reason i dislike jason — their writing since 2011 and (most significantly) their existence in fanon. tim drake, the character who existed pre-flashpoint, is a complex character with a lot of flaws. his relationships with dick and bruce and babs and helena and cass are all really interesting! his specific, unique understanding of robin is important to the mythos! there’s a lot that can be done with him narrative wise!

where i lose patience is the tim drake that tends to appear in online spaces (waifish, martyr, only one who can use an internet router). new52 also exacerbated this by changing crucial parts of his backstory and characterisation, so that just kind of transforms him into a whole different dude that i personally find pretty distasteful and disinteresting

that fic in particular is a what-if flashpoint didn’t happen — what would tim drake do in a world after bruces return, after he’d successfully severed off so much of his life in looking for him? how would his relationship with dick (and others) change? how does bart and kon and cassie realistically communicate with someone who’s been living in survival mode for so long? etc. idk i just enjoy narrative stakes

[rubys-domain]

i might be terrible for feeling like this. but the sheer amount of schadenfreude i have after finding out that freminet is likely going to be a shit unit is through the roof lmao

[lettersfromthelevant]

i swear, every pride month, i end up unfollowing like close to a dozen people--including mutuals--because everyone just gets completely politically unhinged and horrible. either it is aphobia, misogyny, or antisemitism, but soooo many people just go off the rails with it. i dunno what it is about this month, but where i used to look forward to it, i've begun to absolutely dread it.

i used to love pride online because irl pride is so hostile to jews (it isn't that much better here, tbh) and i could at least participate here, but where it used to be mostly sane, it has quickly spiraled into homophobia/biphobia/aphobia, misogyny, and exploitative regressive politics where the entire point of pride is sidelined to appeal to some fucked up groups that this website loves propping up as mascots. no one on here seems capable of being normal about forgotten marginalized groups, like women, aces, and jews. it even has a lead up sometimes; the lead up this year felt like pms, my dash has been so bad the past couple weeks and today the floodgates opened. i haven't seen this much unmasked misogyny and aphobia in a long time and it is only day one. this year is gonna suck, i can just feel it.

all this to say, if i end up unfollowing you and you're a mutual, it isn't personal. i'm just getting close to my wits end

[pristine-starlight]

For the record! I am a lil proud that i almost managed to solo my first eidolon and the failure of it was outside of my control (with the game crashing and all)

The fact that i got nothing out of it is what sours it. And even if i succeeded, so would the fact that i’d have to just keep soloing them until i’d someday feel ready for a tridolon with complete randoms

Eidolons drop good stuff. But they’re also a fuckin drag, and spending 20 soloing one for the return of a single common arcane is not what i want to spend my time doing in a game that’s supposed to be fun

I technically got my personal achievement of being strong enough to take down a teralyst bc if i almost got there alone and would have, then i definitely could in a squad. But i’m gonna pass on the whole arcane thing until if Scarlet Spear ever returns

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[rboooks]

Child Support Part 2

Tim watched the other young heroes as they tried to look around the watch tower without seeming like they were. He's been here plenty of times, but the rest of the Teen Titans and a few of the Young Justice hasn't.

Much was due to the older heroes leaving the younger ones alone. Some not taking them seriously enough to welcome them at the big HQ as much as that made his blood boil.

They were taking the same risks. They were fighting the same good fights. Why was their age the main reason they weren't treated equally?

Some teenage heroes weren't part of a team per see, but they always answered when a call was sent. For example, Cass and Steph were present, speaking softly to Static Shock. Damian was standing next to Jon and his little friend Colin who was just getting into the swing of the hero business.

Bruce almost bit through his tongue when Damian told him Abuse would be joining Robin on parol, and he could do nothing to stop them. (Tim felt like he was watching Damian tell Bruce a paraphrased version of "But Daddy, I love him!" and it kept him smiling for weeks)

It was wild to see almost every young hero in one place. He doesn't think this happened since the last time Justice Leauge got mind controlled and almost destroyed the whole world.

"Any idea why we're here?" Kon asks to his right, lowering his shade to stare at the Outlaws. Jason's team stood to the side chatting iddly while cleaning over thier weapons.

Kon's always like their punk point of view, and he knows his best friend wants to go over there to talk to them. If it wasn't for the issue of the clone still being mad about what Jason did at the Teen Titans tower. Almost murder was hard to forgive for people outside the Bats.

"None. All I know is that John Constantine sent out a message to every teenage superhero group calling for a meet-up," Tim responds.

Bart whistles with a grimace on his right. "Must be bad if that guy is asking."

"I heard Hawkwoman tell Superman that she was worried and wasn't sure she wanted anyone of us mixed up in Constantine's mistakes." Cassie chimes in from where she leans on the couch. The three turn to her as she lowers her voice, attempting to keep the others from hearing. "Batman told her off for it."

"Batman did?" Tim asks, surprised.

Cassie shrugs, throwing a bit of her blond hair over her shoulder. "As much Batman can emote anyway."

Yeah, that sounded about right. Though it must have been something Bruce found disrespectful. His dad usually never reprimanded strangers unless they were saying something or doing something that sounded far too much like bigotry to him.

But to apply that to Constantine? Someone, Bruce generally disliked communicating with because the man tended to backstab his contacts? Yes, Constantine wasn't evil, but he wasn't pleasant either.

If Bruce had magical issues, he tended to contact Zatanna first.

Just then, the watch tower's zeta beams activate. Everyone who gathered turns to the teleporting pads where Constantine appears looking, for lack of a better word, absolutely exhausted. Even Tim knows that his eye bags aren't that bad, and he's usually going hours without sleep.

"Oh good, you all made it," Constantine says, sipping from a mug and wearing nothing but sweatpants and what looks like a nightgown. His signature trench coat was nowhere in sight. "I'm going to be quick about this. I need a team of young heroes willing to accept my son into their fold."

The room is dead silent. Constantine sighs. "Look, I've tried everything, but it's like Danny is allergic to laying low. He fought with a demon the other day over a child's doll- which you all know happens. People get haunted! But Danny refused to do it the right way, and now I had to beat off the demon's marriage proposal at least ten times. Not to mention his lack of social skills! No matter which one I stick him in, he can't seem to make friends in school. He got shoved into a locker on his first day! I thought that was an American exaggeration of the telly!"

Constantine pauses and takes a large gulp of whatever he's drinking before continuing his rant. A hand runs through his already messy hair, leaving it in bigger disarray as he speaks. "He's behind in terms of trends and technology cause his other father raised him outside of the typical timelines, so sometimes it's like talking to someone from the early two thousand, and other times it's like he's a modern Victorian era lad. His powers are also all over the place because the ectoplasm in our world is thicker, so when he breathes it in, he losses his control. Just the other day he accidentally made himself fly through our ceiling and almost reach the atmosphere before I was able to bring him back down."

A few of the fliers in the room wince. Jon nods and whispers under his breath, though his voice carries in the silence. "Yeah, been there before. Flying can be scary if you don't know how to come down."

Johns glances around at all the young people, eyes showing a tad bit of desperation. "He's sad all the time now, and I don't know how to help. If working with you could help him make friends, I would be grateful. He's a great kid. He just needs to adjust."

Tim had no idea what to do with this information; how do you respond to arguably one of the strongest Justice League Darks' heroes asking for a play date for his son?

"How old is the child?" Damian's voice rings out. Colin's hand is attached to his sleeve, a slightly nervous smile on the boy's face as he attempts to hide from the staring heroes behind his brother. Tim bets that if he wasn't wearing the domino mask, they would be able to see slight tears in Colin's eyes.

Damian's other hand goes across his body to cover Colin's hand, and Tim fights a shit-eating grin. His eyes lock with Jason, and the two send each other knowing grins. Looks like Bruce did have to worry about Damian having a secret boyfriend.

He can't wait to tease Damian later.

"He's fourteen....or well, physically?" Constantine answers eagerly.

"What does that mean?" Kon asks this time.

"Okay, so he's half human, half ecto-being. He sired him with his other father, Clockwork, which was only four years ago in this dimension, but since he was raised in the Infinite Relemas, times move differently there? " The British man says, and Raven goes rigid.

"Clockwork, as in the most powerful Ancient?" She asks, looking horror-struck when Constantine nods.

Before anyone asked what that meant, the zeta tubes activated again without permission. Someone had hacked into their systems which were ten levels bad. Everyone naturally fell into a fighting stance, only to blink when a teenage boy stepped out with a loud excited screech.

"We're in space!" The teenager runs to one of the windows, pressing his hands and face up against the glass. "This is amazing!"

Tim only relaxes his muscles once Constantine clears his throat. "Chum...what are you doing here?"

"Oh. One of your curse rocks things started proposing to me again, so I ran out of the House of Mysteries. Thought I see what you were up to." The teenager says, turning around with a smile and utterly freezing at the sight of the gathered heroes.

He had dark hair, wide blue eyes, and the most adorable face Tim had ever seen. Not as sexy as Bernard, of course, but darn close. Judging by the looks of anyone attractive to males, most heroes thought the same.

"Um...hi?" He says, offering the Godsmack teenagers a helpless little shrug. "I'm Danny Constantine."

"It is a pleasure, Constantine." Damian marches over to him with all his little twelve-year-old authority. He barely reaches Danny's chest. "I shall look forward to working with you. Are you formally trained in combat or strictly magic?"

"Um...oh, I can throw a punch or two? I'm mostly self taught. I rely on my powers a lot?" Danny fumbles to answer throwing a desperate look at his presumed father.

"No matter. I shall have you begin training. My Beloved also needs to work on his form. There is no shame in this" Damian nods, and Constantine lets out a large sigh of relief. He jogs over to place a hand on his son's shoulder, giving him a one-sided hug

"Yes, Danny, you will join Robin, Superboy, and Abuse on missions. They agree to help you settle and get used to your ghost powers." Constantine smiles. "I'll give me time to discourage all those idiots from trying to trick you into marriage."

"Oh...okay. It's nice to meet you all. Please call me Phantom on the field. Um, are you the team leader?" He asks Damian as the three youngest boys lead him further into the watch tower.

Constantine watches them go with the brightest smile he's ever seen on the man's face. He looks back to the group, who were barely starting to pick their jaws off the floor and makes a shooing motion with his hand. "You lot are dismissed."

Then the man vanishes in a green portal.

There is a ringing silence until Barts blurts out. "I'm pretty sure this is where the Phantom Fan Club first formed. A historical moment."

Tim wants to take a nap.

( Part 1 )

[lilgoblinbitch]

Sweetheart 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

from Anon: "I kinda need that rick grimes dumbification you teased at. I know you crushed it"

a/n: yes this was one of the drafts i mentioned on my poll a bit ago! I had a lot of fun writing this. enjoy!

warnings: 18+, PinV unprotected sex, slight dumbification, fingering, slight choking, angst, kinda mean/mocking Rick, edging, cussing, cum swallowing, very vague mentions of past drug usage. (lmk if i missed anything)

wc: 4.3k

MDNI

Rick Grimes and you had an unsteady ‘relationship.’ Ever since Glenn Rhee, your best friend, welcomed you into the group, you and Rick constantly butted heads. It was like you couldn't agree on any one thing to save both of your lives. And whenever the two of you were alone, Rick often acted as your chaperon, always on your tail nagging you about how you were going to “get yourself hurt.” It irked you to your core. You could handle yourself, and you proved that to him plenty of times, but it just never seemed like Rick was going to trust you under any circumstance.

Glenn and Maggie liked to snicker to themselves, teasing you from time to time that Rick probably had a little crush on you, but you never understood how. That man never even smiled at you; all he did was badger you and make you feel like a fool. What the hell did they know?

“No! I’m not going on a run with him alone, Glenn. You know I’d rip his head off once he starts acting like an authoritative asswipe. And that would be on you for making me go.” You argued with Glenn, who was already scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Y/n, honestly. You need to learn how to get along with him. Trust me, he’s not a bad guy. Remember I told you about how he led us out of Atlanta? We would have been part of the dead geeks back in the city if it weren’t for him.” Glenn was always the best motivational speaker, and sometimes you disliked how right he could be. 

“I know he’s not a bad guy. I know what he did. But that doesn’t change the fact that Rick has never really treated me like one of you guys. I feel like he’s always seen me as just some — some bitch who got lucky finding a group of strong survivors,” You turned to Glenn, who was rubbing his face like he had a counter argument ready to be made, but you spoke again before he could. “Besides, Rick has never once asked me to go on runs with him, this would be awkward.”

“Not unless you make it awkward. Look, there’s no use in the two of you resenting each other, so I think this might be helpful.”

“I don’t feel like I’m helpful, though... helpful enough, I mean,” you admitted, glancing back up at Glenn who was staring at you intently, a sympathetic glint in his eyes. “I feel like I don’t pull my own weight around here very much. I mean, at least outside the walls. Just wanna feel more useful, and Rick often made me feel the opposite.”

“Well, I know you feel that way because I know you well. But you know you do more than enough for this community, especially keeping inventory and helping Olivia manage rations, and you helped rebuild the walls. You’re strong, and you’re one of us. That’s why Rick is taking you on this next run,” He reassured and patted your back lightly. You blushed and nudged your best friend on the shoulder. He never failed to put a smile on your face.

“Come on, this is your chance for you to prove yourself to him. I believe in you.”

Of course you could never say no to Glenn, especially when he was so kind to you all the time. Seriously, the guy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. So, you gave Glenn a half-smile, swallowed your bitterness and stomped your way over to the gate where Rick was already waiting.

“You got the list?”

The car was dead silent, besides the rumbling sound of the tires on the road. Rick was driving, his eyes hyper focused on the road ahead, and just for a few ticks he looked down at his pocket to pull out a crumbled slip of paper. With his gaze back on the road, he held the paper out for you to grab. When you went to grab it from his hand, you could have sworn you felt his fingers graze yours for a split second. Although that didn’t seem to affect Rick very much, as his eyes were still glued to the road and both hands gripping the steering wheel.

Sighing softly, you unfolded the slip of paper and read it under your breath. Your eyes scanned it — not much was on the list, considering a team already went on a supply run the week before, and since you were in charge of inventory you knew the supply for food was not low. Looked like all you’d need to find today were extra rounds of ammunition and a few flare guns.

You desperately wanted to speak, to break the uncomfortable silence that occupied the car, but nothing in your head seemed adequate. So you slumped in your seat and picked at the loose skin of your fingertips while waiting to arrive at your destination.

After a short while the car reached a halt, and Rick wasted no time in getting out. “We’re here, grab a bag from the back and let’s go.”

He shut the car door and opened the back door, reaching in to grab a backpack and sling it onto his shoulders. You did the same, after stuffing the list in your back pocket. The car was parked a few hundred feet from a worn-down gun shop on the side of the road. You honestly would have missed it if it weren’t for Rick and Daryl already scoping the place out last month; trees, overgrown grass, and shrubs all contributed to the clandestine nature of the shack.

The two of you took down a few walkers that popped out of the woods near the car before making your way into the rustic shop. You slipped your dagger back into its sleeve and pulled the list back out of your pocket. Rick was preoccupied with scoping the area, ensuring no walkers or other living beings were lurking in hidden areas of the room. The shop had a cabin vibe to it, and even the cobweb added to the scenery.

Your eyes never lingered too long on one area of the room — you needed to find flare guns while Rick gathered the other items. Each step you took around the shop sent the floorboards squeaking, earning nasty looks from the sheriff. Rolling your eyes, you stepped quieter across the room. Soon enough you found a small wooden crate collecting dust underneath a broken shelf. Inside it were random items like a piece of rope, a toolbox, and a few other paltry trinkets. You pursed your lips and raised a brow, grabbing the dusted, rusty old toolbox and holding it up in the light. You swiped the layer of dust that coated the lid and then snapped it open. Your lungs released a dissatisfied sigh when you noticed all that was left in there was a wrench and a rusty nail. Bummer.

“We need another wrench? ‘Cause I just found one!” You joked, scanning the room for Rick, until you realized he wasn’t in your view anymore. You huffed and took the wrench, throwing it into your bag and placing the useless toolbox back onto the shelf.

It didn’t take you long to find Rick, who was shoving his find of items into his bag in another room. “Rick,” you caught his attention abruptly, but only for a moment. He went back to packing stuff into his bag. “Only thing I found was a wrench, there was nothing–”

“I got everything we need,” Rick interrupted. He shuffled by you after zipping up the backpack and swinging it on his back.

This man really knew how to push your buttons; you were truthfully at your breaking point. Before he could leave the room you snagged his arm, turning him to face you. You were irritable, and he could see it painted all over your face with the way your eyes pierced into his. Rick sucked in his cheeks and held your stare, before turning his head to the wall and running a hand through his tousled hair.

You thought back to what Glenn told you — the pointers and pep talk he gave you before you left with Rick. This was the only time you would be able to talk with Rick with his undivided attention and no distractions around you.

“We need to get past this bullshit,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“What bullshit?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Rick.” His eyes met yours again. The self-assuredness you fought so hard to keep dwindled, like the wick of a candle crumbling under the dying fire.

“I– we, um…” you licked your lips and collected your composure, “You know we’ve never really been on the best of terms, ever since Glenn found me on the road to Virginia…”

Rick’s silence and fierce gaze made this all the more difficult for you. You were never great at confrontation in the first place, and this man just had to complicate it even more. “Ever since then, we haven’t really been able to get along.”

“We saw things differently. And you didn’t trust me,” he jeered.

“You didn’t trust me,” You retorted.

“Guess we’re even, then.”

You grinned, but not a happy grin — a grin that was meant to convince your mind that you were satisfied in this moment. It was something you usually did as a child; you thought that if you smiled really hard then maybe your brain would actually think you were happy. Sometimes it helped you forget about frowning. It didn’t work right now, though. You turned away from Rick, the grin faltering and a frown replacing it.

“I never meant for things between us to get this complicated and tense… I was in a really rough place when Glenn found me and I could only trust him.” You peered at him once more, “Rick, I’m sorry if–”

He shushed you, a hand reaching up to your cheek to comfort you. This was something foreign to you; the only times he touched you was if he was handing something to you and his hand ‘accidentally’ brushed against yours. Now, his hand was placed on your cheek, and his eyes softened after seeing your tender ones pleading at him.

“I’m sorry, too…”

You were close now, his body only inches from yours. One tiny step forward and your bodies would collide. But that wouldn’t happen — couldn’t happen. You would not let it...

“Rick,” you stepped backwards a foot, not anticipating to crash into the wall behind you. His focus was on you, only you, and it made you feel many different things. “I need to know — I need you to tell me we’re okay now. That we–” his body was inching closer to yours again, and you tensed up. “Tell me we’re on good terms now.”

“I shouldn’t have waited this long.”

You were flustered, cheeks beet red. Your back was flush against the wall, hands gripping the paneling for support. “Waited...for what?”

Rick’s taller frame finally pressed against yours. You shuddered under the pressure. “Waited...to touch you–” his eyes darted across your face, landing on your puffy pink lips, “Wanted to, for so long.”

Your lips parted, unsteady breaths leaking out. You swore you could feel your heart pounding on your chest, begging to tear it open. His lips were nearing yours, and there was nothing you could do to stop it — nothing you wanted to do to stop it, at least.

He leaned in close, breath a fervent cloud bouncing off your face. “I think you want it, too.”

A fire ignited inside you, one full of an almost unfamiliar sensation — lust. Something you’d suppressed for so long and never realized you still had in you. Rick Grimes seemed to be the only man to successfully light that spark in you.

It was time to disregard the small voice in your head, the one that was screaming and scolding you for letting lust conquer your conscience. Rick could see right through your tough shell; you were like putty in his grip. So desperate for him to touch you.

Rick tutted at you, thumb pad pressing your chin, directing your eyes to his magnetic blue ones. “Knew you were needy f’me. Ever since you first looked at me.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” His hand snuck down to your denim crotch, fingers briskly tracing the zipper.

“I need to know, Rick — why you always fucking nagged me. If you wanted me, why would you make me believe the exact opposite?” You interrogated, trying to divert the topic to distract the fog clouding your mind.

Rick’s finger traced designs across the v-line of your crotch, your breath hitching in your throat each time he dragged a digit down closer to your clothed heat.

“You never–” you swallowed hard, gathering your composure back, “You never have long enough conversations with me, just quick enough to avoid our usual tension. And, I don’t recall us ever going on a run alone together.”

Rick’s eyes pierced into yours, his fingers coming to a halt at the hem of your jeans. “The only time I ever see you is when you need to check in on our ammunition and inventory, or when you need me to watch Judith. Even then you don’t really talk to me much.” You slapped Rick’s hand away from your pants, exasperation washing over you. “Oh, and, I can’t forget to mention that you weren’t even the one who invited me on this fucking run. Glenn did!”

Rick took a step back from you, placing his hands on his hips. He bit his lip, averting his eyes to the ground. Your brows furrowed in displeasure. You were aware that Rick was most likely working up something to retort, however impatience got the best of you.

A groan from you filled the silent air. “Please, just explain it to me! Tell me something. Anything!”

The look in his eyes was intensely passionate. You were crumbling against the wall; just his eyes had that effect on you.

“You were like a lost puppy for Glenn, and then Daryl for a while. And it made me angry because–” He closed the gap between you once again, “You were too caught up in acting like a whore instead of being with me.”

Rick’s face was close to yours, his hot breath fading into your own. You were too shocked to react, too dumbfounded by his choice of words. Did he really deem you a whore? 

“I was protecting you all along, and you were too dumb to fucking realize that, huh?” His gruff voice boomed in your eardrums and sent shockwaves through your body. “I should have had you sooner, that was my mistake. But I have you here now, Y/N.”

A hand slithered across your neck, gently squeezing it. You bit your lip in anticipation, squeezing your legs together to create friction for your aching core — an arousal you didn’t quite recognize until Rick grabbed your throat and brought it to life.

You were aroused, and Rick acknowledged it. There was no need to keep hiding it. Hastily you grabbed Rick’s face and smashed your lips together, hungry for him. Being that close to him wasn’t enough — you needed him closer.

The kiss became heated pretty quickly, almost two years worth of sexual tension released from it and relieved moans from the both of you harmonizing within the small shop. Rick’s hand slithered down to your crotch, right where he had left off not too long ago. Only this time, he wasted no time in slipping his hand between the waistband of your pants and the soft fabric of your lace panties. You pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily and eyes half lidded.

“Such a pretty girl… always letting me take care of you, hm? You know I’m s’posed to look out for you, ‘cause you’re too hopeless without me, sweetheart,” he cooed, his hand slipping further down your pants and flicking your panties to the side to expose your dripping heat.

His fingers explored your slick folds, and you felt your back arch in response. Your hips bucked forward instinctively; you were in a trance, unable to comprehend your current emotions or actions. This was wrong, it shouldn’t be happening right now. This man hated you — at least, you thought he did; now here he was, playing with your cunt like all grudges were dropped.

