#but I don't need a major cliffhanger at all

[earl-grey-crow]

okay lads what did we think of that

[ao3commentoftheday]

Idk if this is too broad of a scope for this blog, but if you could answer this, it'd be great.

I've been in a writing rut since I started getting serious about writing, and I've identified the issue in the past month or so: I slant heavily on the gardener end of the writing spectrum and all the advice on writing I've ever seen was for architect-style writing. Not once in the eight years I've been serious about writing did I find any guides on gardener-style writing (and if it says it's gardener-style, it'sreally just architect-style with gardner aspects), and my experience has just been more or less jamming a square peg into a circle hole, getting nothing written and feeling bad about it.

Now I'm unlearning all the architect-style habits that are destructive to me as a writer, but I can't find any resources for gardeners aside from Stephen King's On Writing. If you or any of your followers know how to help a gardener's writing, that would be great. I have so many fic ideas I want to write, but can't since I'm learning to write all over again.

For those who don't know what gardener and architect refer to when it comes to writers, a gardener is a writer who starts with the seed of an idea and lets it grow in whatever direction the light shines. They prune it and weed it as they go but otherwise let the idea lead the way. An architect, on the other hand, plans their stories out first and then writes them. They have a structure and the details all mapped out first and then the writing is just executing on that vision.

As a gardener myself, my biggest piece of advice is to avoid writing advice. Like you've said, the majority of it is aimed at people who do things like plan and plot and worldbuild ahead of time. Because of the structure that that writing style enjoys, providing "one size fits most" writing advice works well for it.

I tend to find a lot of that advice to be counter to what I need to do. Planning a story out ahead just makes me feel like it's already written. Building out the world before I start writing it feels like a hollow exercise - more like writing an encyclopedia than developing a land and culture for my characters to inhabit.

What I find useful is taking an episodic approach to writing. The entire story will be like a season of a television show and each chapter is like one episode. I always have my eventual "season finale" end goal in mind, but any particular chapter can meander closer to or further from that goal. It's alright to take a circuitous route, as long as I get to my destination in the end.

It's also alright if my destination changes as I'm writing. Sometimes those meandering paths take me in a more interesting direction than I was originally going down, and that shifts the story. As long as you're vaguely following a three-act structure (or 5 act or 7 act), the flow of it will feel familiar to your readers and they probably won't really notice it happening.

This advice I'm giving might not ring true to you either. You didn't have a specific problem to address, so I've been wandering a bit in my reply. Really what it comes down to is paying attention to yourself and your needs. Figure out what it is that keeps you writing and what it is that makes you stop. Do more of the former and less of the latter - and don't worry if what you're doing is "weird" to someone else.

I write directly into the AO3 window (which AO3 specifically tells you NOT to do, btw) because drafting first in google docs or something takes the fun out of it for me. I post my chapters without previewing them first. I write in 800 to 1500 word sprints, and I focus on dialogue, and I almost always try to end on a joke or a pun or a cliffhanger. These are all things that make writing an activity that I want to do.

I can't really say anything much more specific given your ask, but I hope something in here was helpful. Let's see if any gardeners out there have some resources or advice that might work for you.

[hydemenot]

OFF LIMITS - mattheo r. | part. 1

➠ It's the 1960s and Hogwarts Academy has finally opened its doors for female students. Transferring from Beauxbatons, you're finally going into the same school as your brother, Theodore Nott, and he's made it very clear to you that the two of you aren't siblings inside Hogwarts — that's until you got yourself in trouble, harboring several injuries where Theo had stubbornly insisted on taking care of you himself and accidentally meeting his dorm mate. INSPIRED BY MIXTE 1963

w: there are italian and french words that i googled so if the translations are off, sorry italian and french readers (if i have them), nonmagic au, siblings angst bc yes, cliffhanger and unedited.

📚: PART 1 | PART 2 | PART XX

"And remember, Gioia(joy), don't get into unnecessary trouble for you and your brother's sake, okay? Understand me?"

Your mother's words suddenly echoed from your brain to your ear as you felt your back hit the hard pavement of the castle. Your bag was tussled to the ground and left with the things inside sprawled against the muddy grass, leaving you with nothing but your arms to defend yourself. In all fairness, you never thought you'd have to defend yourself in the first place. No one warned you English (or are they French?) boys knew no bounds of who can they meet fists with.