Your hands gripped the back of Rick’s neck, fingers latching onto the soft curls at the base of it. Two of his fingers plunged into you without an issue; you were already soaking for him. You felt so vulnerable under this man’s touch, like he placed some sort of spell upon you, and you couldn’t find the strength in you to push him away. Maybe this was supposed to happen — maybe Rick knew what he was doing, and maybe he knew what you needed. At least, it felt like he knew what he was doing.

You couldn’t help but examine his facial features: his scruffy salt and pepper colored facial hair added beautiful texture to his chiseled jawline; his soft pink lips a shade darker than normal from your own lips eating at them; and oh — his eyes. You could never get tired of those eyes. They were hypnotic, a shade of sky blue that reeled you in the longer you stared into them. If this man wasn’t a sheriff, he would’ve done well as a fisherman – judging by the way he reeled you in so effortlessly. Although this man carried himself like he was a stone-cold sergeant, his graceful beauty was downright conspicuous; the fact that you never really considered how attractive Rick really was, honestly boggled you. 

The pace of Rick’s fingers quickened and your hips grinded into his hand. His palm pushed against your needy little bundle of nerves, heightening your pleasure. Each thrust of his fingers into your wet heat brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Such a dumb slut. So fucked just from my fingers inside you. S’like you never been fucked before, so tight,” Rick cooed, his tone dripping with vehemence. The sensations were too much — you couldn’t remember the last time someone did this to you, made you feel so good.

Without warning you came undone around Rick’s digits, that nostalgic feeling in your core jetting pleasure all throughout your veins. “Oh, fuck–” 

Rick pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to your lips. “Wanna taste yourself, sweetheart?” Except he didn’t wait for a response from you; carefully he slipped both fingers through the entrance of your slightly agape lips. Your tongue licked at his digits, cheeks sucking in as you lapped the juices up, tongue relishing in the bittersweetness of your flavors. Your mind was fuzzy. 

Rick slipped his fingers back out of your mouth. “Think I fucked you well enough with my fingers?” He rasped, starting to unbuckle his belt. You swallowed hard, licking your lips, legs still shaking like a chihuahua. “No words? Damn, can’t wait to see how you react when I stuff you with my cock.”

You accepted your fate; rightly so, officer friendly had you at his beck and call. One orgasm was not enough yet, according to the restless motions of your hips, and somehow Rick perceived this before you could. Within seconds his brown jacket, the one he adored wearing — and most importantly, slay his enemies in — was tossed across the wooden plank floorboard and the white t-shirt that hugged his toned frame forgivingly was peeled off. You could not refuse your eyes the opportunity to explore Rick’s body. His sculpted frame was an absolute eye vacation; he wasn’t body-builder buff but he was fit and you could tell he took good care of his health. The skilled celerity of his hands practically ripped off his tattered jeans, landing on the floor with a thump from the weight of his belt and holster. You ogled at his veins popping out, and how they trailed along his forearms and outlined the sculpting of his muscles. These were all things that made you wetter by the minute.   

Rick wasted no time in shoving your jeans and panties off, putting your dripping heat on full display. A wicked smirk plastered onto his face, and you scanned his eyes; they were dark and unrelenting. Your body was a pulsing, sweating, yearning machine and Constable Grimes was the only troubleshoot that seemed to exist in that moment. 

“You gonna be good while I fuck your cunt?” Hands roughly clutched both of your thighs, setting them at both sides of his hips. Fervently you nodded, feeling the tip of Rick’s leaking cock tease your entrance. Even more of a confirmation of your consent was the manner in which you were wrapped around his hips; you were fiending for the sensation of being filled up by Rick’s cock.

“Such a needy slut, I just gotta–” one intense thrust of his hips sent his cock driving sharply into your slippery hole; “fuck the whore outta you and–” thrust, “make you my sweet, sweet girl.” Strained squeaks and whimpers spilled from your panting mouth while Rick pounded into you. A few stray curls danced upon his forehead, sweat drenching his hair.

The man was a fiend for you too, his licentious grunts solid proof of it. “Mmph, fuck, Rick!” Your lewd cries a melody in his ears. Your tight bundle of nerves collided into his pubic bone rhythmically, adding to the concoction of whatever pleasure potion was being poured into your blood. Your strength was depleted, limbs desperately hugging around Rick and fingers clawing into his back. 

“So tight for me. Need my cock to stretch y’out, right?” Rick chuckled lowly, the sound reverberating through your body.

The thrusts of his hips never ceased, only for a swift moment when he placed you down on his jacket that was lying on the ground and picked right back up with his cock ramming into your cunt. The force shook your legs, and it almost felt like they were going to go numb. Rick was on his knees, holding your legs flush against his torso and shoulders while he found the perfect angle to greet your g-spot with the thumping of his tip against it. Your siren song moans were everything to Rick — however, he wasn’t going to risk having anything impeding this moment, and that meant drawing as little attention to the shop as humanly possible.

“Gotta be good for me, an’ stay fuckin’ quiet.” 

His hand clasped your mouth roughly while his hips continued to drive relentlessly into your dripping pussy. His body leaned close into yours, your legs pressed flat to your sides — all spread out for him to fully access your obedient hole. He was hitting all the right spots. His lips eventually replaced his hand on your own mouth, going back and forth between dragging out your bottom lip between his teeth and wrestling your tongue with his — he ended up winning that duel. 

Rick attached his lips to your neck, nibbling at the exposed skin with his teeth and evoking hushed mewls from you. He kissed and sucked your skin as he fucked you on top of his jacket. Skin on skin and the wet squelching of your pussy — the sounds were white noise to him.

Your fingers dug into his back and shoulders as he transitioned to a more graceful pace, letting your body shift along with his.

“Look at you, goin’ dumb from my cock. Feels good?” He mocked you, smugness washing over his entire face. 

You were unable to form coherent sentences, not with how Rick was rocking into you and incessantly ramming his tip into all the right spots. Felt better than any drug you ever did in college. All that clouded your mind was how close you were to reaching the point of no return.

“So close,” was what squeaked out of you, stimulation to both your clit and g-stop all too overwhelming. Your body was preparing to succumb to the pressure.

Rick looked down at your features; your face scrunched up in pleasure — mouth making perfect “o” shapes, and sweat gleaming on your skin. You were taking him so well, being so patient for him. 

“Tell me how good you feel, sweet girl.” 

“So good, Rick! Ungh– need to cum, please!”

He smirked, rubbing circles upon your swollen clit; “Cum f’me.” And that was all you needed to hear to let the jetstream of pleasure erupt through your body, your wet cunt gushing while Rick steadied his pace thrust by thrust. His orgasm was near, you could tell from the way he started twitching inside you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the warm euphoric feeling you were experiencing was clouding your senses.

“God, you must love being fucked, huh?” Rick tantalized, admiring the way your tits bounced and how your arms flailed around, reaching for something to grab onto but were too weak to do so. It was bringing him closer to his climax.

The empty feeling he left you after he pulled his cock out made you frown, unable to formally fuss because of the state you were in. He started stroking his shaft, thumbing the pink tip.

“Open your mouth, hun,” was the only warning he gave you as he sat you up and released a thick ribbon down your throat. You lazily licked up the treat he gifted you, then lay back down on his jacket. 

You simpered in that position while Rick cleaned the both of you up, kissing your cheek as he did so. Glenn was right, somewhat — Rick wasn’t a bad guy, and maybe he did have a crush on you after all. You just weren’t exactly expecting the events that had recently unfolded in a gun shop of all places.

[redbuddi]

As much as I do also dislike Vizviepop, one thing I can't agree with is the comparison to Butch Hartman. Yes, they both have very thin skins, but Butch Hartman scammed his fans by lying about the fundamentalism in his app, he traced commissions, and he was worst part of every project he was involved in, just to name a few things.

Vizvie is worthy of criticisms for a lot of reasons, but she never stole any money, she was pretty upfront about what she's making and has delivered on it, she can actually draw, and her projects are, like them or not, unambiguously hers. Danny Phantom could have been made by other people, (and mostly was until Butch took over and ruined everything.) Hazbin really couldn't have existed without Vizvie.

As much as we like to dunk on people, we do need to remember that Vizvie is a queer creator of color making media for queer audiences, and without the corporate cynicism of a lot of other queer media made by white and straight people. She is a part of our community and we would only be doing harm by lumping her in with people like Butch who actively want us silent and/or dead.

Yes Hazbin isn't good. But maybe it should be okay for queer media to be bad sometimes. Maybe it should be okay for queer people to not behave in perfectly acceptable ways sometimes. Criticizing her is fine, but don't act like she's some kind of supervillain when all she's doing is making something that isn't good. We can't keep cannibalizing our own creators like this.

[writing-makes-me-human]

HEYYYYYY

I couldn't help but see your requests were open l😏

So I wanted to ask for a human reader who Neteyam finds but he goes to kill her and she kinda charms him so he stops?

Then they become mates, the story and stuff is all up to you but yeahhhh that's my idea

I LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW AND I HAVE READ NEARLY EVERYTHING!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 

Thank you for the lovely words and your support it gives my writing purpose <3

Here is your request, I really hope you like it!

I named it Charming Killer after your request.

ps: If people have put in a request it is on its way!

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Neteyam x reader

Part Two

Summary: You get chased into the wilds of Pandora with a broken communication collar and a bullet wound, but Neteyam finds you. He goes to kill you but an omen from Eywa stops him, and as he approaches you he realizes you are his destined mate.

Warnings: blood and injury were mentioned, nothing else.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I’m taking a quick little break from writing for the same two series and breaking out to some requests. Check my master list for my posting schedule for Love and Guests. And what are we feeling? Part two or keep this as a one-shot? (God why did I just offer to create a new series but also this is such a cool idea and I want to write more)

Neteyam didn't like humans, and he never had. His mother had raised him to stay away from them as much as possible, and he had obeyed to keep her happy, but as he grew up and his siblings came back from ventures to the human labs that lay beyond their village with stories about Norm and Max in their human forms, he found his simple obligation of dislike turn into hatred.

Neteyam avoided all of the dream walkers that operated in his village to the best of his ability. His father advised them not to bother his eldest son or his wife, which they respectably agreed to. Still, even if they weren't around him Neteyam could always feel their presence, and it irked him.

One day, this feeling cropped up in his mind as he was out in the rugged outback of Pandora, hunting a stray tapirus for his mother.

He jumped from a tree to the ground as he continued to track, but then as Neteyam pressed his fingers into the newest set of prints in the dirt, he smelt it.

It was the distinct smell that often surrounded humans, something of a mixture between an unnatural chemical smell and wafts of artificial scents that attracted them to one another. Still, to Na'vi, the smell was a distinct warning.

He raised his head, abandoning the hunt in favour of locating the emitter of the stench that was offending him.

He followed his nose for a few meters, and then with the tip of his bow, he dipped a low-hanging branch to divulge a clearing.

There, standing in the middle with not a soul around was you, trying to aid an injury to your lower arm and fix a device at the same time with only one working hand.

He quirked his brow in confusion. He had never heard of you from his father, which only led to one conclusion: you were a sky person under Quaritch's jurisdiction.

He watched you for a few seconds to take inventory of what you were doing all alone in the middle of Pandora without a jarhead next to you with a gun. He could tell immediately you were not military because you were pacing around in a circle, speaking a mile an hour to yourself, using words he didn't understand with no sign of a weapon anywhere on your person.

His eyes dipped to your arm, which you were clenching shut as blood dripped onto the ground and soaked itself into the fabric of your shirt.

You were in shock from what Neteyam could interpret in distinction to your actions. The wound didn't seem like it had come from an attack by any beast on his planet because you would surely be dead if that were the case.

The injury looked like a bullet wound which only charged his curious streak further, but you were human, and one less sky person on this planet was a plus for his cause. So, he nestled down on the ground and silently replaced the branch so he could pull back his bow and aim his righteous arrow at your head.

He felt his heart beat in rhythm with your steps as you desperately tried to fix a communication com device with one hand, fighting against the panic that was starting to take your breath away.

The wilderness was vast, and you could feel the race against time fight in opposition to the blood which was slowly collecting a trail by your feet.

He let out his breath and readied the shot, but before he could let it go, a seedling from the tree of souls floated into his vision and landed on his hand, a silent plea not to fire.

He was stunned for a few seconds and held his posture, but when the seedling took off again, he finally let his hands relax and brought the longbow back down to his lap.

He was captivated now as he tried to lean closer through the foliage to see your actions. Eywa had spoken, and he would not kill you.

He thought back to the story his mother had often told her children about how she met his father, and his nose scrunched up at the similarities between the two stories.

He decided he would not take you to his father, and he would leave you here. If Eywa didn't want him to kill you, that was fine but he wouldn't become responsible for your safety.

He had filled his hunger for curiosity, and the thought of returning to his hunting materialized in his brain. With that in mind, he turned to step away, but as soon as he moved, another seedling crashed into his chest, making him stutter back in an effort not to crush the precious soul.

The sound of crunching leaves caught your attention, and you rotated on your heels in the direction of Neteyam. He kept his head low and out of your sight before he shook his head at the seedling which hovered in front of his face.

You couldn't see anything, but the sound was distinct, so you darted your eyes around to try and find anything to defend yourself with, but your search was broken when you found a white seedling floating just to the side of Neteyam's hiding spot.

You gasped as two other seedlings joined the beautiful sprite. They all floated towards you, pushing air down as they climbed higher and higher up on their way to you.

Neteyam let his eyes leave the seed in front of his way and looked towards you. Your face was lit up at the sight of the seeds, and it seemed their appearance had taken all of your focus off the pain and the gadget in your hand because you softly stepped forward to greet the specimens.

He watched as you steadily reached out a shaky hand to the wood sprites, laughing uneasily as they all gently landed along the uninjured arm.

You looked so excited at their presence, and that confirmed his suspicions of your scientific origin.

You took another step forward, and Neteyam cursed mentally as he turned to leave, but again, the seed of Eywa stopped him with its stagnant stature. The sign was clear. He had to speak with you. He rolled his eyes and held back a sigh but acted to comply with the great mother's desires.

He stood to his full height and stared at you with a frown. You still hadn't noticed him, but when he smacked the lower branch away and tramped forward, the white sprites took off and left you to yearn after them with a sad stare.

What was so special about you? He wondered. You were just another arrogant human who was part of an unkillable mass that had arrived here with an open palm.

Your eyes then fell from the vacating pure souls and settled on the 10ft Na'vi in front of you, which caused a shriek.

Immediately you stumbled back and tried to start protesting for your life at the sign of his lethal bow, but you stopped when you noticed he was staring at you with an unwavering eye filled with mystery.

You called something to him, but he only understood the odd word. You had jumped straight into elucidating that you were not a threat which made him want to laugh. 

Of course, you weren't a threat. You were standing here like the perfect prey for any number of predators to pounce on and devour. He could kill you with a single toss, and the idea that he feared you was amusing him.

He took another step, and this time you crouched down, letting your hand leave the wound to try and coax him to stay away from you like he was a stray animal that could be redirected.

The bright blood on your hand shone in the light, your face was pale compared to the rest of you, and he felt a pang of pity for you, making him scowl at himself for his stupidity.

He stepped forward some more, his tail flickering behind him with agitation as he pulled the bow over his head and let the string fall over his chest.

"Who are you?" He growled as he marched further into the clearing.

His body was tall and very masculine, his muscles hugged his body as he looked down at you with contempt, and those were your only thoughts as the Na’vi man looked ready to murder you.

Your face wrinkled in confusion as you shrugged one of your shoulders at his words, your head shook from side to side in order to tell him you had no idea what he was saying.

He rolled his eyes at your conceited unknowingness, but just as he was about to start yelling at you, he paused as your scent hit him.

The standard note of human was definitely there, but there was something else, something sweet that had him hooked the second now that it registered in him.

At first, he thought you had used some chemical warfare on him, but when your confused face only intensified as he took a carnivorous inhale at the air, he knew the fragrance was only coming from your skin.

He took another stride, and the movement triggered your fight or flight. You tried to stand to run, but he grabbed your intact arm and gently yanked it forward, making you drop the communication device to the ground with a clatter.

You tried objecting to his harsh handling of you and cursed at him in English. He ignored you, and without further conversation, he shoved his face into the crevice on your neck and pushed your jaw up with his forehead so that your neck lay before him with no guard.

He took deep whiffs of your scent and nestled deeper so he could bring in as much as his body and the restrictive oxygen mask you were wearing would let him take. His tail flicked wildly behind him as he tried to commit the smell to memory. It smelt something crossed between a sugary treat and a warm fresh wood scent that made his brain fizz with the desire to have more of it closer.

He could feel your heartbeat on his cheek, but he ignored it. His need for the scent consumed him. He was only brought back to reality when you let out a whine at his very close touch that was making you uncomfortable.

He ripped his head back and shook it wildly, trying to shake off the remnants that tickled his brain. Your eyes that had originally been looking at him with confusion were now eyeing him up and down with uncertainty.

He dropped your arm and felt his body surge at the loss of touch. You faltered backward as he let you go but didn't try to run again, which he appreciated.

He was attracted to you, that was certain, and it made his body lurch with disgust, but before he could spend longer than a few seconds being disgusted, the scent of your skin drilled its way back into his brain, and he was overcome with butterflies that attacked his stomach.

You spoke again; this time, he identified the words 'Na'vi' and the name Max from your speech. He cocked his head, and you watched as his braids fell to one side of his head as he brought his face closer to yours to stare into your eyes.

You took a step back, but he followed you. He decided to ignore whatever you were saying and let his exploratory nature grab hold of him. He extended his head around to stare at your body, and you let him touch you as he pleased with your chest heaving in anxiety that at any moment he would have his fill of interest peaked and he would draw back to kill you.

His fingers came to your waist and gripped the lower hem of your elastic shirt, and pulled at it before letting it snap back, which made you smile a little despite the fear raging through you. Perhaps the blood loss was making you hysterical.

His ears twitched at the sound of your giggles that accompanied the smile, and his scrutinizing eyes turned softer as he reached forward and repeated the action, letting you huff with amusement.

He continued his curious search of you and let his fingers prod your cargo pants. You watched with your own set of prying eyes as he leaned down so he could gather the material between his fingers and rub it together to feel the texture. He let it fall back into place and pulled himself back up to his full height, which made your smile falter as you reminded yourself he was not a curious child and was a fully grown Na'avi hunter, if his bow was anything to go by.

The silence was loud, but it communicated volumes. You could tell by his erratic behavior that he wasn't going to kill you, but he was clearly fighting an inner conflict with his actions.

You didn't know much about the natives, but you knew one thing that had been hammered into your head since orientation day on this planet, Na'vi killed sky people on sight, and this man didn't look like he was reaching for his bow anytime soon, so what was he doing?

You tried your luck and reached out your hand to poke his bare chest before quickly retracting, making him let out his own small chuckle at your scared actions. You smiled cautiously before you reached out and ran a finger over the string of his bow that dug into his front, watching his chest shiver at your touch before you finally pulled back and stared up at him.

He let his smile disappear, and his frown replaced it as he stuck out his hand to grab your oxygen mask, but this seemed to be a step too far because you pulled back and quietly said something he didn't understand, but he knew it was a denial.

He was satisfied with his investigation and pulled himself back to look down at you while you awkwardly returned your hand to clutching the hole in your body that wasn't meant to be there.

Neteyam felt the pity in his heart worsen at your predicament, and he decided that he wanted to help, even though his naturally taught ethics told him it was wrong. He knew that the only reason his body was reacting to you like this, along with the cause of the omens from Eywa, meant one thing, but he was trying to suppress that epiphany for the moment.

He couldn't understand your language enough, but the device that lay on the ground behind him was obviously crucial to you. Hence he walked over to it and picked it up, this caused a chain reaction as you stumbled forward and tried to take it back from him with a yelp of protest, but he placed his hand on your forearm and gently pushed you back, which calmed you down enough that he could look at the tool.

He stood up and held the com to his face to see if it was fixable. Jake had a few of these around, and Neteyam had to wear one for a long time when he was younger, but this technology was slightly newer than anything Neteyam had seen for a while.

He flipped the collar over in his palm, and to his surprise, he immediately zoned in on the issue. The chip that powered it was simply dislodged and needed to be adjusted, so he pushed it back gently and shook it a few times, much to your aggrievement, and then when the red light sparked back to life he crouched down and placed it in your hands.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the collar was now partially workable.

You looked up at him, and his breath caught as your beautiful eyes gazed into his own with such pure gratitude in them that it made him want to keep you close to him forever, as his mate.

And just like that, the epiphany broke the surface of his mind and his pupils swell as he realized why you smelt so divine and why your laugh made his body weak. You were his mate. Even without the means to make the neural link or any of the accompanying features found on Na'vi women that were deemed as attractive, he knew as he observed you desperately press down on the com and speak into it that you were his destined partner.

The intercom sparked to life, and he heard the sound of Max's voice come through it. This interaction only worked to intrigue him more than last time, as he tried to figure out what you were doing all alone out here with a broken body, seeking out the rouge scientists.

You quickly yelled back to Max with relief overthrowing your face, which made Neteyam smile again as he watched you let out a consoled chuckle.

You spoke for a few more seconds, and Neteyam let the sound of your strange accent wrap around him before you broke his trance and held up the collar to him. He quirked a brow, but you shook the device in your hand and nodded for him to take it.

He gently took the end of the com and brought it to his ear so he could listen to Max translate what was happening to him in Na'vi.

Max was shocked to find out it was Neteyam who had saved his exposed spy from Hell's gate, but he described your issue to Neteyam, and he agreed to take you to the laboratories on the edge of his village so you could be patched up.

He returned the device and pulled off his bow to set himself up to walk you through the wild to the labs.

You hadn't understood Max's translation, so you pulled the com closer and tried to remain polite as you smiled up at Neteyam, but he could tell you were not pleased with the improvised escort that was surely threatening to your tiny stature.

When the conversation was over, you sighed and dropped the intercom to your side, gripping it tightly as you looked back up at Neteyam, who was now tying his hair of individual braids up with a hair-tie while holding the bow between his teeth.

He looked like a beautiful angel from your angle as he effortlessly strung up his hair, showing off his triceps and pecs while his canines were left exposed around the wooden bow. He pulled an arrow from behind his back and fit it into the bow. Neteyam then set off into the woods again, with your body mindlessly following the god-like boy.

You watched him move; he was the most graceful thing you had ever seen. His attitude was strange, and while you couldn't understand a word he was saying, you finally identified his aura as one of interest and possible endearment rather than intimidation.

He looked over his shoulder and called out a sentence to you that once again you couldn't understand but you just nodded and tried to sustain his pace.

He looked over his shoulder every few steps, but it was clear you were struggling to keep up with him as the pain from your injury was now becoming prevalent thanks to your adrenaline levels being brought down.

Neteyam grumbled something under his breath but turned to you, sliding the bow and arrow over himself again as he stepped towards you.

You backed up a little as his alarming size came toward you, but he reached out and gently touched your shoulder so you could see that he was trying to suggest an idea.

"You're never gonna get there if I don't carry you, come here", he stared into your eyes, repeating the sentence at least three times before he tut his tongue in annoyance and reached down to hoist your legs into his arms so he could carry you bridle style.

You screeched, and his ears flickered at the sharp noise before you hissed out and clung onto him as tightly as you could while he rose you high above the ground. He could feel your heart rate speed up, and he was dumbfounded as to why you were reacting this way to him just holding you.

You said a word, and it rang a bell in his head as he tried to remember it.

Oh, height.

He quickly put you down, and you tried to relax your breathing after being speedily hauled into the air by about 7 or 8 feet and then replaced just as swiftly.

You tried to balance yourself on his leg as you felt your heart calm down, heights weren't your strong point, but you had to agree that it was going to be the best way to get there with the time restraint your injury put on you.

He spoke something else as he crouched down, putting himself at eye level with you.

"I can't understand you!" You hopelessly whimpered as your hand came to rest on his shoulder so you could try and take the pain off your other limb.

His ears downturned at the sound of your desperate groaning, and he remained silent for a second, looking off to the side in thought.

You took a deep breath, dragging his attention back to you. You stared into his eyes for a second before you nodded and held out your arm for him to take with a single word.

"Slow", your eyes tried to show bravery, but your body was still shaking like a leaf under his touch.

He felt a part of his body twitch at your word that was paired with heavy eye contact and an out-of-breath tone, but he ignored it.

This time he went much slower as he swept his hands underneath your thighs and lifted you into the air. He allowed you to get a good hold around his neck so that you weren't afraid of falling, lying to himself that the touch was for your comfort and not his own.

When you were to live with him once you agreed to be his mate, he had to get used to going slower with things. It was lucky for you that he had probably the best patience out of any of his family.

You weighed nothing to him, so he set off as soon as you were steady, and your fear slowly gave weight to amusement as his long legs steeped over each obstacle in his way that would have taken you minutes to clamber over with your one arm pinned to your side.

The whole way there, you could feel his grip around the lower part of your legs tighten when you tried to clamber closer to him, and you wanted to apologize for invading his space and deterring him from his task that he would have had to abandon to help you, but the words couldn't come out.

It took about twenty minutes of heel-and-toe walking before he finally managed to get you to the lab's opening.

Upon seeing the large metal containers, he screeched to a stop, and you looked at his face with confusion as he seemed to have caught your fear like a contagious disease as his face scrunched up. He didn't dare go any further.

Neteyam let his hands slip under your armpits and gently set you down on the ground. He looked down at you and then glanced at the containers behind you.

You were a sky person, and while he couldn't deny that you reeked of his mate, this was the most unlikely pairing anyone had seen.

You called out to him, not by name, as he hadn't told you, but he finally sighed and slid back down to a crouch as he found he had to do a lot when talking to you.

"I will be back for you, my mate, until then, look after yourself better, now go get patched up", he pressed one of his hands into the side of your head, and you lovingly pushed against his palm with a sad smile as you took his words as an apology for needing to go.

"Thank you--" You trailed off as you tried to use the silence to ask for his name.

"Neteyam", he stated with that boyish smile overtaking his features again.

"Neteyam", you repeated as you nodded, feeling the skin of his rough palm rub against you.

"You?" He found the word in English and spoke it with a heavy accent, making your smile turn to a grin.

"Y/n", you stated with a gleam in your eye.

"Y/n", he said the name verbatim to you and nodded to himself as the sound of a door opening ruined the moment.

He quickly pulled back from you and stood back up, allowing his height to take over the silent threat as Max stood on the steps to the metal lab with his hands raised to show he was unarmed as he called out to you and asked if you were all right.

"Goodbye, y/n", Neteyam’s accent was incredibly thick, and it made your skin shiver as he quickly put his fingers to his forehead and retracted them in a respectful farewell before he turned on his tail and walked back into the wilderness of Pandora, leaving you alone with your own kind.

[bebsi-cola]

i was already chewing this over but i got some reblogs that made me consider saying my opinion out loud. to be direct: applying the dynamics of identity based politics towards disability is a far inferior social analysis than treating disability as a class [and gaining some class consciousness]

social analysis benefits from zooming out from time to time otherwise we risk focusing too much on the individual when society and culture is about groups of people.

i don't dislike discussions around identity in regards to social analysis. there's many instances where it's worthwhile. although i feel like the strength of any analysis of the sort would be linking the individual (identity) to the collective (social status). the categories that make up "identity" are made relevant by the social, cultural, and material conditions which brought them into existence. for example i am mixed race and may identify as such. but the existence of this label hinges on the global understanding and categorization of race, and that which separates white people from brown people.

in this sense when you make disabilities about identity, it sort of levels everyone into "disabled" or "not disabled" instead of looking at disability as something belonging to a class of disenfranchised people. which is why i think people get threatened by the idea that there are heavily disabled people, because they feel like it's shifting the cornerstones of the criteria for "disabled" away from them and taking that "identity" away. i also think this is why intra-community disagreements end up becoming so personal: because of the notion that someone disagreeing with you, a disabled person, on disability, is an invalidation of your legitimate claim to the disabled identity. instead of what it usually is - a difference of opinions based on either different experiences, levels of knowledge, locations, or so forth

furthermore there are people with health conditions that are not disabling. it may disadvantage them in some situations, but it largely doesn't exclude them from abled society. there are also people who are usually abled, but currently have an injury. most people i talk to would agree that they are not disabled. i think both of these groups might have overlapping experiences with the disabled community. but if you centre disability on identity, and having the experiences to justify that identity, then people with health conditions are forced to frame them as a disability to be listened to, and disabled people often dislike their experiences being related to by someone who was injured for a few months.

i think this is what leads to conflicting ideas, loopholes, and arguements. i think it is fine to say that a person who had to use crutches for 3 months will have some knowledge on the experience of using crutches. but they are not disabled like me, a full time crutch user - not because we don't share experiences (we might do!) but because our relationship to abled society, and our social status as people are different. being disabled disenfranchises you legally, socially, academically, economically, culturally, and religiously even. this makes up a large part of the disabled class experience, even though some people who are not disabled may relate to us in symptoms, and even if two people who are disabled have no common symptoms!

finally if you consider disabled people as a class then you can rightly call ableist disabled people what they are: class traitors

[rosesnbooks]

Astrology observations #2

-people who lack an element in their chart really do surround themselves with a lot of people in said element. for example, my friend lacks earth and has at least 4 friends who are earth sun signs

-some capricorns really can't get along with leos, but they are attracted to sag and aries placements. they can't help it

-mars in the 1st house get sexualised a lot, to the point it gets too much for some people..especially women. these people are also very ambitious. even when going through tough times, they never lose sight from their goals

-mercury in aquarius have a unique humor. the same goes for mercury in the 11th.

-virgo mercury pay attention to details, esp when they like you..the things they remember and gifts they give you, shows how thoughtful they are

- fire signs/houses..please tell me that you've been told at least once that you talk too loud. i have aries mercury and my friend mercury in the 9th and we both had a revelation that we talk too loud lmao

-well-developed capricorns are such sweethearts. they are reasonable and grounded, but they are also so funny and charming. they may appear as if they have everything under control at all times, but they're just like the rest of us

-water signs have the craziest dreams i swear😭some can sound like scenes from a movie, fantasy and/or horror

-moon in the 5th house/leo think about themselves a lot and take things personally. they think everything is about them. on the other hand, they have the biggest hearts and they want to make everyone they love happy. can you blame them tho for wanting to feel like a main character

-when you want to ease your mind, talk to someone who has a sagittarius mercury and they will cheer you up

-having an empty 7th house might mean that you don't have much, if any, relationship experience. you probably give good relationship advice though

-aquarius/11th house placements have their own strong moral code. they can usually hide their feelings well, but if they realise someone is being intolerant towards others and mean, they'll get really emotional. they want the world to be a better place, and get frustrated when they see how many people don't care

-capricorn placements may have really complex relationship with their parents. they often expect too much from their kids, and since they prove that they can endure almost everything, the parents don't loosen their grip. they need to know their worth and forget about the expectations!

-mercury retrograde can really cause communication issues for people. it is difficult for these people to express how they feel and stand up to others. but, it does get better with time!

-aries and taurus placements combo in a man can be very dark imo, they are often players. they also have huge ego problems. i dislike emphasizing only the darker parts of people, so i have to admit that these placements, if well-developed, can be very loyal and passionate especially with people they love. they are also incredibly hard-working and focused, it's really admirable.

-be careful when dealing with men that have virgo and libra placements in their chart. some may be romantic and attentive, while others can nitpick your every flaw and can have ridiculously high standards. they can cheat and lie easily as well

-sagittarius venus love adventure, having a partner who doesn't know how to have fun and explore things is a big turn off to them. they can make compromises for their more serious partners, but if they can't reciprocate the same effort, it's not going to work

-cancer risings seem very approachable and kind. their eyes are usually big and curious, almost childlike

-this has been said many times, but venus in the 1st individuals truly are beautiful. there is also something different and captivating in their beauty, they stand out wherever they go

-saturn in the 3rd house/gemini may indicate that a person faced speech/writing difficulties when they were young, or they continue to struggle with it

-pisces moons tend to forget things and their memory can betray them at times. as a pisces moon, i think that's because we are in our heads too much and we remember how we felt about things, not the words and actions. we also struggle with being present 100% of the time, so we perhaps didn't listen to you in the first place (i'm sorry)

take this with a grain of salt, since i only read about astrology in my free time!💜

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 13

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader Summary: Miguel has a nightmare. Word Count: 25,905 (I was really aiming for less than 20k, I'm sorry) Warnings: Miguel talks about his life before Gabriella and his nightmares; emotional Miguel, he tears up (I'm sorry); soft Miguel; he makes progress, so the sad parts are worth it for his healing; I tried to include some translations of the Spanish within the text as it's dialogue for Miguel; it's just an emotional night for both reader and Miguel Previous Part Masterlist Music Inspo (You can find the official Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Vigil" - Bill Conti, David Duke (instrumental) "Flaws" - Vancouver Sleep Clinic "Mexican Dream" - Piero Piccioni (instrumental) "Me Before You Orchestral" - Craig Armstrong (orchestral) "Someone To Stay" - Vancouver Sleep Clinic "Philadelphia Morning" - Bill Conti (instrumental) "I'll Be Good" - Jaymes Young "Here with Me" -d4vd "Ladyfingers" - Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass (instrumental)

Part 13

Miguel flicks a screen away. It's about 5 o’clock in the afternoon and he knows that by now, the energy in the Spider Society’s HQ is dwindling. The morning and afternoon buzz is dying down. The chatter of the cafeteria is replaced with quiet murmurs, and the hallways should be less stuffy, no longer occupied by groups of spider people heading out on missions or training, or for casual hanging out.

Soon, the building will be empty and it will only be him who remains. For about an hour or so before he, too, goes home.

That fact alone is an indication of progress and Miguel knows it. Almost a year ago, Miguel used to work through the night. Every night. He fought sleep with caffeine, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head as if that helped shed his exhaustion. When it got too much, he’d take breaks and walk the vacant hallways. It was only until he was beyond exhaustion, when his body begged him for sleep, that Miguel would take naps.

That has changed, however, and now he goes to the penthouse every night. Some days he stays at HQ a little later when it’s necessary, but not like he used to when he’d spent the nights here in the lab. Alone. It was on those dark and lonely hours that Miguel would wish for daylight, wish for the buzz from the Spider Society, even if he was inside his lab. Now, he actually sees his bedroom every night, where he sleeps and rests because his nightmares have decreased. They’re no longer daily like they used to.

Yes, in an hour or so, Miguel will head home for the day because he’s made it one of his goals to move forward. He’s stuck with it ever since his near death experience as he promised his family that he would try. He goes home even when some evenings are harder than others, when he finds himself utterly alone in such a large and empty space, but little things have made it easier. It’s all little things, and they’re all directly linked to you.

You, who is now living with him.

Temporarily.

Miguel has to remind himself. This arrangement is just for a few months, if your landlord actually manages to make the building livable again within that time span. And then, you’ll be back at your apartment. Back at your universe.

And the penthouse will be empty again.

Miguel scoffs at himself. A large hand covers part of his face in frustration. You’ve only stayed at the penthouse for a few weeks and he already hates the feeling, the simple idea of you being gone. It frustrates him. He feels other emotions stir within him at the idea; emotions that are heavy and raw. And that’s something he dislikes. That he feels like that. He doesn’t let himself explore those emotions yet but he knows he’ll have to when the time comes.

Miguel drops his arm at his side and glares at one of his screens. He needs to focus. There’s still some things he needs to get done today before he heads out. Less than a year ago, he wouldn’t be worried about finishing up before his personal deadline because he had no plans to leave. He could work through the evening, through the night, but that’s different recently. He wants to go home to keep his promise, and there’s also you. Your temporary stay at the penthouse makes Miguel feel even more inclined to leave, to finish soon so he can meet you there.

It’s so strange to Miguel. So beautifully strange to want to go home.

He looks at the time. Soon, you’ll be coming in to tell him that you’re heading out for the day. You started to let him know months ago, right after his accident when he asked if you wanted to help him with the weekly reports, a new responsibility within the Spider Society. Miguel remembers the first few times it happened. He felt that you didn’t have to let him know since this isn’t a proper job per say but you kept doing it every day, and soon he found that your daily visit before you went home was a silent reminder. He started to think that if you were going home, maybe it was time for him to wrap things up and head home himself, especially with his newly made promise to his family to try and do better. Your daily goodbye, then, has continued over the months, even now when you live with him.

As Miguel stares blankly at the screen, he thinks about how you always say you’re heading to the “penthouse.” He doesn’t know why but he picked up on that small detail, how you never say “home.” He knows it’s not your home like your apartment, where it’s far more welcoming, homey, and cozy. His penthouse has been the same for years since Gabriel and his mom helped him decorate it, and it lacks warmth, personality, and love. Or at least, that’s how Miguel views it. He hopes that’s the reason and not due to you feeling uncomfortable or unwelcome at the penthouse because when Miguel said that his home was yours, he meant it.

Miguel blinks and refocuses his gaze back to the information on the screen, trying to concentrate. He wants to get this done quickly but he finds it hard to concentrate. There’s a report to read about a specific universe, then there’s reports on anomaly matter to inspect, and he needs to check the gizmos because an update might be necessary again. As the list goes on in his head, Miguel grows tense. There’s so much to do and he can’t focus.

He sighs as he steps off his platform and heads to one of the desks in the lab, heading straight to a locked drawer that in seconds is open. He retrieves the fabric, feeling its weight on his hand. It belongs to him but it smells like you.

He brings it close to his face and inhales. He blinks a few times and slowly feels grounded as he continues to breath in your scent. He didn’t plan this, it never occurred to him, really.

He sighs again, this time not in frustration but in relief. He feels better. He lowers the fabric and glances at it, his scarf.

Several weeks ago, he wrapped it around your neck to keep you warm on New Year’s Eve when he noticed you shivering as you and the rest of the spider gang were waiting to welcome the new year at Miles’s universe. Then, he used it to dry your tears when you cried in gratitude over the fact that you’re no longer alone like all those years after your Peter’s death. You took it with you that night. Both of you forgot that you had it. You brought it to him on the Spider Society’s first business day of the new year, apologizing for forgetting to give it back that night and of course, Miguel dismissed the apology. There was no problem nor need to apologize, he said back then as he accepted it, immediately noticing your scent on it from wearing it. He didn’t make mention of it though and he ended up pushing that knowledge aside as the two of you began to talk about something else.

It was hours later that same day when he found himself cursing in Spanish in frustration at something, he can’t even remember what it was about now, when he eyed the scarf. He was alone, not even Lyla was around to poke fun at him about it, so he felt safe to do what he did. He brought it to his face and inhaled your comforting scent, thinking that if it comforted him to sleep, surely it would help him in that moment. And it did. Of course, it did.

He found himself feeling calmer. Hell, he was suddenly in a good mood. All because of your scent on his scarf. He placed it back on his platform and returned to work afterwards, feeling much calmer about whatever had been frustrating him in the moment. A while later that same day, you came into the lab to work on the weekly report and noticed the scarf on his platform, close to Miguel. Apparently you noticed it the next day, and the day after that. It was on the fourth day after bringing it back that you found Miguel moving it out of sight since he knew you were going to join him for lunch. It was the fact that he still kept it around for so many days, close to him, that made you wonder. And that was how you guessed that, maybe, he was keeping it around the lab for comfort.

Two days after that, Miguel noticed that the scarf had lost your scent but in you came that day from patrolling, rubbing your arms and claiming you were very cold. You were wearing your suit and a light jacket that you brought in that day. So, there was Miguel, looking for one of his old jackets in one of the supply closets in his lab and handing it to you, but you were still cold, or so you said.

Miguel chuckles softly now as he puts the scarf back in the drawer, locking it again. He shakes his head gently, thinking about how attentive and cunning you are, and how well you know him. You noticed the scarf and figured out what he was doing, and then planned the perfect moment because after he gave you one of his jackets, you claimed to still be cold.

“I guess today I’m just more sensitive to the cold,” you said as you opened a laptop, wearing his jacket - a sight that made Miguel pause for a few seconds - before you continued. “I’m so cold I could throw on some gloves and a scarf even though we’re inside,” you joked, giving him a short, knowing glance before you turned your attention back to the laptop.

Miguel then blinked and looked at his scarf, the sight of you wearing his jacket was for some reason causing something like a short circuit in his brain, before he picked it up and took it to you. He placed it around your neck, letting you fix it to your liking.

“I’ll see what the thermostat is at. Sometimes members mess with it,” Miguel offered as he stepped back, looking at you now wearing his scarf, too.

“I’ve seen some members mess with it before, but I think I’m okay now,” you said, fixing the scarf and pulling it a little closer to you, under the jacket with a soft smile. “Thank you, I hope you don’t mind me wearing it for a little bit…”

Miguel shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. You can wear it however long you need to,” he said, returning the soft smile before he walked back to his platform again.

“Thank you. It’s so warm and cozy. So comforting.”

That made Miguel turn to look at you. You were typing on the laptop already but he could see your little knowing smile, as if sensing that he had turned to look at you because of your choice of word. And that’s how Miguel knew you knew about the scarf.

As Miguel steps back on his platform now, more focused, he recalls that just yesterday you wore it again while you were organizing the lab. Instead of making you come up with a little plan like you did the first time, Miguel took it upon himself this time. He grabbed the scarf and once he approached you, he placed it around your neck, catching you by surprise.

“Just in case you’re cold,” he said softly before proceeding to walk to the door. “I’ll be right back. Want a coffee?” he asked, turning to look at you with a little smirk.

You nodded as you held one of the many pieces of technology Miguel uses with a glimmer in your eyes, staring at him and wondering. “Yes… I’d like one, please.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m alright with just the coffee, thank you.”

“Always,” Miguel replied before he exited only to hear you chuckle right before he walked out, a sound that made him smiled. Now you know that he knows you know about the scarf.

“What are you smiling about?”

Miguel’s smile turns into a soft scowl towards Lyla.

“I wasn’t smiling.”

“Right…”

“How did the last mission go?” Miguel responds instead, which makes Lyla snort.

“We’re taking the denial route, okay… It went well. Anomaly captured, no problems. By the way, Y/N is asking if she can come in.”

“Why did you take so long to tell me? Yes, tell her to come in! I already told her she doesn’t need to do that,” Miguel says with a soft frown as Lyla disappears. Miguel silently wonders if you will ever not ask. He’s not sure at this point.

He reads some information from his screen, more focused than earlier and this time he manages to read past a paragraph of data before he hears your footsteps. He turns around to face you, to give you his full attention.

“Hey, almost done?” you ask as you approach the platform.

“I have a few things left but I’ll be done in an hour or so. You heading out?” he asks, resting a hand on his platform, peering down at you since his platform is about three feet above the ground.

You nod with a little smile. “Yeah, I’m going to my universe to patrol for a little while before I come back.”

Miguel nods. “Alright, just be careful. Let me know if you need something, okay?”

“I will, don’t worry. If you need me to come back and help somehow, just let me know.”

Miguel nods again, grinning softly. “I will, thank you, but I should have it covered.” At least now that he’s no longer struggling to concentrate, he silently thinks. “I’ll see you at the penthouse in a bit for dinner,” he adds.

“Alrighty! I’m heading out now then,” you reply with a smile before you turn to leave.

“Careful!” Miguel calls out, watching you leave.

“I will, see you at home!” you say softly, walking into a pocket of darkness and disappearing from Miguel’s sight.

He stares into the darkness, your words sinking in. He finally turns to face his screen, a small smile adorning his face again.

“See you at home,” he says to himself before he focuses on the task at hand once again, determined to finish his tasks within an hour, so he can head home soon.

🌕

When Miguel steps into the penthouse, he walks slowly. His red eyes scan the space and he admires how different it feels. The penthouse is the same as always in its appearance. Nothing is out of place, there is no new furniture, or even a new photo frame. And yet…

The warm light from lamps in the living room are a welcoming sight to Miguel. The fireplace is on, instantly warming his face from the cold since he was just outside for a quick patrol in Nueva York. Then, there’s his record player, already playing music and filling the penthouse with a comforting sound. That’s not the only sound his ears register though. He stays still and listens to the sounds coming from the kitchen. He grins and walks further in, entering the space you’re in. You’re by the stove, stirring something and there’s Lyla, hovering next to you. Miguel raises an eyebrow at this. As soon as he turned off his screens, she dipped with a quick “bye” before he could even say something. Apparently she was more than ready to keep you company here at the penthouse.

“And what are you going to add next?” Lyla asks hovering, peering down at the stove.

“The spices,” you reply.

“Right, right - Oh, Miguel. You finally join us,” Lyla says noticing him.

You turn around and find him by the entrance of the kitchen. He gives you a nod and a little smile.

“Just got here. I did a quick patrol… It smells amazing,” he says nodding to the stove.

“I barely just got started since I showered after I came back. I got caught up at my universe with some petty thieves, nothing serious but it definitely took some time. Food should be ready in half an hour or so though,” you reply with a smile.

Miguel nods, thinking about a shower for himself. He feels grimy after venturing out into Nueva York to patrol. “May I help you with something?” he offers.

“Thank you, but it’s alright. I got it! If you want to do something else in the meantime you can. I’ll let you know when it’s ready,” you respond.

Miguel nods again, knowing that tonight you don’t want any help. The two of you have settled into a routine after only a few weeks, and the cooking is definitely one of those things you both figured out quickly. It’s something that you insisted wanting to help with as a way to “contribute.” Miguel had to respect that only to ease your mind, though he would’ve had no problem with you not “contributing” as you called it. Either way, you both figured out the cooking. On some nights, Miguel cooks while on other nights you do it. And then, there’s the other nights when you cook together, which you both seem to really enjoy, but tonight, it seems that you prefer to do it alone, which Miguel respects.

“You sure?” he still asks, raising an eyebrow. He still offers, just in case you need help.