"You think it's funny to embarrass me, huh?" Descamps, or whatever his name was, backed you into a corner. His and his goon's faces were etched with anger. You couldn't blame them, really. If someone were to call you a toothpick with left over tar after publicly bullying another student by the new girl, you'd probably be pissed too; heavy on the probably though, because you're never one to bully anyone like that asshole.

"If you only knew how to keep your mouth shut this wouldn't be happening." You retorted back in the same confidence you had inside the classroom.

You could see the vein popping from the boy's forehead and without even giving you time to react, his knuckles met your jaw. The impact causing you to hit the wall again except ten times harder and on your head. The dress your mother painfully had to put on you was dirtied in a matter of seconds as you fell into the ground.

Descamps laughed at the sight of you. "You should've kept your mouth shut, you connesse(cunt)!" Ah, so they are french.

A few more kicks to your stomach, and nasty words of encouragement from Descamps' friends, they finally left when the school bell rang. Lunch was over and you didn't even get a bite of your mother's sandwich — which was probably somewhere on the ground swimming on the puddles. There's no use attending your next class; you'd rather get a mark on your attendance than try to sit in the same room as the boys that beat you up.

You've always been a bit of a loud mouth, as your mother and teachers in Beauxbatons have said, and back then, it would've only caused you a few push to the shoulders and icy glares. You wondered why your parents thought it was a good idea to attend Hogwarts. The fact that your brother was against it should have been a major factor to your parents, being their golden child and all.

As your thoughts ran, you managed to sit up and lean against the wall again. The position somewhat helped lessen your headache. You need to get yourself together and head to the nurse's office before anyone sees you, hopefully patching yourself enough to excuse it as a staircase accident to your family.

The ringing in your ear didn't stop you from hearing your brother's voice calling your name.

Speak of the devil.

Theodore's hand held your head, parting ways from the cold cement, to get a closer look at you. It's only when he placed his thumb against your temple did you realize there's blood running down your face.

That's probably the cause of the headache, you thought.

His hand is pressed firmly to your cheeks, causing more pain that you're already feeling. "Can you stop that?" You snapped at him, shaking your head to forcefully remove his hold on you. The last thing you wanted to hear was Theo's voice because you knew he'll just blow your eardrums off.

"Save your scolding when we're at home; y'know, when I can at least open both eyes while you talk." Once again, your pent up anger, and probably adrenaline from the beating, caused you to raise your voice against him.

You heard him click his tongue, "You're nowhere near going home at this state. Mamma's going to have a heart attack." As soon as he finished talking, Theo suddenly carried you in his arms. His actions caused you to squirm. It's embarrassing enough to be seen in your state, let alone in the arms of your older brother.

You're not a kid anymore. You were kicked in the stomach and lived.

"Hey! mettetemi giù!(put me down)! I can walk to the nurse's office."

"The nurse is out at the moment, you'll only feel worse if you stay in the beds. I'll clean you up."

You frown, eyes half lidded from how tired you are as the adrenaline finally started subsiding. "As if. I thought we weren't supposed to know each other?" You stopped squirming but gave more effort into yelling at Theo, who looked unfazed from your words.

Theo clicked his tongue again. It's a habit he does when he's frustrated with something; that something today was you.

"You're right but then you get yourself into trouble on your first day." He said with his annoyingly matter-of-fact tone that you've always despised. "Perché papà ha accettato di trasferirti? Dio(Why did dad agree to transfer you? God)."

"Non è che io voglia stare qui, non ti ho mai chiesto di essere responsabile per me! (It's not like I want to be here, I never asked you to be responsible for me!)"

Theo faces you, his expression distorted into a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "You're my sister, you'll always be my responsibility."

As you were about to argue again, Theo slammed open a door, shutting you up. You didn't even realize you were back inside the school's building, specifically your brother's dorm. The room was darker than you thought and a lot bigger. From the door, two beds were placed on both sides of the room; you assumed the bed Theo placed you on was his which was on the left side.

"Don't move. I'll get first aid from the nurse's office. Don't answer the door unless it's me, I'll be locking the door so I'll just use my key. Understand?"