“I’m sure,” you reply, smiling.

“Alright then. I’m going upstairs to take a quick shower, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, go ahead.”

He gives you a small grin before he turns and heads upstairs to take a shower, leaving you with Lyla, who is still hovering next to you. She continues to ask you questions as you make dinner, which you find amusing and don’t mind at all. Miguel comes back a short while later, showered and clad in lounging clothes, a sight you’ve become familiar with as has he with you because of the current living arrangement.

You serve dinner for the two of you and like every night since you’ve stayed, you have dinner together and talk about the day. And it feels normal and right.

You thought it would take a few days to get used to living here, to sharing a space with someone after so long but it didn’t.

Even Miguel believed the same thing. He thought it’d take a minute to get used to the little changes like coming to the penthouse and finding the lamps on at the living room. Or to get used to the sight of you moving around the kitchen with ease, or his ears being greeted by music along with mundane, cozy sounds from someone else living with him. To the scent of food already cooking, to the warmth, but it didn’t take long for either of you to get used to any part of living together. If anything, it feels like you were only away for a while but you’re back now, picking up right where you left off.

It’s a strange sensation, but an even more comforting one. You quickly settled into routines, and the details you were so worried about like the groceries and cooking, worked themselves out.

After dinner, the two of you clean the kitchen together. That’s something that you do together every night, no matter who cooks. Your conversations usually continue and move to the living room, where you spend the rest of the evening together, though sometimes you part ways to give each other space.

Tonight, the two of you remain in the living room. The TV is on and some telenovela is airing. You’re each sitting on a couch. Miguel is working from a tablet, looking at a different design for the gizmos. You’re on your tablet, too, but lazily drawing. You look up at the TV as a scene unfolds, the audio catching your attention.

“Paloma!” the male protagonist cries out in an agave field, angrily and heartbroken it seems. Miguel looks up, too, and watches.

The man talks about his love starting and ending on the land before he curses the woman and her love.

Miguel turns to look at you, noticing that the telenovela has caught your attention. He grins softly and waits until it cuts to the commercials.

“This is a new version. There’s about two or three other versions that have been filmed over the years,” Miguel says, sharing that little piece of information.

You turn to him and smile softly. “You watched any of them?”

“One. It came out several years ago when I was about… thirteen or so. This one has nothing on that one,” he says, thinking. He looks down at his screen. “They don’t make them like they used to, I can tell you that.”

You chuckle softly. “So you used to watch telenovelas?”

Miguel looks up at you again and nods after a few seconds. “Yes, it was kind of impossible not to. My mom always watched them in the evening while Gabriel and I worked on homework on the dining room table. She would keep an eye on us from the couch but Gabriel and I sometimes got distracted with the super dramatic scenes,” Miguel says with a little smile. “And of course, we found the kissing scenes gross, especially Gabriel.”

You laugh softly, imagining both Gabriel and Miguel as little kids and finding those scenes gross. You can’t help but think about how different Miguel’s life would be if only Gabriel was still here, and how you wish you could’ve met him. You can only imagine the banter between the two brothers based on what Miguel has shared so far.

Miguel looks at the TV for a few seconds before he returns his gaze back to you. “If you’d like to, I could show it to you. That other version. I can probably find it on one of the streaming platforms since it’s been some years since it came out.”

You hum in response and nod. “Well, you’re saying this is nothing compared to that one, so you’ve piqued my interest now.”

Miguel chuckles softly and nods. “Very well then, let me look for it. Even the intro song of this new one is nothing to the other version’s.”

You grin softly, amused at how Miguel is basically saying that the current version sucks.

Miguel quickly finds it on one of his universe’s streaming platforms. “Alright, we can probably watch an episode or two before we head to sleep,” he says since the two of you head to your respective bedrooms at around 10pm each night.

You sit excitedly as Miguel clicks on the first episode. After you watch the intro song, you nod in approval.

“What do you think?” Miguel says with a little grin.

“I trust your telenovela expertise,” you reply and that makes him laugh softly before the two of you begin to watch the first episode.

You subtly turn to look at Miguel as the episode starts. His attention is definitely on the screen and what’s playing out. You wonder if he’s still reminiscing on the years he used to watch it with Gabriel from his childhood dining table before you tell yourself to pay attention. At one point, the male protagonist makes his appearance and you can’t help but notice that he’s very attractive, even sliding on some round glasses that makes your eyes widen. You understand why the female protagonist reacts the way she does when she first sees him.

“Look at that man that just got down. He’s so… Handsome. Ave María Purísima, never in my life have I seen a man so… beautiful,” the female protagonist says as she sees him, watching the man in awe. You can’t help but nod. He is very handsome. [Hail Mary Most Pure, conceived without sin.]

“That’s Mr. Rodrigo. He and his siblings were sent away to study very far away since they were little,” the female protagonist’s mother says while she continues to gaze the handsome man.

The episode continues on before you have a small realization. Your eyes widen a little before you turn to look at Miguel subtly, noticing that the male protagonist looks a little like Miguel. You turn back to the screen, hiding your little grin and paying attention to the telenovela again.

Miguel turns every once in a while to look at you, subtly smiling as he sees you’re hooked. He swears he even saw you become a little flustered with Rodrigo.

“The foreshadowing,” you say quietly, chuckling and grinning as the two protagonists kneel side by side at the front of the church during Rodrigo’s grandfather’s funeral service, meeting unofficially for the first time, their paths crossing.

“I’m not giving any spoilers,” Miguel replies with a teasing tone.

You turn to him, rolling your eyes playfully at him. “I know they’re going to get together by the end of this.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep watching to find out.”

You shake your head in disbelief at him before turning your attention back to the screen, making a little noise when Rodrigo and Gaviota make eye contact at the altar, and the way Rodrigo smiles at her.

“I’m pretty certain they’re going to be together by the end.”

“Is that so?”

“I mean… That smile says it all.”

“Has someone, other than Gaviota, taken a liking to Rodrigo?”

“Maybe,” you reply, pulling your blanket higher up your body, and turning your face away from Miguel so he doesn’t see your reactions anymore because the telenovela has you on the verge of giggling and kicking your feet.

Miguel grins, pretty sure you’ve gained a little crush on the male protagonist.

The two of you continue to watch the telenovela and manage to watch two episodes before 10pm. Once the second episode finishes, the two of you call it a night. Miguel turns off the TV and you fold your blanket, ready to take it upstairs with you. It’s the one that you always have on your couch back at your universe for when you chill on your couch. You brought it along a day after the fire and bring it downstairs with you when you hang out in Miguel’s living room, but you never leave it on the couch, something Miguel has noticed. He’s certain that you take it upstairs because you’re still thinking about not “disrupting” his life or space with your stay. After picking up his tablet and putting it on the coffee table, Miguel turns to you as you tuck the blanket under your arm to grab your own tablet.

“You know you can leave it here, right?”

“Hm?” you respond, startled.

“Your blanket. You can leave it here, on the couch. If you’d like to, of course. I know that’s the one you always have on your own couch,” Miguel says softly as the fireplace and some of the lamps turn off thanks to Lyla, who’s nowhere in sight.

“Oh, right… I just don’t want to, you know,” you respond, nodding to his couch. “You have no clutter so I don’t want to make your living room look… messy.”

Miguel snorts softly, amused with your statement and the fact that he’s right. You’re trying to make your stay in the penthouse as subtle as possible. He’s noticed you don’t leave your jackets or coats around. Even small things like hair accessories and jewelry are not left behind. He often comes home and finds something of the sorts on the counter from you taking it off to cook or unwind on the kitchen counter, only to see it gone not even an hour later, all traces of your stay in his home gone.

It doesn’t bother Miguel to see your personal items throughout the space in the slightest. If anything, the sight of someone else’s items laying around comforts him. It’s nice to see that there’s someone else occupying the space with him. And yet, you think it’s going to “clutter” his space. Miguel shakes his head, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a small grin. “A blanket isn’t going to make the living room messy. You can leave it on the couch. I already told you, many times by the way,” Miguel says, raising an eyebrow. “My home is your home. And if anything, your blanket adds personality to my very basic decorations. So please, if you want to, just leave the blanket here. You don’t have to remove your personal belongings from the shared spaces like it’s going to upset me. It doesn’t.” Miguel pauses and frowns softly. “If anything, it’s upsetting that you think it would…” His frown fades but as he continues, his tone is firm yet gentle. “You’re welcomed here, Y/N. Always.”

You smile warmly at him and nod slowly. You’ve definitely been trying to make your stay subtle and avoid letting even small personal belongings take over Miguel’s space.

“Thank you… I know you mean it but I still don’t want to make it feel like it’s my…” you trail off because you’re about to say “home.”

“And I’m telling you it is, so…” Miguel says and trails off, his arms dropping to his sides.

You nod again and sigh softly, holding his gaze. You can feel the fabric under your arm, still tucked. You pull it and look at it for about five seconds before you lay it over the couch’s armrest you always sit on. The color of your blanket is a nice contrast to Miguel’s grey couch. You turn back to Miguel, finding a small smile on his face because you finally placed the blanket down.

You grin at him. “Alright, the blanket can stay there.”

Miguel chuckles softly and nods. “Good. It’s about time you stop carrying the poor thing back and forth, you know? Give it a home.”

“It’ll stay here,” you reply softly, and Miguel smiles gently. You continue to grin and nod towards the stairs. “You heading to sleep?”

“Yes. Long day tomorrow,” Miguel says.

“But it’s Friday. It’s the best day of the week,” you reply.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Miguel chuckles softly as the two of you start up the stairs, the remaining of the lights turning off now that you’re both going to sleep.

“I believe you,” he says as you step aside, stopping in front of the bathroom door. Miguel takes a few more steps before turning to face you. “Good night.”

“Good night. See you in the morning,” you state softly, smiling at him before you push the door open and slip inside the bathroom to do your night routine.

Miguel stands there for a few seconds, his ears registering the sound of running water from inside the bathroom before he walks the remaining of the way to his own bedroom. As he makes the short walk to his own bathroom, he thinks about the little routines the two of you have created in such a short amount of time, like saying good night to each other. It started the first night you spent at the penthouse and it was you who said it first. Now, no matter if you spend the entire evening together or in separate areas of the space, you wish each other a good night. Miguel sighs softly as he reaches for his toothbrush, realizing that your temporary stay has spoiled him in a way. He’s grown used to these routines too quickly, too happily.

He rolls his shoulders as he brushes his teeth, telling himself it’s okay that he’s grown used to it. It’s been a while since he’s shared a space with someone, and the fact that it’s with you, with someone he trusts and cares about, only makes him appreciate the company even more. He tells himself that everything will be alright, even when your apartment is ready to go and you can return.

He nods to himself, reassuring the man in the mirror only for a few seconds before he looks away. He turns on the water and continues his routine, ready for bed.

You splash water on your face to wash off your cleanser before you continue on with your night routine. You return to your bedroom and get on the bed, snuggling into the covers instantly. You stare at the ceiling as you wait for the sleepiness to come.

You’ve settled into Miguel’s penthouse without any trouble. All your clothes have been washed, to get rid of the smoke smell, and now occupy the closet. Pictures of your friends, parents, and Peter occupy the hanging shelves. All of Peter's belongings can be found on the bookcase. The dresser has become the home of your jewelry and other personal items. The once empty bedroom that belonged to Gabriel has become yours in a short amount of time.

Your routines have merged in the most perfect, subtle way. So seamlessly. You each have a specific day to do your laundry. You agreed on the cooking and the groceries. You help with the cleaning, something that Miguel wasn’t too keen about, but you convinced him after you told him that you wished to as it would give you a sense of normalcy since it’s something you’re used to doing at your own place anyway. You have breakfast and dinner together at the penthouse, and spend most of the evenings together in the living room.

Everything about this unexpected change has fallen into place seamlessly.

You sigh softly and roll onto your side, closing your eyes. You’ve grown used to this change so fast, maybe too fast. You cannot deny that it has been great - amazing, really - sharing a space with someone. Up until Peter’s death, you had never lived by yourself. You spent your entire childhood, adolescence, and early adult years living with your parents until you graduated from college. Then, you moved in with Peter, and the thought of living alone never crossed your mind since you were with him. You knew that from that point onward, Peter and you were going to live together for the rest of your lives. Except, life had different plans. Peter passed away and you were suddenly living alone for the first time ever. It was another feeling you had to grow used to.

You eventually had to accept it. You had no other choice. You had to accept that your once shared apartment, was suddenly just your own. Now, living with Miguel has brought up those memories, those feelings of what it's like to share a space with someone. You’ve realized, that you miss it and that you're enjoying this a little too much.

Miguel doesn’t make it any easier, either. He’s the perfect roommate and there’s also the little fact that you only recently realized. It allowed you to understand even more why you’re comfortable with this temporary arrangement, why you’re enjoying sharing a space with Miguel.

You roll to your other side. You can feel yourself succumbing to sleep as you think of your recent realization. You think about Peter, of who he was to you. He was more than your romantic partner, more than your boyfriend. He started off as something else before he turned into your boyfriend, and he continued to be it until his last day. He always will. At least, one of them.

The thing was that you never thought you’d find someone like that again, but you did. You realize now that you have.

You open your eyes briefly, your sleepy gaze taking in your current bedroom in Miguel’s home.

Across the multiverse.

-*-

You wake up. Your eyes are met with the sight of your pillow before you slowly look around the bedroom. You blink softly, searching for something. You don’t know what you’re looking for as you’re only met by Nueva York’s noises.

You sit up slowly and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 2:43am and the penthouse is silent, or seems so, at least. You lay down again and readjust the covers, closing your eyes as an attempt to go back to sleep. You shift in bed, trying to get comfortable once more, but there’s still something that tugs at you.

Your spidey senses go off, causing you to open your eyes and sit up again. In a matter of seconds, you’re reaching for your suit to change. You hastily begin to tug your sweatshirt off but stop midway when you hear something*.* It fills the silence in Miguel’s penthouse, causing you to freeze.

“Gabriella… Gabi… No, Gabi…”

Your heart sinks as Miguel’s voice reaches your ears. You fix your top as you walk towards the bedroom door, and before you know it, you step out into the hallway and walk the short distance between the bedrooms. You stop in front of Miguel’s room. His door is ajar, allowing his voice to spill out into the hallway and carry to your room.

You stand in front of the door, your hand in midair, hesitating. It’s clear Miguel is having a nightmare, based on the tone of his voice, which only makes your heart ache more. You know that after losing Gabriella, Miguel has been having them. It’s the reason why he avoided sleep and worked through the nights for so long.

“Gabi! Perdóname - Hija - Perdóname - Gabriella, por favor - Perdóname, hija,” Miguel says in his sleep, his tone filled with sorrow and guilt. “Please, I’m so sorry.” ["Gabi! Forgive me - Daughter - Forgive me - Gabriella, please - Forgive me, daughter"]

Hearing Miguel’s tone, so painful and emotionally distressing, is all it takes. You push the door open and walk towards his bed, putting aside any worries about Miguel becoming upset or uncomfortable with your presence during such a vulnerable moment. You silently decide you can deal with that. You can handle the consequences of an upset or uncomfortable Miguel, but what you cannot handle nor bear any longer, is listening to him like this. You cannot stand by and hear him like this one more second, not when your heart feels like it’s being ripped apart for him.

You reach his side of the bed in no time. Miguel moves his head side to side in his sleep, his eyebrows knitted as if searching for something. Someone. He’s kicked off his covers, which are now bunched at the end of the bed.

“Gabi,” he calls out again. “Lo siento mucho, mija.” [I'm so sorry, my daughter.]

You gulp softly before you speak. “Miguel… Miguel, it’s me. I’m here,” you say gently yet firmly. “I’m here.”

You look down at his hand closest to you. It’s in a fist as is his other hand. You softly tap it, your fingertip gingerly touching it out of respect.

“I’m here, Miguel,” you say as you tap his hand again with your one finger.

You keep talking to him, hoping that you don’t startle him too much, though you cannot wait for him to wake up from his bad dream. You get closer to his bed, your legs pressing against his mattress.

“Miguel,” you keep murmuring, tapping his fist gently. You end up kneeling by his bed as you continue to slightly touch his hand, calling his name to wake him up, to pull him away from his dream so he’s not hurting. At least not in his nightmares as well.

Miguel mutters Gabriella’s name a few more times, and after a few seconds, Miguel’s eyes open. They search frantically around the bedroom before they find you, knelt before his bed, your face marked with concern, understanding, and tenderness.

“Y/N,” Miguel whispers, sleepily but somewhat alerted. Relieved.

“Hey, you’re awake now,” you whisper softly, retrieving your finger from his fist and placing your hand on his bed, next to him. “I’m - sorry. I heard you and …” you trail off, wishing you could tell him it was just a dream - just a nightmare - but you know that those words are not the truth for Miguel. His nightmares are not warnings nor simply bad dreams that leave a bad taste in his mouth upon wakening, but rather reminders that the events in his dreams have already happened. They are not nightmares that provoke fear in his life. It’s the reality of the turn of events **that incite his nightmares.

For Miguel, there’s no waking up and walking to the next bedroom to find his sweet child in bed, sleeping peacefully and unaware of his nightmares. There’s no relief and realization that it was just a really bad nightmare. No, for Miguel there is only one truth and it brings no comfort. There’s no child in the next bedroom. There never was. Not in this home, not in this universe. And her universe, much like her, is gone.

You watch Miguel with a heavy heart. There’s no comforting statement that you can offer him.

Miguel sits up slowly, his frame towering over you now. He sighs deeply as he comes to his senses, slowly realizing that you’ve witnessed one of his nightmares. He feels shame as he sits on his bed with you kneeling at his side. His cheeks are warm from the sleep but they suddenly feel hot as heavy, plunging waves of shame and discomfort crash on him. He dares take a glance at you again and when his crimson eyes find you, he detects no judgment nor pity. Instead, he finds genuine concern, understanding, love, and so much more, but not pity.

Never pity from you.

There’s a soft and tender look in your eyes that makes those waves of shame and discomfort ebb. And as those feelings fade, even in his state of mind, Miguel understands clearly why he felt like that just seconds ago. This is the first time anyone has ever seen him have a nightmare, making it easy for Miguel to feel all sorts of negative emotions. He quickly reminds himself that there’s no reason to feel like that with you. You would never look at him with pity or judgment, nor make him feel bad about having nightmares. He turns fully to face you now, more relaxed, or at least, as much as he can after a nightmare.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” he says quietly in a deeper voice due to his slumber. “I didn’t mean to. I should’ve fully closed the door.”

You shake your head gently and offer a comforting smile, eyebrows knitted in understanding. “Don’t apologize. You can’t control them,” you whisper. “And - I have a feeling I would’ve known regardless of your door being fully closed or not.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at this, wondering what you mean but you decide you’ll tell him later, when he’s more relaxed. You can tell he’s a little off from his nightmare, rightfully so, and the last thing you want to do is add on to the already vulnerable moment. You pat his mattress softly, giving him a warm and gentle smile to hopefully ease his emotions, even though internally, you’re aching to comfort Miguel physically. To embrace and hold him close to you when you know that no words can alleviate his pain and loss, nor the truth. You retrieve your hand from his mattress, for the first time feeling truly afraid that you might disrespect his boundary regarding physical touch because of your instincts.

“How about I make you a warm drink? Would you like that?” you ask quietly, still kneeling by his side.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thank you, but you don’t have to do that. It’s really late,” he says, turning to his nightstand to look at the clock, realizing what time it is. He instantly feels guilty for disrupting your sleep. He turns to face you before adding, “You should try and get some rest…”

You stand up, meeting his gaze. “Are you going back to sleep?” you ask him.

His gaze moves from you to his covers, which gives you a moment to glance around his bed. His covers have been kicked to the edge of the bed and then to his side, even in the darkness, you spot the sweatshirt that you gave him a few days ago on Sunday. Your eyes focus on it especially when you notice there’s a pillow stuffed in it, filling it up and leaving the sleeves laying flat on the bed. It’s so close to him that it makes you realize Miguel really does keep it nearby when he sleeps. The sight of the sweatshirt reminds you of something else.

Your eyes flicker to his nightstand where you find his gizmo. You were so concerned with Miguel and waking him up from his nightmare that you failed to hear your own breathing coming from it. You blink softly in surprise. You knew of it, of course. He has access to it because you allowed Lyla to record you. And of course, you know about the sweatshirt. You shouldn’t be surprised and yet, actually seeing Miguel use both things makes it so much more truer. Miguel truly does find your scent and the sound of your sleeping breathing comforting and necessary to sleep.

Your eyes flicker back to the sweatshirt and how it’s stuffed with a pillow. It makes you silently wonder if Miguel ever holds it, or rather embraces it, while he sleeps, as if he was hugging someone. As if he was hugging you.

You look away, heat rushing to your cheeks instantly at the mere thought of this possibility. The idea alone fills you with tenderness and hope, especially after his statement the day of the fire, when in your exhaustion, you revealed to Miguel for the first time that you wished to hug him. His words have been on your mind since then, how he said it was an honor that you wanted to embrace him, and that he was trying to work on physical touch. His words gave you hope that day and seeing the sweatshirt like this now, makes you even more hopeful that Miguel really is warming up to the idea of physical touch.

“I’m going to try,” Miguel answers at last, looking up at you again.

Relief washes over you as you realize that you did good in looking away from the sweatshirt when you did. You don’t want Miguel to realize that you’ve seen it and cause him to feel embarrassment about it.

“But he always stays up,” Lyla says, popping out of nowhere. You stare at her as she stares back at you. There’s a frown on her face, one of concern. “He’s never managed to go back to sleep after a nightmare.”

“Lyla,” Miguel says in a warning voice.

You nod towards Lyla, communicating a silent thank you for providing all the information you need. “I’m going to make you something warm to drink. I’ll bring it up to you, okay?” you say before starting to walk towards his bedroom door.

“Y/N,” Miguel says in a tone that tells you he’s about to argue that you don’t need to do anything, that you should head back to sleep and rest as if you could do such a thing when you know he’s somewhere in the penthouse, awake and alone after having a nightmare.

You could never just go back to sleep. You could never leave him alone, not when he has spent too many nights like that already. You refuse to let this night be the same when you’re here.

You turn to face him with an unwavering determination in your eyes. “I won’t… I can’t.” You pause, your face softening. “Please. Let me try, too.”

Miguel holds your gaze, still sitting 2on his bed. He stays quiet for a few seconds as your words sink in.

You give him a gentle smile and nod, taking his silence as understanding, as acceptance. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Miguel replies quietly, softly, before you slip out of his bedroom and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, Lyla takes care of turning on the lights for you, keeping the lighting warm and gentle for your eyes to adjust. She silently follows you as you move around the kitchen, as if interested in what you’re doing, in how you’re going to sooth Miguel. You gather the few things you need before turning on the stove and setting the pot with water to boil. All the while, your heart stings for the man upstairs.

A floor above, Miguel sits on the bed. He sighs and rubs his forehead before he stands up and heads downstairs to meet you, to find you. He walks across the living room and towards the kitchen, finding you putting something in a medium-size pot. He takes a seat in his usual spot and leans on the counter, resting his elbows on it for support. He’s silently relieved the lighting is comfortable for the two of you considering you were both just sleeping and it’s the middle of the night.

He watches you gently, feeling both guilt and ternura. He silently wishes his nightmares could’ve ceased at least while you’re here to avoid disrupting your sleep, and more importantly, to avoid worrying you since he saw concern on your face when he woke up. And yet, he also found understanding, tenderness, affection, and love on your face - in your eyes. And now here you are, making a warm drink to comfort him, not realizing that your presence alone is soothing to him as always. **This fills him with ternura.

You turn around and face Miguel, finding him sitting in his usual seat. Your eyes meet his and you offer a smile, slowly realizing for the first time that he’s shirtless. You cannot help but wonder if he’s cold, causing you to worry.

“I’m making canelita,” you tell him softly.

He nods, offering you the tiniest smile before he looks down at the counter for a few seconds. The sight of that small, weak smile breaks you. He’s hurting.

Under the soft, warm light, Miguel looks… like he could use a hug right now. You look away, knowing you can’t but the urge, like always, is there. You tell yourself to stop thinking about it, and instead, focus on trying to support and comfort Miguel as best as you can. You silently wonder what he usually does after a nightmare. Lyla said he usually can’t sleep, so does he lay in bed for a while, or does he go to HQ?

You don’t know, and you don’t ask. A part of you doesn’t want to know because any scenario will hurt all the same with Miguel being on his own after a nightmare. You shake those thoughts away and think of something.

“Why don’t we go to the living room?” you suggest quietly as you approach the counter, standing in front of Miguel.

He nods silently, so you make the first move by walking around the counter and meeting him. You gesture to the living room before you begin walking there, his steps right behind you. Once again, Lyla takes care of the lights by turning on only two lamps. She even starts the fireplace, creating a soft and cozy environment. You silently thank Lyla. She’s helping as best as she can. You gesture to Miguel to take a seat, and he obeys, moving stiffly. He moves around like he’s in a haze, as if he’s still in his nightmare.

Once he sits, you retrieve the blanket from earlier. The one he told you to give it a home. You had no idea Miguel and you would be here only a few hours later under this circumstance, or that you’d be relieved that he told you to leave it if you wanted to because now, you’re going to use it to cover him.

Miguel blinks and looks up as you unfold it. You offer a small and warm smile to comfort him as he sits, watching you step closer to cover him like you did several months ago when you were looking after him in the spring after his injuries. The blanket instantly provides a layer of warmth but it also provides your scent, which surrounds him now. He inhales silently, feeling your scent lull his very soul after the nightmare.

“Thank you,” Miguel whispers, meeting your gaze, knowing that in a small way, this is you offering physical comfort. It’s your way of giving him a hug.

You nod, still smiling. “Always…” You gulp silently, feeling a tightness in your throat form. “Let me check on the canelita. I’ll be right back.”

You retreat to the kitchen, unaware of Miguel’s lingering eyes on you as your figure disappears. A few minutes later, you return to the living room, holding two mugs. He begins to pull the blanket down to stand up and help you, but you quickly tell him not to. Your words are laced with such a firmness, yet a gentleness that leaves no room to argue for Miguel, so he remains sitting. He watches you approach before you carefully hand him a mug.

“Careful,” you tell him softly as he receives it, welcoming the warmth of the mug and the brief brushing of your fingers with his.

You cup your mug in both your hands now that you’ve given Miguel his, and think for a moment as your eyes scan the other couch. You always sit there when you’re here at Miguel’s penthouse, and that hasn’t changed since you started living with him. The two of you always take a seat on opposite couches but right now, as you glance at Miguel, you can’t find it in yourself to sit that far from him.

You take in his appearance. He’s shirtless and in sweatpants. His hair is messy from his slumber, and the curls behind his ears look more curled than usual. You briefly find his bed hair endearing before your gaze takes in his face. There’s a thoughtful and far away expression on it, one that makes you feel like he’s still thinking about the nightmare. He also looks tired, something that tugs at your heartstrings. You silently decide you wish to be closer to him, so you opt to sit on the rug near him, leaving a few feet of space between the two of you so he doesn’t feel like you’re invading his personal space.

Miguel notices this, of course, and his eyebrows immediately knit in concern and confusion as you retrieve your mug from the coffee table after you placed it down to sit down. He’s about to open his mouth to tell you to get up, to not sit on the ground because it might be too cold and you might get sick, but when you look up at him and offer a warm and kind smile, Miguel forgets what he was going to say.

All he can think about is your smile and the tenderness on your face.

As you stare at Miguel, you know you can’t relate to having nightmares after losing one of your loved ones. You thankfully never had any even when Peter died in your arms but just the thought of them makes you feel sorrow, and you can imagine what Miguel feels. It makes you want to be here for Miguel even more, even if you know that you can’t take away his heartache and loss. There’s no way anyone can ever do that for someone fully, no matter how hard one tries but what you do know is that you can be here for Miguel. You can be his companion, so that Miguel isn’t alone for the first time after having a nightmare.

“Thank you,” Miguel whispers again after a moment of silence, meeting your gaze.

“Always,” you reply in a whisper, slowly twirling your spoon to cool off the hot drink. You silently hope that Miguel finds comfort and solace in your company.

Miguel watches you gently as you twirl your spoon silently. You’re so close to him. If you wanted to, you could easily place your hand on his knee, and if he wished to, he could lay his hand on your shoulder. You’re within distance but far enough that you’re respecting his personal space as always.

Miguel brings the mug to his lips and takes a small drink, the warmth and sweetness of the canelita spreads a comforting feeling through his chest on this cold winter night. Your blanket is still halfway covering him because he pulled it down earlier, but it’s keeping him warm regardless. There’s also the fireplace. He turns to look at it, taking notice of the dancing flames that cast shadows all around the room, something he also finds comforting for some reason.

In fact, everything about this moment is comforting to Miguel. From the low lit lamps to the fireplace, to the warmth and coziness that comes from your blanket, to the sweet canelita, but most of all - you.

You are here. This living room could be empty, dark, and cold but with you nearby, Miguel would feel the same amount of comfort nonetheless.

He sighs softly, feeling the heaviness that always weights down on him after a nightmare, almost like it drowns him, begin to fade. He can breath easier and his body is more relaxed, no longer as stiff as earlier. He subtly moves your blanket, lifting it higher so your scent reaches him again, so it helps him come back fully.

You notice his subtle gesture and after a few seconds of consideration, you slip off your sweatshirt. You fold it in half and place it on his lap, silently offering it to him because you know that your scent comforts him. Your eyes flicker to his, in which you find his internal debate to decline it, so you stare back with a firm gaze - wordlessly telling him to accept it.

Miguel looks down at the sweatshirt after a few seconds. You look at your mug to give him privacy, a moment Miguel takes. He lets his fingers graze your sweatshirt for several seconds. He feels the softness of it, but also the gratifying and comforting warmth that hangs to the fabric from you wearing it just now. It’s your warmth. So homey and inviting, so comforting. So you. He lifts it up to his chest, close enough that your scent surrounds him even more. He keeps his hand on it, letting your warmth sink into his palm and bare chest, into his own warmth.

Your warmth makes his mind whirl with thoughts of physical touch yet again, something Miguel finds himself doing more lately. Your revelation on wishing to hug him only fueled his thoughts on it as he’s been thinking about it for months, since the holidays. It sort of just click in his mind over Thanksgiving dinner that you’re so much more open to touch than he is. You’re open to both receiving and offering it, and you do so with such ease, like Miguel once did not too long ago.

The sudden light bulb that went on in his head has remained on throughout the months. He’s thought about it too many times, and with you currently living here, Miguel has only opened up more to the idea. He has a feeling that his thoughts on it have grown because the two of you spend so much time together now, more than you did before. The funny thing is that you already spent a lot of time together before but now, living together… It’s different.

The remaining walls around Miguel seem to have been made out of glass because you’ve gracefully broken them down throughout the short amount of time that you’ve been here. There’s so much more banter between the two of you now, and as a result, he’s discovered a more playful side to you, one he really likes and enjoys. And because of that playful side to you, Miguel has found himself being more playful, too, which catches him by surprise because he hasn’t seen that side of himself for a while. He likes it, just like he likes the fact that he smiles and chuckles more around you.

And so, because of all these little changes, Miguel has thought more and more about physical touch and opening more to it. With you, at least.

He turns to look at you again. You’re still staring at your mug, giving him a moment of privacy. Opening up about physical touch hasn’t been the only thing he’s been thinking about. He’s thought of sharing more things with you about his past. With one of his nightmares taking place tonight, Miguel wonders if it would be alright to talk about her. About the beginning and the end. It’s something he’s never talked about. Sure, he showed spider members in the past what happened to Gabriella’s universe - to her and everyone else - but he never talked about it. There’s a big difference between showing and telling.

Few people know of the beginning, and even those individuals, such as Jess and Peter B., don’t know what was running through his mind then because they don’t know about his past. They don’t know about his childhood or how he came to be Spider-Man, or about the other parts of his life.

They don’t know, but you do. You know more than anyone else, and you’re the only one in the entire multiverse.

Miguel sighs and breaks the silence after several minutes.

“Do you mind, if I share something with you?” he asks, quietly.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, looking up at him again.

Miguel nods and looks down at his mug.

“My mother died shortly after moving into the building, right when our mother and son relationship was just beginning to - heal, I guess. As I’ve told you in the past, I still held a lot of resentment towards her for my childhood, but I think if time had allowed, we would’ve been in a good place over the years.” Miguel sighs and shrugs his shoulders gently, an eyebrow rising and falling in seconds. “We will never know now, I suppose, but her death, despite everything, still hurt… Her death hurt both Gabriel and I, probably him more than me but it hurt both of us and made us realize, we were all we had. Each other.” Miguel looks up and stares at the fireplace. “Gabriel… Gabrielito… He passed away shortly after. A year later. My brother - My best friend was suddenly gone. You know what I always thought?” he asks quietly, a slight tremor in his voice.

“I always thought it would be me, the one that… The one that passed away first because I was the older one. And how wrong I was, like I was about so many things,” Miguel says, his red eyes filled with sadness.

“I had no one. I lost everyone. I had no friends, not meaningful ones, anyway. I hid myself behind work and eventually, hiding my grief and loneliness led me and Lyla to the multiverse. We worked very hard to figure out a way to travel it and shortly after, she was successful in creating a goober, one that worked. And, that started it all.”

Miguel’s eyes flicker to you. It started his expeditions into the multiverse, into finding other Spider people. It led to you.

“There were few members at the time when - when I came across the universe. I discovered a version of myself that was happy. He had a daughter. A family. He was a single father,” Miguel shares. “I learned that his partner had died in childbirth, so it was just him and… Gabriella. Sometimes, I looked into their universe. It was so strange. To see a version of myself with a daughter, who was happy despite his own losses, despite the ups and downs of his life. I won’t lie, a part of me envied him. He was a normal individual with a normal job, and went home with his daughter. He wasn’t Spider-Man.

For the longest time, I hated what I had become. I blamed it on being Spider-Man, and then blamed myself because I used to think that I had made the choice to be Spider-Man.”

You nod slowly, his words sinking in. You understand the implication of his words.

“I regret this so much now but, back when I met Miles, I told him something. Something that I’ve come to realize, only showed how I viewed myself. All of us,” Miguel admits. “I thought being Spider-Man was a sacrifice. A job that we had signed up for, which obviously is not true, but I thought at the time because of how I had become Spider-Man, that I had made that decision willingly. And so, I felt that we had all made that decision, that sacrifice.”

“You didn’t…” you whisper, and Miguel nods, his face softening at your voice.

“I realized that after everything that happened with Miles. I just felt like - I had made that choice willingly, even though my intention was just to spare myself from becoming an addict,” he says softly. “I never intended to do anything else. It was… Luck. It was out of my hands, the same way it has been for so many spider members. But at the time, when I discovered Gabriella’s universe, I wholeheartedly believed it had been my choice. My sacrifice. A happy and simple life exchanged for the responsibilities and duties of Spider-Man and the fate of the multiverse. So, I only kept watching and I was glad, that at least one Miguel O’Hara was happy. It all changed one day though. Lyla suddenly informed me that - that the Miguel from that universe was dead, had been murdered. In an attempt to be a good man, he was shot and he didn’t make it… I saw how it went down, a recording of it because of Lyla,” Miguel says quietly. “And I was just - I just couldn’t believe that he was gone. I couldn’t believe that the misfortune was shared, no matter the universe.”

Miguel pauses, knowing he’s reached Gabriella’s part, and the part in which he buried a version of himself.

“After what felt like a minute or two of pure disbelief and shock, I remembered Gabriella. She had no one. There was no Gabriel, no Conchata, not even a George O’Hara in her life. They had all passed away when she was younger, so all she had was her father, and suddenly he was gone, too. I realized what that meant, and I didn’t want that for her,” Miguel says softly with a pained expression. “I didn’t want her to end up in an… orphanage, where God knows what she would’ve lived through. I couldn’t help but think about that and how she had such a beautiful life. She had a loving father. She had support. She didn’t know of pain, suffering, or loss. She was surrounded by love and tenderness, and I thought, she deserved to continue to have that. I thought, I could provide that for her. I could look after her, make sure she had a good childhood. That she could continued to know love the way she knew it so far thanks to her father. It all happened so fast. Those minutes felt like seconds and in that short time, I questioned, what was the harm? What was the harm in me replacing the Miguel in that universe?

I could spare Gabriella from knowing grief and loss at such a young age, from her life changing and losing everything she knew. And I also thought about my own life. Gabriel had been dead for three years already at that point. The only person I talked to on a daily basis was Lyla before the Spider Society, and even when it was all started, I still felt lonely. Empty.” Miguel confesses. “People tried to get close to me but I had given up. I was closed off. I pushed everyone away and succeeded time and time again. I felt it was better to just be alone. I felt that I was meant for that. That I wasn’t meant for anything else. That my whole life was to be dedicated to protecting the multiverse, but then this happened and I asked myself again, what was the harm? And before I knew it, I was there. I don’t… I will spare you most of the details of everything that happened from that point to meeting Gabriella.” Miguel looks at you, a deep frown on his face.

“But I do want you to know that I… I treated him with respect. I gave him a proper burial.” Miguel whispers. “Where he wouldn’t be disturbed and where I hoped he would find peace. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by nature. I had learned a few things about him and Gabriella, and this Miguel loved nature, so I thought it was only appropriate. I said a few words for him as he was religious, and I swore to him that I would love and look after Gabriella as if she was mine.”

Miguel looks down at the mug. His other hand is still clutching your sweatshirt.

“After that… I headed to their home and that was the beginning of one of the best times in my life, not knowing it would lead to one of the worst, too,” Miguel whispers, closing his eyes as he feels all his emotions all at once. He takes a minute to recover, to placate the knot in his throat. “It was wonderful, beautiful, and scary sometimes because I didn’t know everything about being a parent and I didn’t have the best examples growing up, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I had always been meant to be that… A father. And sometimes I wondered how because I had grown up with such horrible parental figures… Horrible father figures,” Miguel says opening his eyes again.

“But there, with Gabriella, it was like I was meant to be a dad all along. It was like a dream… A dream that I hadn’t even realized I had all along. And suddenly, I was there. I was with her, and she called me daddy and held my hand, and told me about school and soccer. I was suddenly learning how to do her hair and instead of being at HQ, I was on her bedroom floor play pretending I was some knight saving her favorite doll from dragons.” Miguel’s eyes are teary as he shares this. A soft smile tugs at his mouth.

“My biggest worry went from the gizmos acting up to a scraped knee during a soccer match. I woke up early not to work but to make breakfast and prepare her school lunch. My weekends were occupied with soccer matches and taking her on little adventures to book shops and museums, to the park where she ran on soft and green grass, and yelled at me to watch how fast she ran. My evenings were no longer spent in the lab but rather cooking for the two of us, while she did her homework on the dining table, like Gabriel and I once did as children. We’d eat dinner and she’d tell me more about her day, about the things she learned in school. And so much more… So much more, Y/N…. She changed my life.”

Miguel pauses and swallows deeply. “She changed me. She made me a better person.” He sighs and finally takes a sip of canelita, already lukewarm. “Everything was great. It was the best my life had been in years since Gabriel passed away. And I thought, this is perfect. The perfect life. Just my little Gabriella and I, but soon, I met my wife, Adriana, and that changed things.” Miguel looks up at you. “I fell for her fast. Too fast. I have regrets about the way I handle the relationship. I wish I had been better because she deserved better than me,” Miguel says, looking away.

You can sense Miguel doesn’t really want to talk about this specifically, about his wife.

“You don’t have to… talk about her,” you tell him gently.

Miguel shakes his head gently. “I ought to… I want to. And, she deserves to be talked about as well. She was part of my life for that short period of time. It’s just hard because over time, since everything happened, I’ve slowly come to the realization that I regret how fast everything went.” Miguel pauses again. He can’t help but wonder what you will think of him. You’ve always been so kind and understanding with him but this might change your perspective of him. Maybe you’ll think he was selfish, greedy even, to want to have it all. “We met and only two months later, we were married. It all happened so fast and suddenly, we became a family. We were happy for as long as it lasted. A month and a half. That was how long I was married for before… everything happened. I regret it only because I believe she deserved better. I felt that we rushed into things so fast. She had no family, so sometimes I think we just wanted a family, so much that we rushed into marriage. Even though she didn’t know the real me. All of me, at least.”

You nod again, thinking about his wife and the fact that she had no family either.

“She didn’t know that I was from another universe, or that I was Spider-Man. I wanted to tell her but I never had the courage nor the time since everything just happened in the blink of an eye. When Gabriella was in school, we were both at work. She went to her job, while I came back here to Nueva York. She never knew, of course. Then, in the evenings when the three of us were at home, our time was dedicated to Gabriella entirely. She was the center of our worlds. I think, Gabriella was what brought us together the most. Without Gabriella, I think, we would’ve never been together, even if I had been from that universe,” Miguel admits.

“We spent all our time with Gabriella, and we were happy about it. It was as if… That was the only reason we were together, to be parents. Since we spent all our time with Gabriella, that hardly left any time for us as a marriage. By the time we had some moments for ourselves at night, when Gabriella was tucked in for bedtime, we’d be tired from the day’s activities. So, it was never a good time to talk to her about being Spider-Man, or that I was from another universe. We didn’t even make time for ourselves. We never…” Miguel looks down at his mug, embarrassed. “We were never intimate. Just a peck here and there. And I’ve come to realized, we loved the idea of a marriage because of the companionship and Gabriella, because of being a family. I had feelings for her, and I know she did, too. We loved each other but not in a romantic sense. She told me...” Miguel trails off, remembering that dream, or experience, he still doesn’t know what to call it, from when he died for a few minutes almost a year ago.

Miguel sighs, and maybe it’s due to exhaustion, or maybe he just wants everything to be out of his chest once and for all because he tells you all about it. He tells you how he saw Gabriella, Gabriel, his wife, and the other Miguel. He tells you how he apologized to everyone and what they said to him. His eyes flicker to you as he tells you that his family kept telling him to come back because you were calling him.

You gulp softly and nod at this, your eyes growing teary as you remember that early morning when you thought Miguel was really gone.

“Gabriella and Gabriel kept telling me to come back. That you were calling me,” Miguel says quietly.

“I was…” you whisper. “I kept calling your name and I… prayed to your loved ones that they’d send you back.”

Miguel smiles weakly at you. “Seems like they heard your prayers.”

You chuckle softly and wipe at your eyes, before inhaling sharply. “So, you saw them.”

“Yes, including my wife, and she said… we both made the decision, that I hadn’t rushed her into anything she didn’t want to. That perhaps, we had both sensed it would come to an end all too quickly, and that’s why we rushed into it. Yet… I still feel guilty. I feel like I was selfish, that I wanted more, and in wanting more, I dragged her along with me.”

You shake your head softly. “I wasn’t there but… I have no doubt that she was a great woman and very smart. You believing that you ‘dragged’ her into marriage takes away from her character, Miguel. She married you because she wanted to. Even if the two of you didn’t have the opportunity to have your feelings grow deeper, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t love and respect. And you know,” you pause and look at your mug for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know what you think about your dream - about your experience. Maybe you don’t believe that you actually saw them, but… I think it was real, and it was an opportunity for all of you to say what you wanted, needed, to say. And to me, it sounds like your wife didn’t regret it, nor did she blame you for anything. She was happy, as was Gabriella,” you say softly.

Miguel nods slightly. “They were happy but look where that ended.”

You frown and move slightly closer to him. “We don’t know the real cause,” you remind him gently, as it’s the truth. It has been two years since Miles “threatened” the fate of the multiverse by trying to save Mr. Morales, and the entire situation thankfully ended with him safe and sound. Miles’s universe didn’t collapsed and the fate of the multiverse wasn’t truly jeopardized. It weakened Miguel’s canon theory, but it’s something the society still keeps in mind as neither Miguel nor Lyla have figured out what exactly is the cause for some universes collapsing and others not.

“Right,” Miguel says and sighs, rubbing his forehead. “We don’t know for sure but there’s still a chance that it was my fault, me being there when I wasn’t supposed to.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly. “That would mean your universe would be threatened, too.”

Miguel looks at you, with a frown.

“All of us, spider people, you could say, shouldn’t be here, and yet, it’s been years since you founded the Spider Society and your universe is still standing,” you remind him. “Then, there’s me. I’m staying here in your universe more than I usually am, probably spending as much time as you did in Gabriella’s universe, and your universe is fine. Your presence didn’t lead to what happened, Miguel.”

“Maybe… or maybe it only applies to certain universes. Or maybe, Gabriella was supposed to be Spider-Woman and me being there disrupted something. I don’t know anymore,” he says, looking at the fireplace, sounding tired.

You look up at him, noticing how his beautiful red eyes almost seem to glow thanks to the flames.

“We will figure it out one day,” you reply softly, trying to reassure Miguel. You inch closer to him, knowing that tonight has been emotionally exhausting for him. He’s kept so much tucked away, but at last, he’s unlocked it. “I don’t think it was a disruption, a canon event. It’s something else that we’ve overseen. I refuse to believe that she was meant to be on her own. No child deserves that and what you did… I would’ve done the same,” you whisper to him. “It wasn’t you, Miguel. I wholeheartedly believe that it wasn’t you.”

Miguel’s gaze turns to you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. He sees that you truly believe what you just said. You’re not just saying it to sooth his guilt. You believe it. And the fact that you’ve said that you would’ve done the same, that means so much to him, more than you’ll ever realized.

“Thank you for saying that because for some time… I’ve been wondering if I should’ve left Gabriella alone, even if a different kind of guilt ate at me. I just… I really didn’t want her to suffer. To go from having everything, to nothing.”