Theo reminded so much of your mother that it only made you roll your eyes, the opened one at least. "I understand." You answered shortly, not making eye contact. That seemed to be an enough answer from you once you heard the door click shut.

With a sigh, you let yourself fall on the soft mattress. The sight of the four-poster bed made you reminisce on your dorm back in your old school. You missed the privacy, the lack of family around and especially the lack of boys. As you were about to roll further into the soft mattress, wanting to feel the pillow against your head, the door opened once more. Too busy admiring the ceiling, you didn't bother looking up from your position, knowing that it's just your brother. He probably already has a speech ready for you.

"Uh, hello?" The unfamiliar voice startled you, making you sit up. You're face to face with an unknown boy and his black curly hair. Sweat ran down your forehead, internally panicking at the fact that he was definitely not Theo.

"Did Theo bring you here? and—" His eyes hardened at the sight of blood all over your dress and your face. You watch as his eyebrows furrowed, immediately sending an alarm to go off in your head that's telling you he's getting the wrong idea here. "Did that bastard do that? Why's your face all messed up?"

You shook your head immediately, instinctively hiding yourself under the covers. It looked like the boy didn't believe you, tightening his grip on the door knob he's still holding.

Despite the fact that you didn't wish to speak to another boy today, you were left with no choice but to explain yourself. "Theo didn't do this, I promise. He brought me here to patch me up because the nurse's out— don't misunderstand, please." Your voice trembled but had enough resolute for him to feel relief, seeing how he lets go of the poor door.

He remained in the middle of the room, contemplating his next move. You, on the other hand, still felt frozen on your spot in the middle of the bed, eyes on the boy. He's handsome, you'll admit, but a face like that can be owned by anyone, so you had your guard up the whole time as the awkward silence between the two of you raised. The boy finally moved and began rummaging through the closet on the opposite side.

Seeing how familiar he was to the room as he grabbed a white cloth from one of the drawers then entering the shared bathroom, it led you to the conclusion that he's Theo's roommate. He came out with a damp towel, suddenly approaching you with careful stels. You had your guard up, you swear you did, but you didn't give much of a fight once he started wiping the dried blood from your face.

Unlike Theo, his hands were gentle with you. A hand was placed under your chin, his thumb and index finger kept your head steady while his other hand, holding the towel, carefully dabbed it on an open wound, as if he was used to cleaning up injuries.

"I get into fights often so don't worry, you're in good hands." Your eyes are ever so slightly widened. "I can practically hear what you're thinking with that look on your face." He chuckled, his voice deep and calm, it almost made you blush — both in embarrassment for being an open book and his voice.

You see him turning the towel around to wipe another spot on your face. "If Theo wanted to patch you up, he should've cleaned you up before leaving." He mused.

"He's really not one to take care of people often." You suddenly quipped, one eye closed as the towel ran circles on the dried up blood.

Your words made him chuckle again, bringing back the boyish smile that he had. "You can say that again," He replied, "how long have you known him?"

"All my life, I guess? Unfortunately." You started to feel comfortable with the boy's presence, a surge of confidence once again going through your chest. "What's your name?"

"You've known Theo all your life but you've never heard of me? That hurts," You looked at him as he placed the hand that was holding your head to his chest, his expression in mock-hurt, making you both laugh.

The moment was cut short when the door squeaked open again, your brother finally arriving with the first aid. His roommate didn't bother stopping, not even turning around to see the angered expression on Theo's face. It's only when he was grabbed by the collar, his warm hands leaving your face, did he stop.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mattheo?"

You take note of his name. Mattheo somehow fitted the boy very much.

Mattheo held his hands in the air, like a criminal to a policeman, with a smirk on his face. "I'm just cleaning her up, man. You shouldn't have left your girl here— the other guys also have a key to our dorm if you didn't know."

Your girl? Your face scrunched up, so did your brother's, at Mattheo's words. "She's not my girl, you bird brain, that's my sister." Theo finally released him and made his way to you, leaving Mattheo on his own.

"Never refer to me as that again, please, for the sake of my breakfast." You held a hand to your mouth. Mattheo's eyes widened at the information and if your vision wasn't so blurry, you would've thought you saw his face brighten up. Theo began to put some ointments on the open wounds on your knees using a cotton swab. You felt the other side of the mattress dip and saw Mattheo sitting across from the two of you.