“I understand,” you start. “It would’ve eaten me alive to know that I could be doing something for her, so I understand completely. You’re a good person, Miguel,” you say and he looks at you, with doubt in his eyes. “You’re a kind and loving man, and that’s why you did it. Not because you were selfish. You stepped up when Gabriella lost the one person she had in her universe, when she needed someone. Otherwise, her life would’ve been very different. Maybe, it wasn’t going to be horrible, but even then, she deserved more than an okay childhood on her own. Gabriella deserved to continue to have the same things she had before someone took them away from her. And you gave her that. You made her happy and made her feel loved. She didn’t know suffering, pain, or loss. You did what you swore to her biological father. You loved and looked after her because she was yours,” you say softly. “She was your daughter and you were her father. Always will be, no matter what. You were a great father, Miguel,” you whisper. “Still are because you honor her. You still care about her, and you’ve allowed her to be one of your reasons for moving forward.”

Miguel’s eyes close for a few seconds after you finish, a tear escapes from his eyes. Your words bring a certain warmth to his heart. He opens his eyes again, meeting yours before he gives you a small smile. “Thank you, you don’t know… how much that means to me,” he whispers.

You return the small smile and nod, your heart aching for Miguel. “And I believe that wholeheartedly, too,” you whisper. “Thank you for sharing this with me, too. I know it isn’t easy.”

He nods. “It isn’t but talking about it helps. I learned that from someone,” he says quietly, fondly looking at you. He swallows softly. “After everything happened, I was certain I’d never talk about it. It was too painful but… look at me now.”

You smile warmly and nod. Yes, look at him now. You briefly remember the man you met that first day at HQ when you were brought here to Nueva York by Jess. The man you met that day is not the same man in front of you now. “I… I’m really…” you start. Should you?

“What is it?” Miguel asks. “You can tell me.”

“I’m really - really proud of you, Miguel,” you whisper. “I know it’s not easy to, even when you know it’s good to talk about it because it helps. It’s not easy and yet, you’ve done it. I’m really proud of you, and just know, I’m touched that you trust me enough to share this with me.”

Miguel nods slowly, your words sinking in. You’re proud of him.

“And you should be proud of yourself, too,” you continue with a little smile. “You’ve kept your promise to your family and I have no doubt that they’re happy to see you go through with it. For them.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “I really hope so, even though sometimes I think I don’t deserve to move forward and live life, because they didn’t get the chance to.”

Your lips purse in disappointment and yet, a part of you understands why Miguel thinks this way.

“I used to think that way, too. About Peter’s death,” you say softly, earning yourself a frown from him.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says gently.

“I know that now but I used to tell myself I could’ve saved him if only I had been quicker, smarter, better… That I could’ve given him some minutes - minutes that could’ve saved his life. You know… I cut ties with my previous friends with the exception of one. They cut contact with me after Peter’s death but,” you pause, looking at your mug for a second. “The reason why I did it was because of that guilt,” you confess for the first time. Miguel’s brows furrow. “I believed that if I couldn’t save my partner, then, I probably couldn’t save my friends. I believed they were better off without me, so I cut ties with them little by little until they stopped calling and showing up… Until I became someone they used to know.”

“Y/N…” Miguel whispers, his heart aching for you because how could you ever believe that? Anyone that has you in their life is lucky. He is lucky.

“Peter made me promise to try to move forward. And I’ve tried, but there were so many days, especially in the beginning, when I wondered why should I when he didn’t get to? I believed it was my fault, my failure. I thought I failed him… so why should I try to move forward and have a life when I failed to give him the same chance?” you ask with a sigh. “But Peter asked me to… For him,” you continue, eyes softening. “And even though it didn’t make losing him easier, I realized I could live and love for the two of us… And maybe, Peter believed that in the end, too, and it was part of the reason why he asked that of me, on top of the fact that he was an unselfish man and he probably didn’t want me to shut down completely the way I did anyway,” you say sadly yet feeling fondly of Peter.

“It doesn’t make it easier but, you trying to move forward will be for you and for them, too. You can love the world like little Gabriella did. Smile and laugh like Gabriel did, with his cheeky smile and everything,” you say, which causes Miguel to breath out a short chuckle, his eyes filling up with tears. “You can honor your loved ones by the way you live your life. As they would live it, if they had a chance.” You nod at him, tears swelling in your eyes as well. “They don’t want you to think that way, Miguel. And if you needed a sign, your dream, or this experience you had, is exactly that confirmation. They don’t want you to think or live that way. And… neither do I. Nor everyone else in the Spider Society who cares about you, Miguel, because believe it or not, there’s a lot of people that care about you.”

Miguel nods gently. He feels tears threatening to spill over your kind and warm words.

“Thank you,” he says, still holding on to his mug. Your words really do mean so much to him. “Thank you for sharing that with me, about Peter. And thank you for the words, they… Make me see things differently,” Miguel admits. “I also want to tell you, that I’m relieved you no longer think like that because it wasn’t your fault,” Miguel continues, feeling heartache about this. It kills him to find out that you felt like that when you were all alone and you had no one to tell you that it wasn’t true. He wishes he could’ve been there to assure you that you had done everything you could’ve. “And, also, I want you to know that everyone who has or ever had you in their life, is lucky.” Miguel looks at you, a soft expression on his face. “I know I’m lucky to have you in my life. It’s a privilege, Y/N. Never forget that,” he says gently.

You smile warmly at him as you wipe some tears away. “Likewise, Miguel,” you whisper.

After such a conversation, Miguel and you sit close to each other in silence. You give each other time to collect yourselves, together. About ten minutes later, you notice Miguel drinking from his mug. It’s been a while since you served the canelita, so you’re certain his drink must be cold by now.

You nod towards Miguel’s mug. “I can get you some more. Whatever you have left is probably really cold, here,” you say standing up, offering your hand to take it.

Miguel reluctantly gives you the mug, feeling like you’re doing too much for him but before he can say anything, you take the mug from him and walk to the kitchen to get him more. You come back quickly, holding his mug with warm canelita and a small plate with pan dulce. You take a seat on the floor again after handing him his mug and placing the plate on the coffee table.

“I brought some pan dulce. I don’t know if you want some,” you offer.

Miguel nods before he places his mug on the coffee table, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the floor, too. He leans his back on the couch for support, sitting about three feet away from you. You notice the blanket and your sweatshirt came along with him, and both things now rest on his lap. You weren’t expecting for him sit down on the ground with you but you say nothing about it, and instead, you offer him a napkin for the bread.

The two of you eat small pieces of Mexican bread called garibaldis, a kind of pan dulce that you’ve noticed Miguel really enjoys. Typically, the two of you would eat it with coffee but due to the time and moment, you eat with canelita instead.

Once Miguel finishes his, he drinks from his mug. It’s so warm and sweet, so comforting. He turns to look at you just as you finish yours. He suddenly remembers how you told him earlier that you would’ve known about him having a nightmare anyway, even if he had closed the bedroom door.

“Earlier, you said that you would’ve known I was having a nightmare regardless of my bedroom door being closed or not. How come?”

You place your napkin on the coffee table. “It was my spidey senses,” you say simply because at this point, you believe the two of you need no further explanation. There’s a connection that allows you, and Miguel it seems, to sense things about each other, like how he sensed something was happening a few weeks ago when your building caught on fire. Neither of you know how it works though the two of you have silently wondered about it. You’ve specifically wondered if it will develop more, whether you’ll be able to sense more deeply as time goes on, and whether that will apply to Miguel as well.

Miguel hums in response. He had a feeling that was going to be your answer. The connection. The bond. It’s so comforting to him, no longer scary like it once used to.

You nod, wondering now. It’s the first time your spidey senses have warned you about one of his nightmares. Otherwise, this wouldn’t be the first night like this. You would’ve tried to be here for Miguel so much sooner if you had been warned other times. You wonder if you were only able to sense it tonight because you’re in the same universe as him. Maybe the first time this connection presented itself across the multiverse was because he was in legit danger and that’s why you sensed it. It would make sense why you’ve failed to sense his nightmares, as he’s not in real danger.

You take a drink from your mug. If that’s the case and you can’t sense his nightmares unless you’re here in Nueva York… You turn to look at Miguel as you place your mug back on the table. You don’t want Miguel to spend another night like this alone. Ever. You consider asking him something right now but decide against. You can ask him in a few hours, or maybe at a better time.

“How… how often do you have them?” you ask Miguel softly.

He stays silent for a few seconds. “This is the first one since the beginning of the year. They’ve decreased over the last few months. Sometimes it’s just two or three times a month but I used to have them daily those first weeks when - I came back and was still making an effort to sleep.”

You nod but don’t ask anything else. You don’t want to ask more just in case Miguel isn’t ready. You’re relieved that his nightmares have lessened at least but you wish he didn’t have them at all anymore.

Miguel contemplates telling you more. He’s already shared a fair amount and maybe it’s too much for one night alone.

“You know I’m here, right?” you ask softly. “I’m here for you. If you want to talk, we can talk. Or if you want silence, then we can sit here in silence. If you want music, I can put some for us. You just - tell me and I’ll do it,” you tell him, as if sensing that he wants to share more.

Miguel nods and leans further back into the couch. You do the same. Maybe he does want silence after all, and you’re more than fine with that. You’ll offer him whatever he needs, no questions asked.

“May I tell you about the nightmares and about that last day?” he asks quietly as if there’s any chance that you’d tell him no.

“If you want to, I’ll listen,” you respond gently, facing him.

Miguel nods, preparing himself mentally and emotionally, though a large part of him feels like he can do this. He can talk about it with you.

“They started the first night I was back. After losing them and watching an entire universe cease to exist before my eyes… I was exhausted in every way possible. I tried to sleep but it only lasted for about an hour before I woke up,” Miguel starts, his voice low. “The first nightmare was when she… When she was just gone from my arms, like she never existed. Like, she was all part of my imagination. As if I hadn’t brushed her hair that morning and made sure she had everything in her backpack after packing her lunch. She was so excited.”

Miguel brushes his fingers over your sweatshirt’s sleeves.

“We started the day like any other. There was no sign of danger. Nothing that could’ve warned me.” Miguel looks away, a look of disbelief in his face. “She was going to have soccer practice after school. She was so excited,” Miguel whispers. “It was a normal day - a perfect day - and then it all changed. I was suddenly running, carrying her in my arms and I had no idea what was happening. I was trying to figure it out in my head, while simultaneously telling myself that I would do anything **to keep her safe. To keep her alive. I was more than ready to give my life if it meant that she lived.”

Miguel sighs heavily, holding tight to your sweatshirt. “She called for me. I held her in my arms and she kept calling up to me. Her sweet voice was filled with fear and all I could do was run and run through the city hoping, praying to something, anything, to protect her. To keep her alive. To let her live and experience life. To grow up and make memories, have experiences. And then… she was gone. My hands were empty. The only sign that there had been someone in them to begin with was her warmth,” Miguel whispers. “Until that warmth faded, and there was truly nothing. Nothing but memories and her cries of fear in those last seconds before she - before she was gone.”

A heaviness settles in your chest as you listen to Miguel. His tone and face expression - it breaks your heart. You stare at him, a genuine look of empathy etched on your face, the kind that makes Miguel feel like you can understand him and his emotions.

“That’s usually my nightmare. That moment. Over and over again. Sometimes, it’s both my wife and Gabriella disappearing and I’m unable to move or do anything. All I can do is watch as they both yell for my help.” Miguel takes a moment to collect himself. “Tonight’s… Gabriella was upset with me. She was angry that I lied. That I didn’t tell her what happened to her biological father. That I pretended to be her father. And I just kept begging her to forgive me,” Miguel says as he recalls his nightmare. “And then, she left. She didn’t want to see me anymore.”

You nod slowly, heart aching. You can see the pain and heartache on his face. Hear it in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Miguel,” you whisper gently, meaning it.

“I was going to tell her when she was older but it was a fear I had. That she would hate me for it and want nothing to do with me,” he admits.

“I don’t think she would’ve hated you,” you tell him. “It would’ve been a shock of course but you are her father. Took care of her, loved her. She would’ve never walked away from her second father.”

“I don’t know,” Miguel says. “Maybe she would’ve.”

“I know we can’t be certain but you always tell me how sweet she was. How smart and caring she was. How much she loved you. She would’ve grieved her biological father but I think she would’ve also understood your decision and realized, you meant to do well.”

With a little smile, Miguel nods. “She was sweet, so sweet and caring. And so smart… Maybe you’re right. She would’ve been upset about Miguel, her biological father, rightfully so. Maybe after some time, she would’ve forgiven me. At least I hope so…” Miguel says holding his mug, pondering this. It was something that kept him up sometimes while he was in Gabriella’s universe.

“Do you mind, telling me more about her?” you ask gently, hoping that maybe by talking about Gabriella, about the beautiful moments he shared with her, you might be able to sooth Miguel.

“Yes,” he replies, grateful to talk about Gabriella. After a few seconds, he decides to show you what little pictures he has. “Lyla, can you please show pictures of Gabi?”

Three seconds later, a hologram screen appears between Miguel and you, displaying a photo of Gabriella alone. She’s holding up a soccer ball, smiling at the camera with the sweetest smile. The sight makes you smile immediately, something that Miguel notices.

He stares at you, watching your smile. He can’t help but smile softly before he returns his eyes to Gabriella, though the mere sight of you smiling at a photo of his daughter creates a different kind of warmth to spread across his chest.

“She loved soccer. I’ve mentioned it already but she - she was an amazing player. So passionate. So dedicated. Not just for soccer either. She loved school and always had good grades. I thought she’d have her moments, you know,” Miguel says quietly, staring at the photo. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels tears roll down his face. He hastily wipes them away. “But she surprised me. She was so eager to complete her homework. She was so smart and I - I have no doubt that she would’ve accomplished amazing things,” Miguel adds, eyes glistening. Miguel sighs quietly, wiping his eyes with his free hand.

“She loved bees,” Miguel continues, which reminds him of one particular moment. “One time she saved one. You should’ve seen her. She was so worried about it dying that she took care of the bee until it was able to fly again. It was all she could talk about during soccer practice,” Miguel says smiling fondly. “She loved the color lilac. It was one of her favorite colors. She loved the guitar… The one I always offer for Dia de los Muertos. She could play it,” Miguel tells you. “She used to sing this song… ‘Luna de Xelajú” it was called. She loved it but she loved so many other songs. She liked to sing in the car,” Miguel goes on as he remembers more and more things about Gabriella that he’s kept tucked away in his memories.

As Miguel talks, the photos have been changing. As he comes to a pause, the last photo changes to a short video of Gabriella running on a field. She runs to the camera, smiling.

“I did it, daddy!” she says happily and a knot instantly forms in your throat. You clear your throat softly, feeling the loss for someone you never met but yet, know so much about. The video ends and switches to another photo. It’s a much closer photo of Gabriella, her face is relaxed as she smiles. You stare at her eyes, at the beautiful deep shade of brown you’re sure Miguel once had. The sight of sweet and innocent Gabriella stirs something in you, and before you know it, you lift a hand, as if to caress Gabriella’s face. It’s too late by the time you notice, and you instantly regret it, fearing that this might upset Miguel - that this gesture might trigger memories that are still painful for him.

However, Miguel’s eyes soften at the gesture. That warmth in his chest grows. “She likes you,” he says before he realizes.

You turn to look at Miguel as you put your arm down, wondering if you’ve heard him correctly.

Miguel stares at the photo, avoiding your eyes as he realizes what he’s said but it’s too late now to take it back. After a few seconds of silence, Miguel speaks.

“My nightmares have decreased over the months. I think it’s because…” he trails off as his fingers find your sweatshirt again and you understand. “Thanks to you. So on some nights, I have normal dreams. I dream of them. Of my family. I dream of Gabriel and Gabriella very often. My mom and my wife appear sometimes but it’s mostly Gabriel and Gabi. Sometimes,” Miguel says pausing as he continues to stare at the photo. “I dream about you as well. With them.” Miguel stops and glances at you, trying to gauge your reaction, wondering if you’ll be weirded out by that. Yet, when he turns to look at you, he finds a warm smile on your face and he realizes, you’re not upset about it. If anything, your smile would suggest you find it endearing.

“Really?” you ask softly. “I wish I could’ve met them in real life.”

“I do, too,” Miguel says, leaning slightly closer as if he’s about to share a secret. And in a way, he guesses it is a secret because just like his nightmares, Miguel has kept the good dreams to himself, too. Until now, of course, because as photos and videos of Gabriella and him play between you, Miguel tells you about his dreams.

He shares that you’ve played dolls with Gabriella and that in one dream, she asked him if you could do her hair because only you could achieve a specific hairstyle she wanted for one of her soccer matches. He doesn’t tell you how he woke up smiling about that particular dream because the sight of you doing Gabriella’s hair was too sweet, too endearing for him even in just a dream.

He tells you how the two of you and Gabriel have talked over café de olla, though he cannot remember the conversations themselves. Miguel even tells you about one dream in which his younger brother was teasing him but you backed up Miguel, which makes you chuckle softly. He almost tells you that Gabriel seems to treat you like a sister but that would probably be too much, so he doesn’t share that.

“They both really like you. I would say… they love you,” Miguel says once he’s done sharing some of his dreams. “I truly have no doubt they would’ve if they were alive.”

That makes you smile warmly at him before you look at the photos again. “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, and maybe it’s strange, but despite not having the opportunity to meet them… I care about them, and I mean it when I say I wish I could’ve met them.” You decide to leave it only at “caring” and avoid telling Miguel that you actually love his family because it might be too much.

At your words, your honesty, Miguel smiles softly. He’s touched that you care about two of the most important people in his life. He’s also almost sure that you’re holding something back, just from looking at your face.

“You wanted to say something else,” he says.

You turn to look at him again and smile sheepishly. “Sometimes I’m still amazed at how well you can read me. Peter used to do that, too, and it never ceased to amaze me,” you reply as you glance down at your nearly empty mug of canelita. “You are right… I was going to say that I love your family, Gabriel and Gabriella, but that probably sounds weird since I never met them.”

“They’d love you, too.” That makes you look up and Miguel continues. “They probably do from wherever they are, based on that dream from almost a year ago,” Miguel says gently, meaning it. He believes it. They already love you in his dreams, so he has no doubt they probably do from wherever they are.

Miguel’s words not only warm your heart, but also your cheeks. You smile warmly at him. “That… that’s really sweet of you, thank you.”

“I mean it,” Miguel says, his head tilting to the side as he looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he woke up. You’re in your pajamas, looking so comfortable and cozy. You were probably sleeping so peacefully, with your arms wrapped around a pillow like you always do before you woke up due to him. “It’s really late,” Miguel says. “You must be tired. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Are you sleepy?” you ask, a part of you hoping he is, so that he can get some rest after how much he has shared tonight. You watch Miguel carefully, trying to figure out how he’s feeling.

“Even if I’m not, you should get some sleep yourself. You don’t have to stay up,” Miguel says, meaning it because your presence alone in the penthouse is calming to him.

“I don’t want to - leave you alone,” you confess quietly.

Miguel’s face softens at your words. He gives you a small smile. “The fact that you’re here in the penthouse alone makes me feel better. You can go to sleep if you want, really,” he says softly but you shake your head.

“If you stay up, I stay up with you. You don’t have to talk to me, or even acknowledge me but just… let me stay with you. I can’t stand the mere thought of you alone, Miguel… I don’t want you to ever be alone on nights like these again, so I dare ask you something that might be too much but, just consider it, please,” you say, gently. You’ve hardly ever asked anything of Miguel and tonight, you dare to. “Whenever you have nightmares, I ask that you get me. I don’t care where I am. Here in Nueva York or in my universe, but please reach out to me. I’ll come to you if you’d prefer. Or you can go to my apartment, just… You don’t have to be alone, Miguel,” you say, looking at him and hoping that he’ll consider it.

Miguel gulps softly at your words, at the way you’re staring at him so fondly, so tenderly. It’s a look that makes it impossible for him to reject you and your request. You could ask anything of him with that look on your face and he’d do it. So he nods his head at you and you smile warmly at him, happy that Miguel’s letting you stay with him and that he’s agreeing to what you’ve asked.

“Okay…” he says. “I will but I really don’t want to wake you up.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care. Please don’t hesitate. Please… promise me you will?” you ask so softly your voice is barely audible.

Miguel nods, looking at you with the same tenderness you have on your face. “Alright… I promise.”

After Miguel’s promise, the two of you spend another hour in his living room, just sitting next to each other within short distance. At some point, you stand up to get more canelita for the two of you to drink. There’s moments of silence, but they’re comfortable ones. Then, there’s moments when you talk. Eventually, you happily notice that Miguel begins to look sleepy, giving you hope that he can get a little sleep before sunrise.

“Do you want to head upstairs?”

Miguel shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go upstairs right now.

“You’re growing sleepy.” You say this as a matter of fact and Miguel knows it. He’s getting sleepy, which is a first for him on a night like this. He has no doubt it’s because you’re here with him. “Do you want to… lie here?” you ask looking at the ground.

That makes Miguel raise an eyebrow slightly. Are you suggesting that he sleeps on the ground with you nearby?

“I’ll stay here with you,” you continue. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Miguel declines but twenty minutes later, you can tell he’s growing more sleepy so you try again. You grab a pillow from the couch and offer it to him. “Lie down at least.”

Miguel takes the pillow with a sigh and then to encourage him, you grab one for yourself. You gently push the coffee table away from the two of you until it reaches the other couch, the one where you always sit at, so that there’s enough space for the two of you to stretch out. You place your pillow on the floor and then lay down.

Miguel peers down at you as he remains sitting, holding the pillow. You’re really trying to get him to sleep, even taking initiative. So, Miguel places his pillow down and lays down slowly. He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling for a few seconds. He’s never done this before. He’s never laid on his living room floor like this. He turns his head to look at you. You’re on your back, too, staring at the ceiling.

With a soft sigh, Miguel rolls on his side, facing you. He feels your blanket shift over him, reminding him that he still has it. He grabs it and extends it, letting it fall over your body to keep both of you warm.

Your lips threaten to curl upwards at the gesture, but you successfully refrain from doing so. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Miguel whispers as the two of you now lay on the same floor, under the same blanket with about two feet of distance.

As you lay there, you place your hand in the space between the two of you. Your pinky is pointed at him. A silent offering.

You both remain quiet for several minutes and just when you start to think that Miguel fell asleep, you feel it. His pinky wraps around yours gently without warning. You stay still, looking at the ceiling without saying anything. You simply enjoy the way his pinky feels wrapped around yours. After about two minutes or so, you roll on your side, facing him, too.

Miguel blinks slowly at you. He’s quickly giving in to his sleep but despite that, he’s reminded of a realization he had not too long ago. On Valentine’s Day.

You’re not only his friend, or close friend.

You’re his best friend.

As he thinks about it again while staring at you, Miguel’s cheeks turn pink. He hasn’t had a best friend since Gabriel, but that’s changed. He has you. His cheeks grow warmer as he knows what that means. Not only did you walk past his walls of defense - you also managed to slipped into a person’s most emotionally sensitive part - his heart. And the last time someone took residence in it, he lost them. He’s lost everyone that has ever meant something to him. Everyone he’s ever loved.

And he doesn’t want to lose you, too, because he doesn’t know if he could take it. Another loss. He can’t lose you because he… loves you. His best friend.

Miguel blinks sleepily at you. He gives your pinky a gentle hug, a squeeze. “Thank you for being here with me,” he whispers gently.

“Always,” you whisper back. You smile tenderly at him before you continue, whispering in the dead of night. “You’re not alone, Miguel. You don’t have to be anymore.”

He nods, a hint of a smile on his sleepy features. “Did you know…”

You raise an eyebrow, watching as Miguel slowly but surely gives in to his sleep. His eyes close more, his eyelids growing heavy.

“You’re my best…” Miguel starts but he falls asleep before he finishes his statement.

You stare at him as he finally gives in to sleep. He has such a gentle expression on his face, so peaceful. Meanwhile, your heart beats wildly against your chest as his words sink in. He was about to admit it out loud. That you’re his friend. No, his best friend.

You smile to yourself, a few tears forming in your eyes. Miguel considers you his best friend, just like you consider him yours. Tears roll down your face, over your nose and onto your other eye because of the way you’re laying on the ground. You wipe them away carefully.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a best friend, since Peter. You sniffle quietly and continue to smile as you look at Miguel, at your best friend. Your eyes flicker to your pinkies, still curled around each other’s, like a hug.

Shortly after, as you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Miguel shift in his sleep. You open your eyes just as his hand moves entirely over yours. His pinky is now wedged between your pinky and ring finger. His middle and ring fingers rest between your index finger and thumb. His forefinger is wrapped around the base of your thumb. His own thumb lays over your wrist, right where your pulse is located. Besides his thumb, the rest of his hand is curled around yours, protectively.

And for the first ever, you allow yourself to touch him. Just for this night.

You curl your fingers around his and as you doze off, you swear his gentle grip tightens ever so slightly.

—

Miguel sleeps with a peaceful expression on his face. You watch over him as the hours tick by. You fall asleep a few times during the night but always wake up to still find the sight of Miguel sleeping. Your hold on each other never loosens up, or at least you don’t think so, as each time you wake up, Miguel’s gentle grip and yours is the same.

At around 6am, Lyla appears above you. You blink, for a second wondering if you’re imagining her due to your sleepy state, but she moves closer and you know she’s real. She shows you a holographic sign.

“Do I wake him up?” she asks through the sign.

You think about it for a few seconds, turning to look at Miguel to your left. Your gaze takes in his soft and relaxed expression. A strand of hair has fallen over his forehead at some point while you’ve slept, and for about two seconds, you consider pushing it back gently but decide against it. Your ears register his breathing, slow and even, and when you look down at where his chest should be under the blanket, there’s a gentle rise. The warmth from his hand is strong and delightful and of course, there’s the feeling of his hand alone. Your palms are facing each other, his fingers are curled around your hand, his pinky wrapped around yours securely. Never faltering.

You sigh softly as you continue to watch Miguel. While living with him, you’ve learned that he wakes up at 6am every day but due to the night he’s had, you don’t have it in your heart to wake him up. Not yet. You decide he could really use at least one more hour.

You turn to Lyla, who has been watching you the entire time, noticing your tender and lingering gaze on her boss. It’s a sight, the way you watch Miguel. There’s never been any doubt in her mind that you care about him but if there was, this night would’ve erased it. For so long, Miguel has handled his nightmares on his own. And, there’s never been a single night that Miguel managed to find sleep either, but for the first time, he sleeps peacefully after a nightmare. Tonight, there was no sitting alone in his bedroom for hours before moving to the living room and sitting in the darkness.

There was no pacing around the penthouse on his own. No, tonight Miguel had a companion after a nightmare. He had a warm drink made for him and that same person sat near him in companionship, made him feel calm and warm, kept him grounded to the present despite talking about the past. It’s been clear to Lyla that you care about Miguel deeply, as he cares about you.

You shake your head at last, and mouth a “no” that Lyla immediately catches. She understands. Miguel ought to sleep a little longer. She nods and gives you a little thumbs up, watching for a few more seconds as you turn to look at Miguel again. She watches as you place your free arm under your head for a little more support, getting comfortable. She notices your eyes closing and silently nods to herself. You need sleep, too. You both do. Her eyes move to the joined hands in between the humans’ bodies. That’s a sight, too, one worthy of… She takes a snap and then flickers out, knowing her presence is not needed, for the humans have each other.

You wake up about forty minutes later. You remain in the same position as you watch the sun slowly come up in Nueva York. Gentle streams of sunlight enter the penthouse since the blinds are not fully drawn. Their presence is warm and comforting. A glance at your gizmo tells you it’s almost 7am.

You look over at Miguel. He’s still sleeping with his head on the pillow. Your blanket is up to his collarbone. There’s still that little strand of hair over his forehead. There’s the sun’s rays, the light softly cascading over him in some areas like parts of his hair and cheek. He looks so peaceful. So beautiful without a trace of worries or pain.

You can’t help but continue to watch him without guilt or worry about doing so. You let yourself admire him openly.

Miguel is a sight for sore eyes.

You look away at last and notice the time. Less than eight minutes before 7am. You’ll be waking up Miguel soon because you know he’ll still want to go to HQ, probably to try and make his day a normal one like he always does. You silently decide that you’ll stay near him today, and that you’ll be extra attentive to make his day a little better.

You send a quick message to Gwen through your gizmo, asking for a small favor and then wait it out. You relish the few minutes left of this moment. Miguel’s hand is still over yours. His gentle grip has grown firmer while you’ve both slept.

You cherish the few minutes left, the warmth of his hand, the vulnerability of it all but all too soon, you feel Miguel shift in his sleep. You glance at him, noticing his body move for the first time since he fell asleep. His eyes flutter open, bringing you into focus. He gazes at you sleepily. Something in his chest sparks - glows - at the sight of you near him.

He becomes aware of the way his hand is positioned, of the way he’s holding on to your hand, quite quickly because he feels your warm and gentle skin against his. And yet, he doesn’t make an effort to let go.

You don’t think about it much. He’s probably still in a sleepy state and the realization hasn’t fully hit him. Or maybe, just maybe, Miguel is okay with it. You silently hope that it’s the latter.

“Good morning,” you whisper gently as Miguel’s eyes flutter a few more times, slowly waking up.

“Good morning,” he replies, his voice sleepy and deep.

You offer a small smile. “Do you feel a little rested?”

Miguel nods. “I do. More than I usually do… Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s…” you pause and check your gizmo, “two minutes before seven.”

Miguel nods but then he raises an eyebrow, realizing. “I’m going to be late. Lyla-”

“She asked but I told her not to,” you tell him gently, making him pause. “I thought an hour of sleep would be good… I hope you don’t mind.”

Miguel stares at you, his eyes gazing into yours. “Did you manage to sleep a little?” he asks and you nod, relieving him. “I’m glad… I know this was probably not comfortable, sleeping on the floor.” Miguel pauses, his eyes looking above you for a few seconds before they return to you. “I don’t mind that you allowed me sleep one more hour since you got some sleep, too. Thank you,” he says gently.

You nod and the two of you remain like that for a few seconds, savoring the quietness and peace of the moment, of this morning after everything. Miguel recognizes it. It’s such an intimate moment, one unlike any other. A part of him recognizes he’s never done something like this. He’s never slept on the living room’s floor, much less with someone. His mind goes back to a few hours, how the two of you sat on the floor and drank canelita while he talked about everything in the dimly lit room.

It’s the first time for Miguel to be in such an intimate, vulnerable situation like that.

He looks at your joined hands and suddenly realizes, he probably ought to let go now… He ought to but Miguel doesn’t want to. He’s actually okay with this. More than okay, really. He’s fine with it. Scratch that, he’s content and comfortable with it. Yet, he ought to let go now because maybe your hand, or your entire arm, is tired from being in this position for so long.

“We should probably get ready for the day,” Miguel starts, breaking the silence at last, even though he’s really enjoying this moment.

You nod slowly, understanding it’s time to get started with the day. At least you’ve managed to let him sleep a little longer - at least he’s slept after one of his nightmares at all. You smile softly and nod again.

“Yeah, we probably should. If you want to head upstairs and take a shower while I do some things.”

Miguel nods at that. Right, a shower. He always showers in the morning and then again in the evening.

You’re both in understanding then, it’s time to start the day. It’s time to get up and get going, and yet, neither of you initiate the process. Neither of you pull your hand away, or even move your body. You both continue to lay on the ground facing each other, hands joined, staring everywhere except at each other.

“GOOD MORNING, SLEEPYHEADS!”

Miguel and you jump slightly, instantly retrieving your hands from each other’s due to Lyla’s sudden appearance between you. She watches you both sit up. She can’t help but snort to herself at the sight, thinking to herself that you both needed a little nudge that she was more than happy to provide. It was that, or painfully watch the way you were agreeing it was time to get going without actually wanting to part from each other. She silently judges the two of you. It’s clear you were both more than comfortable with the physical touch but neither of you want to admit it. She shakes her head lightly and sighs.

“I hope you both slept well,” she comments, inspecting a hand with a grin. “I hear your little task is going well, Y/N.”

You raise an eyebrow at that before you remember. “Oh, right. Thank you.”

That makes Miguel raise an eyebrow of his own at you, wondering what this “little task” is. You shake your head and stretch slightly just as Lyla disappears again, her mission accomplished.

“It’s a little treat but a surprise, so I’m not saying anything. As soon as we’re ready, we head out,” you tell him with a little smile, hoping that the small gesture cheers him up a bit.

Miguel sighs but he gives you a small, barely there smile. “Alright, I won’t ask then. I guess I’ll go get ready,” he says standing up, hearing and feeling his bones crack in multiple places from sleeping on the floor. He’s probably going to feel the ache later. The two of you are probably, Miguel realizes, as he turns to look at you. He steps closer, towering over you as you remain sitting on the floor. He extends a hand.

You look up, eyebrows slightly raised as you look from his face to his large hand. He’s offering a hand to help you up. You gulp subtly. It’s not that Miguel never offers a physical hand when it’s needed. He lends a hand when it’s necessary but the suits are always in between. It’s never skin to skin, so looking at his extended, bare hand now, you can’t help but question how uncomfortable he’ll be about it just for the sake of being a gentleman because if there’s something about Miguel, it’s that he’s a gentleman without question. And sure, your hands were just touching but Miguel was sleeping so it was more of an unconscious gesture, or at least that’s how you see it.

“Is that… okay?” you ask, looking into his eyes for any discomfort.

He nods. “Yes,” he says softly, his hand still extended for you.

“I can… I’m alright. You should head upstairs and get ready,” you reply gently with a little smile. He’s a gentleman but you don’t have to accept and make him uncomfortable.

Miguel blinks, immediately figuring out what you’re doing. He keeps his hand stretched out. “Are you really going to leave my hand hanging?” he asks, not upset but rather amused and touched by your reluctance. He knows you, so well. You’re declining it for his sake. “Vamos, let me help you up. It’s the least I can do,” Miguel gently says, trying to coax you. [Let's go/ Come on.]

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I think this is the longest anyone has ever kept my hand waiting,” Miguel says in a light teasing tone, still waiting for you to take his hand.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration before looking up at him. You’re giving him an out so he doesn’t make more physical touch than he has already. You search his face quickly, trying to find any discomfort but you find none. There is no discomfort. There’s not a trace or hint on his face that he’d prefer for you to reject his gesture.

You slowly reach out, feeling like time slows down as the distance between your hands decreases. You both watch as your hand reaches his at last, your fingers laying over his own tentatively. He tugs on your hand, his fingers folding your own until they’re tucked in his. When he feels the back of your fingers meet his palm, he then rests his thumb over your knuckles.

Feeling that you’re secure, Miguel gently pulls you, helping you onto your feet. You quickly loosen your grip, which was already loose to begin with, and gently pull your hand from his. You pretend to stretch again but your arm actually pops causing you to wince. You silently tell yourself that’s what you get for pretending.

“Thank you,” you say stretching said arm. “I’m going to… make some coffee.”

Miguel nods, his arm falling to his side. “I’ll be upstairs taking a shower.”

“Alright,” you reply, nodding, before you turn around and head to the kitchen.

Miguel nods, too, before he turns around himself and begins to head upstairs. He flexes his hand as he walks up the stairs, his suit activating from his wrist down to his fingertips for about three seconds before it flickers away. The sensation of your hand in his lingers all the way to his bathroom until he pushes the thought away to shower.

When Miguel steps out of the shower, he dries himself down and wraps a towel around his waist before approaching the double vanity sinks. He approaches the one he’s been using for years, the one he chose when he first moved into the place. He glances to the other one for a second, finding it empty as always before he retrieves what he needs. He begins to quickly but carefully shave off what little stubble he has. Miguel was going to do it last night but he put it off, thinking he could do it today after his morning shower, but of course, he had no idea what the night would be like.

Despite waking up later than he’s used to and possibly being tardy to HQ, Miguel shaves his face carefully to avoid any nicks or cuts. Once he’s done, Miguel washes his face to remove all product residue. He splashes lukewarm water onto his face, thinking about everything that happened over the night up to this morning. He slowly lifts his face, facing himself in the mirror. Droplets of water run down his face and splatter onto the sink. Miguel can’t help but notice a slight difference. He didn’t truly recognize the man staring back at him last night - hasn’t for a while. He couldn’t bear the sight, couldn’t stand to look into his own eyes.

He blinks now and stares. He looks right into his eyes and faces himself, truly, for the first time in years. And he finds, that for once, he can hold his own gaze without faltering.

Miguel’s past has tasted bitter for years. He’s carried and fought memories all on his own. He’s been cold and distant, and he’s built walls around himself for years. After losing Gabriella and his wife, there was no doubt in Miguel’s mind that his life was only meant for his job, to protect the fate of the multiverse. He believed that he was meant for nothing more. Not even friends.

But Miguel now knows that he’s wrong, and it won’t be the first nor last time he’ll be wrong about something.

Miguel frowns slightly as he finds a spot he missed entirely. He takes care of it, briefly remembering the one time you shaved his face almost a year ago. Miguel’s movements slow down as he remembers that day. He couldn’t move his arms too much that day due to the injuries and he mentioned wanting to shave the previous day, so you offered to do it the next day after his shower.

Miguel’s lips curl upwards at the memory. You seemed nervous about it, even asking him if you were doing okay because you were worried about hurting him but you did a fantastic job and he had no nicks or cuts by the end of it. As he places his razor down, he’s reminded of those days again and he’s struck by the fact that no one has ever looked after him in that way before you, not so intimately.

Miguel sighs and rinses his face again before he dries it off. He stares at himself in the mirror again. It’s morning and he’s made it past another night, this time with you by his side. He’s shared yet another part of his life, one of the most heartbreaking ones. One he once believed he’d never be able to talk about with anyone, but he has. Miguel turns to the side, towards the window.

His heart feels lighter. More than it has in a long time. He turns back to the mirror and meets his own eyes.

He made the promise almost a year ago to his deceased loved ones. The promise that he’d move forward, and he’s been trying.

“I’ll continue to try. I’ll try and be good on it. For all of you,” Miguel whispers as images of his loved flash in his mind. His wife, Gabriel, and his little Gabriella. Even for his mother and the other Miguel, who told him to take and appreciate the second chance at a different life. Miguel nods at himself, the image of you laying on the living room’s floor facing him just earlier when he woke up flashing in his mind. “For you, too,” Miguel says.

For his best friend.

With one last nod at himself, Miguel leaves the bathroom and quickly gets ready for the day to meet you downstairs. He enters the kitchen just as he puts his gizmo on. He finds you waiting by the counter, ready for the day yourself. You’re already in your suit, all showered and ready. There’s two thermos on the counter, which means coffee won’t be drank at the penthouse today. Miguel remembers suddenly that you have some little thing planned.

“Ready?” you ask with a smile when you notice Miguel.

He nods and walks further into the room. Your smile is a welcoming sight, as always. “I take it we’re leaving now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yep, we have somewhere to be! This is your thermos,” you reply handing him one. “If you’re ready, then we can be off.”

“Alright, I’m ready,” Miguel replies as he holds the thermos.

“Off we go then!”

“No hint as to where we’re going?” he asks.

“You’ll just have to come along with me to find out,” you reply as you lead the way to the living room.

Upon entering the living room, Miguel notices you’ve rearranged everything back. Your blanket is on the couch, neatly folded. Back in its home. The couch pillows are back in their usual places. He turns to look at you and playfully rolls his eyes because only last night he said that to you in this very room when the two of you were watching the telenovela.

“I see,” he replies with a soft frown as you open a portal with your gizmo before he offers you a smile, one that’s so much better than any other he’s offered over the last hours.

“It’s not big but I promise it’s good,” you say as you nod to the portal, gesturing for him to follow you.

And he does, because where wouldn’t he follow you?

The two of you enter the portal and step out into Gwen’s universe, specifically onto an empty rooftop. Miguel glances around but finds no one. Just what did you plan?

You move quickly once you step onto the rooftop, and search before you spot what you’re looking for. Miguel follows you with knitted eyebrows, thermos in his hand. You turn around and show him a takeout bag. His head tilts to the side.

“Follow me,” you say heading straight to the edge of the rooftop where you take a seat, with your legs dangling off the building.

Miguel takes a seat next to you and looks over at you as you open the bag. You hand him a medium size package. Upon touch, it’s warm.

“The best bagels, according to what we know right now, come from this universe,” you tell him as you pull one for yourself. “Go ahead, open it. I ordered you one that I thought you’d like.”

“Bagels… Thank you,” Miguel says slowly grinning at you, touched. The scent of food makes him realize he’s hungry, so he gratefully digs in.

You eat in silence next to each other, taking in the various hues of pink and purple. Miguel suddenly wonders.

“When did you ask Gwen for bagels?”

“Earlier,” you reply with a little smile.

Miguel returns the smile before his face softens. He looks down at his bagel. You definitely know him well because your choice for him is exactly what he would’ve ordered for himself. He looks up again, words forming on his tongue. “Thank you…. Not just for this,” he says, raising his bagel with a little smile. “But for everything else, too. I hope you know that it means a lot to me. Always,” Miguel says sincerely. “Everything means a lot to me.” Miguel pauses, looking up at the sky, thinking. He turns to look at you. “Thank you for not… giving up on me,” he whispers. “Even when I pushed you away in the beginning, when I ignored you and your coffee cups… You didn’t give up on me.”

You look into Miguel’s eyes, your heart racing due to his words. You nod gently. “Thank you for letting me in,” you whisper back.

Miguel gives you a soft smile before it fades a little. He taps one of his thighs with a finger, nervous. “You… You are…” Miguel tries. “You’re my…” He questions why it’s still so hard. The words are right there, right on the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out loud. “You’re my best…”

Your lips part as you hear his words. A few hours ago he almost said them in his sleep and now he’s trying again. Still, you remind yourself to be calm and collected. It’s a start and Miguel has opened so much over the last hours. Much more than he’s used to in such a short amount of time.

“And you’re mine, too,” you say gently, sincerely.

Miguel smiles warmly at that. He nods. “… Friend.”

You smile back and chuckle softly. “You’re my…” you start and then pause because maybe Miguel isn’t ready to hear you say it either, the way he’s not able to say it himself.

Miguel stares at you, watching as you’re about to say it but stopping. He takes a deep breath. He wants to say it. He needs to say it. And he wants to be the first to do so.

You smile at him. “We’ll get there,” you say softly, knowing that one day it will happen.

“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life,” Miguel tells you, holding your gaze. “It made me believe that my life was meant to be lived alone. It’s also made me believe that letting anyone close will end in something happening to them. That I’ll lose them, too.” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear this, at the fact that Miguel believes such a thing but it makes sense why he hasn’t let anyone in for so long. Suddenly, you realize. Is this why he’s found it hard to admit that you’re friends? That you mean something to him?

“It’s why I haven’t been able to say that you and me… What we are,” Miguel continues. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I’ve believed it. For a long time.”

You nod slowly, feeling overwhelmed by this revelation.

“What you said earlier, about living my life the way my loved ones would - it stuck with me. You’re right,” Miguel says nodding. He gives you a determined look. “They would probably tell me, Gabriel specifically, that my belief is foolish. And I think, neither Gabriel nor Gabriella would hesitate to say it, so…” Miguel trails off, finding the motivation from his loved ones to banish his belief once and for all.

“You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready. In due time, Miguel, really. Please take your time,” you say but not even a second later, Miguel speaks.

“You’re my best friend,” Miguel says gently, with a light pink growing on his cheeks.

Your eyes widen a little. You weren’t actually expecting him to say it today and with such ease. You blink several times, feeling flustered all of a sudden for a few seconds before a smile forms on your lips slowly. You hum softly and nod at him, feeling not only proud of him, but something else that stirs within your chest.

“Thank you,” you say softly, still smiling. “You’re my best friend, too.”

Miguel, whose heart has been racing since he spoke those once impossible words, smiles back at you. And for the first time, Miguel’s smile isn’t a small one like all his previous ones. It’s a real, real smile and it’s beautiful, just like you’ve always imagined it.

Miguel and you stare at each other, smiling. Your breakfast seems to have been forgotten for the time being until the silence is disrupted.

“More friends are approaching quickly. On your left,” Lyla says, appearing between Miguel and you to warn you before she disappears again.

“What?” Both Miguel and you say before you sense it, or rather them.

“Hey, there they are! Right where Gwen said they’d be at,” someone says. Hobie.

“Why were you doubting me? I told you they’d be there.” Gwen.

“Ay, tio! Y/N!” Miles says coming into view with everyone else in tow.

Miguel and you glance at each other before turning, only to find part of the spiderlings, who land on the rooftop within seconds, here now.

“Shouldn’t you guys be in school?” you ask with a little frown as it’s Friday morning.

“Yeah, why are you guys not in school?” Miguel asks with a frown of his own, a hint of his parental instinct coming to the surface.

“We still have some minutes,” Miles says with a shrug, smiling.

“Plus, we can easily just sneak into the building,” Pav says.

“Hobie,” you say.

“What of it? I already told them to go, but I’m not about to force them. Gotta encourage free thinking, you know?” he replies sitting next to you, giving you his signature smile.

You shake your head slightly, amused. Somewhere, you can sense the other spiderlings behind you.

“You guys interrupted a moment, you know?” Lyla says, sounding like she’s lightly scolding them.

“What moment?” Gwen asks.

“They finally admitted they’re best friends,” Lyla replies.

“Oh,” Miles replies.

“Wait, really?” Margo says.

“I could’ve sworn we all knew that already,” Gwen adds.

“I thought everybody knew that?” Pav asks, confused.

Miguel and you freeze as you look at each other, hearing everyone’s responses simultaneously. Next to you, you swear Hobie holds back from laughing, most likely for your sake, because you hear him snort. You silently decide that you’ll most definitely be talking with him later because this is the first time you’re hearing your friends admit this little piece of information.

Looking at Miguel, you can see his cheeks grow more pink. You grin at him, trying to hold back from chuckling but failing. Miguel shakes his head in amusement before chuckling lowly as well. The two of you continue to eat your breakfast as Gwen passes out bagels to everyone and soon after, everyone else joins. Peter B. with Mayday, Noir, Peni, and Spider-Ham all travel to Gwen’s universe.

“Hey, guys,” Peter B. says coming from behind, giving you and Miguel a pat on the back.

“Peter,” Miguel simply says as a greeting.

“Good morning,” you tell Peter who grins at you before he kneels between Hobie and you.

“What’s this I hear about someone finally realizing something very important?” he asks, causing Hobie to chuckle.

“Peter,” Miguel says again but this time more firmly and with a frown.

“I was talking about how -” Peter pauses, looking for something to say. “Hobie discovered he does like consistency in his bagels,” Peter finishes.

“No, I don’t,” Hobie interjects.

Miguel glares at Peter. “Right.”

“We talk later,” Peter says to you before he stands up to retrieve his bagel.

With a smile, you continue to eat yours while your friends chat all around you. Miguel and you simply stare at the skyline in silence as you eat.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, suddenly wondering if he doesn’t mind being around too much people this early after the night he had but Miguel nods.

“It’s… More than okay,” he replies honestly, staring at the tall buildings. “It hasn’t been a lonely morning.”

You nod slowly, understanding what he’s saying. His mornings after nightmares are usually spent alone until he gets to HQ.

“The chaos is nice,” he adds, looking at you now. He gives you a soft smirk.

“It is nice,” you reply, agreeing.

Miguel nods and looks at the sky, at the sun rising. It really is nice. And it feels new.

“I was thinking… Could you help me with something?” Miguel asks quietly.

You finish taking a drink from your coffee and nod. “Of course, what is it?”

Miguel turns to look at you. The spider gang is behind the two of you arguing about whose bagel is the best and Miguel wonders why they’re arguing about that when most of them should head to school. “I was thinking that the penthouse has been the same for many, many years. Decoration wise,” he starts. “I don’t really have the best experience with it. My mom and Gabriel were the ones that decorated it to begin with, actually, but I think it’s time for a little change.”

You smile. “And you would like for me to…”

“Help me make good decoration decisions. Your apartment - I really like it,” Miguel admits. “It always feels so warm and welcoming. Maybe you can give me some hints to make the place like that…”

“I’d be more than happy to.”

“Really?” Miguel says, for some reason sounding surprised.

“Really! When we get home, you can tell me what you’d like and we can make a mood board. Does that sound good?”

Miguel freezes for a moment.

‘When we get home...’

“Yes, that’s - that sounds great,” Miguel replies at last, nodding. He takes a sip of coffee, trying to ignore his thoughts on your words and instead focusing on the changes he’d like to make around the penthouse. One of his favorite parts of your apartment is your wall with photographs, something he lacks in his own home, but with this upcoming redecorating, Miguel thinks about how he’d like to have pictures of Gabriella and Gabriel around the place. He glances subtly at you. There’s also a lot of photos of you and him. He’d like to add those, too. Miguel stores the idea for later, for when the two of you get back to the penthouse, back home, and talk about it. For now, he focuses on the sounds of the city and your friends, who are still going on about the bagels.

He’s tempted to tell them you and him have the best ones just to fuel them but he decides against it, and just listens to them, enjoying the light bickering.

You eventually head to HQ to work. It’s an easy Friday with no missions involving anomalies. Just like you told yourself earlier, you stay near Miguel for the rest of the day, something he notices. You spend the day with him in the lab, working on your own things and talk occasionally. Of course, Lyla joins in on the conversations.

It’s no surprise that by four in the afternoon, the two of you are sluggish from the night you’ve had. Miguel looks at the time. You’ve both had coffee and food but the lack of sleep is definitely hitting the two of you at this point in the day and with one simple request to Lyla, Miguel learns that you slept far less than you made it seem this morning. He makes the decision then, to leave HQ earlier than he has in a long time.

“I’m almost done organizing this,” you tell him as you organize a drawer, your face showing your exhaustion. It tells Miguel the two of you definitely need to go now.

“That can wait for Monday.”

“I can come with you tomorrow.”

“Monday. Let’s go. I’m going to cook something that you’ll really like, I think,” he says, nodding to the lab’s door.

And so, upon reaching the penthouse, Miguel tells you to go and get comfortable. To go rest for a bit while he cooks but you end up changing into lounge clothes and joining him. You play music from his record player while he cooks some chilaquiles, a traditional Mexican dish, and one that never fails to cheer Miguel up.

After dinner, and a shower for Miguel, the two of you find yourselves in the living room again. With your tablet in hand, you start creating a mood board for Miguel’s place as he tells you about his ideas. The two of you sit on the floor once again, close to each other, so you can show him your screen and what you’re putting together for him. And while you work on that, the telenovela from the previous night, plays in the background.

--- Translations: telenovela - Latin TV soap opera Ave María Purísima - Hail Mary Most Pure, conceived without sin; Palmarian greeting Perdóname - Forgive me Hija - Daughter por favor - Please Lo siento mucho, mija - I'm so sorry, my daughter ternura - endearment, tenderness canelita - hot cinnamon tea pan dulce - sweet Mexican bread garibaldis - a kind of pan dulce Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead café de olla - coffee made in a pot (really craving this right now; running on three hours of sleep lol) Vamos - Let's go/ Come on tio - uncle chilaquiles - traditional Mexican dish, usually served for breakfast but it can be eaten for any meal of the day; consists of fried corn tortillas cut into quarters drizzled with a sauce and fresh cheese and accompanied with other sides like fried eggs and beans; my favorite dish; the way to my heart after tacos de asada --- Hi, guys!! I hope you're all doing well :) I'm sorry for how long it took me to update. I blinked and February just went by?? It's crazy 😭 it's already March! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter despite the sad bits. I really wanted Miguel to talk about his past and Gabriella, to take another step for him to heal. 🥺 I also took some liberty around the canon theory. I genuinely don't believe in it or that Miguel being in Gabriella's universe was the cause for the collapse. Maybe I'm wrong but it really doesn't make sense to me, so I decided to go this route. I feel like the real cause is going to be so obvious, and probably preventable in the end since the Society has been successful in saving some universes already but that's just my humble opinion! I want to give some shoutouts and credit now! @gxdoesstuff suggested (a while back) the idea of Miguel having a scarf in the lab with reader's scent to comfort him when he's stressed out! I've been waiting to include it since the New Year's one-shot and finally incorporated it!! It was so cute to think about and I loved the little interactions that came from it!! Thank you!! Also, shoutout to @desb3ar for the idea on Miguel putting a pillow inside reader's sweatshirt based on this post she made!! I've been thinking about this for months and wanted to include it and have reader see it, so I had to be patient for this part of the story🤭 Thank you, Des!! Just thinking about how Miguel probably imagines hugging reader! (I'm okay, not 😭) Also, shoutout to my friend @faretheeoscar - the garibaldis and chilaquiles mention was for you! I'm really craving both now tbh 😩 and to have Miguel make chilaquiles? Sign me up, ASAP!!! Can we just talk about how many steps Miguel took here? He admitted they're BEST FRIENDS!!! I'm so proud of Miguel for real!! 😭 And the way they're now watching a telenovela and going to redecorate his place! Fanservice... for me🧍🏻‍♀️... For anyone curious, the telenovela I was talking about is called Destilando Amor. I started rewatching it just for this chapter and then I just kept going lol, it had me giggling and everything! They really don't make them like they used to 😔 Anyway, I had little sleep so I think I'm rambling now. Went to sleep at 4am and woke up at 8 to finish this, but I'm so so happy to update!! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! Thank you for reading, and I hope March is treating you well so far!!! 😊❤️ -Alondra tag list: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi

@loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner@geminis93 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii

[lafemmemacabre]

I don't want to take away from the very important and much more urgent point in that post about why Evangelical US missionaries go to countries like Brazil despite the very obvious prevalence of Christianity there (Cristo Redentor and all), that these white supremacist Evangelical missionaries are obsessed with converting Indigenous communities and Black communities that practice African or African-descent spirituality the most. Again, that's the truly urgent part of it and so I'm saying this here and not in the post itself, BUT...

They also target Catholics. Especially people who're Catholic and very poor or otherwise vulnerable.

In general South America is mainly Catholic as far as Christianity goes (at least the cultures that were colonized by Spain, France and Portugal are, which are the vast majority of us), and Evangelicals, Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses are very anti-Catholic.

I wouldn't give a damn about it because I don't exactly love Catholicism as either a faith or in a political sense. I think the church is a monster, the faith is misanthropic, etc etc. EXCEPT...

Like I mentioned, most of the Catholics in South America who're targeted by these missionaries are very poor ones, often luring them in with prosperity gospel bullshit promises as well as in general entangling them with their cult-like tactics (thought-terminating clichés, love-bombing then withdrawal/threats of withdrawal of community, etc).

I see it in urban Chile all the time; you will rarely, if ever, see a Protestant church of any sort in wealthy areas, and if you see one it'll be a "normal" one like Lutherans. However, in poor areas? Every-fucking-where.

The advancement of Evangelicalism in South America is tightly linked to the advancement of reactionary conservative politics. They're becoming a voting block like they are in the US; nowhere near YET as big as they are in the US thank GOD, but they're there and they're radicalizing vulnerable people continuously and that's something local leftists are worried about, especially because at least here we actually have a history of important communist developments FROM the Catholic church, especially with communist Catholic priests (and that is absolutely part of why local Evangelicals dislike local Catholics).

[rorschachisgay]

i wish there was some nuance between "everyone has to love the word queer" and "if you don't like it you are a terf automatically". because the reality is i don't identify with the word queer and i never have. as a kid i was aware of it as a slur and as a teenager i started to understand it in an academic concept first (as in Queer Theory) but i didn't identify with it because in my mind it was like, a clinical, academic word. and then later as i got older it became an increasingly prevalent point of conflict around me.

im not arguing that terfs dont dislike queer as a group term, though speaking from a british perspective the majority of them here are very focused on removing the T from LGBT over arguing about queer as a term at all, so it doesnt really feel like a particularly important form of conflict over what is a very targeted erasure of trans identity Specifically.

and thats kind of partially why i struggle to identify with the term Queer. it is not specific. it does not describe or capture my identity. lately i have found much more identity in words like fag, faggot, transexual, which do relate directly to my specific identities and have a very long history in the community. and additionally, won't get fuckin sold back to me by coke.

like that's really all Queer feels like to me now, something that has now been packaged up as an easily marketable buzzword to be printed on t-shirts at Primark or used meaninglessly by Disney to pretend they care. it does not refer to the aspects of my identity that matter to me, it's not something that i ever claimed for myself, and now i am continually getting told that if i don't identify with it im bigoted against myself and my siblings.

"queer was reclaimed by everyone, it was reclaimed in the 80s". i actually don't feel like someone else gets to decide this for me? im not going to lie and pretend it was never used as part of the campaign for equality for decades and decades, it obviously has a crucial place in history, but now in popular culture it has become like. ubiquitous.

like ive said before i think words like fag and dyke can be used in a way that reflects our communal family and is a sign of camaraderie and that's also true of queer, but with those words it's extremely understandable when someone isn't comfortable with them and when someone doesn't want to identify with queer it's treated as a sign they're in the wrong.

idk this is so far from being a crucial issue it's barely worth talking about but i just really struggle with being told that i am in the wrong because i have my own complicated feelings about a word with a complicated history. in the grand scheme of things it's NOT that important but it does grate on my nerves to be told that theres zero room for any kind of debate or alternate opinion in this. like i just wish we didn't have to be so black and white as if the issue has no grey area or room for personal expression at all.

[likedovesinthewindd]

enemies to lovers with farleigh!!! he claims to dislike you but whenever he sees you with other guys at parties or wherever else he comes around and says something to scare them off :p <3

i love your writing sm btw!!!!!!! 💋

thank you sooo much, lovie!!! I changed this up just a little bit. I hope you don't mind. (fem!reader) | wc: ±1450

a/n: he's so fine omg...

You felt like you were at your wits' end when it came to dating. Things would always start out nicely; you and the potential suitor would click, and then somewhere along the line, they'd just ghost you, stop all communication and pretend that they didn't know you at all.

It started to feel like the universe's way of punishing you. For what, you wouldn't know.

You looked over to where Anabel's eyes had been. He had been eyeing you, and he wasn't bad-looking at all. You spared him a shy smile, downing the last of your drink and gaining an extra bit of liquid courage before making your way over to the stranger.

"He hasn't called me back," you frowned, the clicking of your phone's buttons heard faintly over the music playing. You snapped it closed, shoving it back into your purse as you sank a little further into the couch.

"Screw him, honestly," your friend Anabel said, bringing her cup to her lips as her eyes scanned over the crowd. Her eyes lit up before she spared you a look. "Guy in the ugly sweater over there's been eyeing you," she said with a smirk. You shook your head, taking a sip of your own drink. "C'mon, forget about whatshisname. This one's cuter, anyway."

The conversation went well. It didn't feel too awkward and forced, and the guy, James, you learned, was quite funny and interesting. You excused yourself briefly to use the bathroom, urging him to wait for you, which he agreed to, but when you came back, he was nowhere to be found. You searched around the crowded house, just to find James with another girl, obviously very interested in her judging by the way he was currently eating at her face.

You had no reason to really feel angry. The two of you were not even really friends, but you'd be lying if you said you haven't been interested in seeing him again. You made your way to the kitchen to try your luck at finding another beer when you saw Felix at the punch bowl you had been avoiding all night, helping himself to a serving full to the brim. His eyes lit up when he saw you, a smile stretching across his face so wide that it made his eyes almost close completely.

Your smile mimicked his, extending your arms to give him a quick hug. Despite how badly things between you and Farleigh turned out, you were happy to still have Felix as a friend. "How've you been, mate? God, I haven't seen you in how long," he guffawed, eyes peering over his cup as he took a sip of his drink.

"I've been good, just...y'know," you shrugged, resting your back against the fridge. "What?" he asked, silently inquiring you to continue. A part of you was reluctant to tell Felix of all people about your failing love life, a fear in the back of your mind that he might tell Farleigh about it and the two of them will have a laugh at your misery. But you knew you could trust Felix, so you decided to come clean.

"Every guy I'm interested in ghosts me," you said with a small laugh, your shoulders slumping. "I'm beginning to think I'm just an unbearable person to be around."

"Nonsense," Felix deadpanned. "I think it has more to do with more to do with the fact that you've been branded," he said with a laugh, taking another gulp of his drink. "What do you mean?" you asked, watching his smile falter at your question. "You don't..?" he watched the confusion form on your face before clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Farleigh, he," he started, "he was this habit of 'warning' people about you." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "He scares people off when he sees them with you. It's his way of keeping you available, I guess."

Your blood was boiling. Breath coming in at short intervals as you tried to calm yourself down, but to no avail. "I kinda thought you knew he did that," Felix said softly. You only nodded, leaving him in the kitchen as you made your way outside to get some fresh air. Once the cold air bit at your skin, you calmed down substantially. You reached in your jacket's pocket for your cigarette, taking one out and searching through your clothes' pockets for your lighter, frustration deepening the harder you searched.

A hand appears in your peripheral, and you gratefully took the offered lighter with a grunted thanks before lighting your cigarette. When you go to give it back, you feel like rather throwing the lighter at Farleigh's stupidly smug face.

"Long timenosee, hm?" he smiled. "You really have a fucking nerve," you stated, pulling the burning cigarette from between your lips. "What gives you the right?" you continued, not giving him a chance to respond, "telling people to stay away from me?"

He huffed out a small, humorless laugh before rubbing the back of his thumb across his bottom lip. "Who told you that?" he tried, and now it was your turn to laugh. "It doesn't matter. Please leave me alone," you said, making your way back inside only to be stopped by Farleigh's grip on your upper arm. "Farleigh," you warned. "C'mon, don't be like that," he tried, and you scoffed. "Like what? Why do you even care who I talk to?"

"I want you back," he said, looking down at you. You allowed yourself your first good look at him, and that's when you noticed his droopy, slightly glassy eyes and blown out pupils. "You're drunk," you said softly, to which he shook his head vehemently. "So what? I'm not saying this because I'm drunk, I'm saying it because it's true," he reassoned. The cigarette hung loosely from your finger, dead by now in your grasp.

"Why do I think I'd care?" he quipped, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his tone. "I don't know. It wasn't like you were the one who ended things in the first place," you quipped back. "And what of I told you I regret that?" he asked softly.

"I'd tell you I don't care," you said, loosening his grip on you, only for him to grap your hand. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"I wanna make it up to you," he whispered, "wanna treat you right this time," his thumb rubbing across the top of your hand that was still in his grasp.

"Why couldn't you do it right the last time?" you whispered, peering at him. "I was a dick. I dunno—" he slightly slurred. "Farleigh..."

"No, I really wanna make it work this time, please. I miss you." The slight whine in his voice made your heart ache with longing, remembering all the good times the two of you used to have. You missed Farleigh, that much was hard to admit to yourself in the first place. But you didn't know if you were willing to take that risk again, if Farleigh was really truthful about what he was saying.

"I'm serious," he half-slurred, trying his very best to act sober. "Please, I've been miserable without you." You chewed at the inside of your mouth, the alcohol leaving a funny frank taste in your mouth. You'd be lying if you said you weren't also miserable without him, but a part of you was still hurting and a bit petty. He looked like a kicked dog, crawling back to you after biting you, waiting and begging for forgiveness. His once sharp and expressive brown eyes now darkened with sorrow and his head hanging low, tail between his legs. The facade he had been putting up these few months had finally fallen, and you got to see how much the split truly affected him.

"You said you weren't ready to commit," you said. "I lied. I was scared to commit. It was getting too real, and I didn't know how to handle it." You looked down at your shoes, the chrome tips of your heels shining in the yellow porch light. You looked up at Farleigh, the same sorrow look on his face that still made your heart clench.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" you asked, his confession a little too much for your tipsy brain to handle right now. He looked as though he wanted to argue no, but he shook his head in agreement, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, before lighting one. "We'll talk about it tomorrow then," he said as a cloud of smoke left his mouth simultaneously.

You gave him a small smile, the warmth in your cheeks spreading across your face when you saw him mirror your smile. You took his face in hand, lanky body still slightly hunched over, and placed a kiss on his cheek, the drugstore lipstick leaving its dark maroon mark behind. You stroked your thumb across it gently, careful not to smush the shape before letting go of his face. "Now I've branded you," you added with a smile before making your way back inside.

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hello! First of all, thank you for this blog. I’ve read some of the asks you’ve answered so far and they’ve been incredibly fun and to go through and very useful <3

The problem I have is very… specific. But I figured why not share it here, you know?

A few months ago, I started leaving rants and analyses in one of my favorite AO3 writer’s tumblr ask box, regarding their fics. That kind of evolved and long story short, they’ve been following my tumblr blog for a while.

Now this obviously makes me incredibly happy. They’re not exactly popular in the whole wide fandom, per se, but they’ve kind of created a smaller fandom within the original fandom through their fics and art (which are mostly AU longfics, and art for said AUs), so this basically feels like being tumblr mutuals with someone like Neil Gaiman to me.

The problem arises in the fact that I feel like I’m being watched now. This person I look up to follows my tumblr, and knows my AO3 handle, and I have only posted a single fic so far, but I have so many other fics I want to write, and I’m always so anxious to write because I keep thinking “When I post this, are they going to see it? Read it, maybe? Are they gonna hate it? Are they gonna unfollow me because they don’t like my characterization or writing?” and I keep trying to reason with myself that part of the reason I look up to them so much is that they promote a “No judgement” policy, and part of the reason they followed me is because they liked my analysis of their work, but now I’m realizing that… I want them to read my fics. And I want them to like them and maybe I want us to be friends and not just mutuals, and I want us to freak out about each other’s fics, you know?

That is worsened by the fact that… My tumblr account is fairly new. And I have a total of 3 followers including said fanfic writer, so I feel the pressure to post fics in order to grow my tumblr circle and build a community, but that directly clashes with my desire to write something absolutely perfect so they’ll like it, which then both clash with what makes writing fic enjoyable, AKA doing it for myself and writing what I want to and how I want to.

I’m aware that I can’t control what another person likes, dislikes, or does. And that I have all the time in the world to write the fics I want and those that will make me happy without regarding what other people might think. But also… fandom are communities. And I want my tumblr and AO3 to be places where I can talk about my fics with people who like them, so that desire to grow my account as soon as I can is very strong simply because I have no one else to talk to. I don’t want to talk to the void and post rants that no one will see (except… y’know, maybe my favorite fanfic writer, which is a whole other level of pressure) about fics that don’t exist yet. Another part of this is the fact that, unless I get fics out, I’m relying on the fanfic writer liking my ideas and interacting to build a community.

As much as I try to convince myself to just write without care and to stop trying to control what this person does because that is completely out of my control and kind of dehumanizing on their behalf, the anxiety doesn’t subside. I don’t know what to do.

This ask was a bit of a journey for me, anon, and it took a little bit of untangling to see where you were going with it. I think this might be the central issue you're facing though:

I want my tumblr and AO3 to be places where I can talk about my fics with people who like them ... because I have no one else to talk to. I don’t want to talk to the void and post rants that no one will see ... about fics that don’t exist yet.

You're looking for fandom friends, and you're at the start of that journey - and I think you're doing well already by reaching out to an author you like and sending them asks about their work. Being willing to reach out and talk to people is an amazing quality, anon, and I encourage you to keep doing that. Follow more people who post things that you're interested in. Drop asks in their inbox and start a conversation.

The other half of that is giving other people and opportunity to reach out to you. You can do this by posting your thoughts about the canon your fandom is tied to. You can see a ton of examples here on tumblr where folks discuss a particular moment or scene that meant something to them.

You can also reblog asks memes, like the AO3 wrapped ones I reblogged the other day. Sometimes I see people just answer all of the questions in their own reblog, but if you want people to have an opening, just leave your ask box open and see what comes through.

If you want to talk about your own work, you can post something for WIP Wednesday or Six Sentence Sunday - or just post a scene that you've been working on and ask what people think.

Everyone starts off with a handful of followers, anon. You won't dive into a lively community overnight. You also don't have to create tons of popular fics in order to make one. Join a community that already exists. Find the people you vibe with within it. This author friend of yours might be the perfect place to start.

Even our favourite people, the ones we look up to most, are still just people when it comes down to it. If this author is as chill as you say they are, I think friendship is totally possible.

I'll open it up to the blog now. Did I read this one wrong? Do you have advice for anon? Have you been in a situation like theirs?