He smiled at you, completely ignoring the fiery glare from Theo. "So, what school did you go to before Hogwarts?

"That's none of your business—"

"I was in Beauxbatons." You looked back at Theo with the same glare he had as you cut him off. He scoffed at your actions but proceeded to place bandages on your legs.

"Oh, Alors tu as l'habitude de parler français, non?(Then you're quite used to speaking french right?)" You nodded in amusement, finding the prominent english accent through his french words a bit... adorable?

You felt your face reddening at your own thoughts. "Oui, bien sûr(Yes, of course)."

Too enamored by Mattheo, Theo had to accidentally press one of the bruises too hard to bring your attention back to him. He doesn't want to hear anymore french conversations between the two of you. "Are there any other wounds?" Theo asked, feigning ignorance of what he just did.

As if on cue, the formed bruises on your stomach ached, making you groan in pain. Both boys caught this immediately, rushing to aid you.

"Just some on the stomach." You mumbled as Mattheo gently laid you down on the bed. Your answer made them both freeze. They looked hesitant and you're not surprised. You knew Theo won't be able to help you with this, let alone Mattheo. "I told you I should've went to the nurse's office." You said to Theo.

"Why didn't you bring her there anyway?" Mattheo questioned your brother, who still had the same frustration evident on his face.

Theo sighed, "I don't trust that the boys that did this to you won't come back and look for you." You fell silent at this. There was no way those French assholes wouldn't, now that you thought of it. "And by being here, I won't be questioned by others on why I went to the nurse's office."

Mattheo's mind seemed to be elsewhere when he placed a gentle hand on your back. "Who did this to you, anyway?" He was the first to ask and it looked like Theo realized it too. You frowned, wiping a frustrated hand over your face. Deep down, your pride didn't want to let Theo know. You don't want to cower behind your older brother like you always do. But it's different now. The two of you went to the same school and you had no plans on going back—you wanted to get your revenge.

You glanced at Mattheo whose eyes remained on you.

And maybe you wanted to stay for another reason too.

With a sigh, you finally spoke. "It was a boy in my class. Descamps was his last name, I think." You fully turned to Mattheo and to your surprise, he immediately moved his head back and faced Theo. It made you chuckle at how red Mattheo's ear looked but you kept that observation to yourself.

You saw the way two of them made eye contact as if they were telepathically communicating.

Looks like they got dibs on Descamps before you do.

[allysunny]

Shadows to Stars | Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Synopsys: One night, your seemingly perfect life with your boyfriend Miguel crumbles before your very eyes. It is then you must make a decision that will change the course of your life forever - as well as the course of the life growing inside of you.

Words: 12k

Warnings: Angst, violence, mentions of death and abortion, pregnancy, Miguel is scary and a bitch. Spanish translations will be at the end. Do tell if I forgot something!

A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the super long oneshot I promised you all I would deliver! Since in both polls I made, the majority of y'all voted for one post, I'm posting this as one big drabble. Honestly, it kind of transformed as I was writing it, and I got carried away. Beware, Miguel is a monster in here, he is NOT a good person and I do not condone his actions in this work.

Also, quick aside, I'm using my own experience with toddlers and kids (namely my little sister) to shape some of the dialogue. Kids are very smart, and oftentimes we don't give them enough credit. I tried to keep this realistic!

The song mentioned is Querida by Juan Gabriel - I suggest listening to it!

Enjoy! :)

“This is such bullshit.” Was the first thought that crossed your mind. That’s not how gravity worked. The impossible stunt performed by the actor in the TV left you unimpressed, and you scolded yourself mentally for it. You sound exactly like him. Just enjoy the movie, will you?

You shake your head with a sigh, focusing on the screen in front of you. You’d been meaning to watch this one for a while, all your friends said it was simply the best of the saga just yet. “I can’t believe they’re making another one, just let the saga die!” You replied, but your best friend Miranda was quick to disagree. “How could they, after ending the last one in such a cliffhanger?” She was defending the movie as if her life depended on it. “Besides, Com Truise looks really hot in this one, he’s aging like fine wine”.

So here you were, trying to figure out how the hell Wethan Runt was gonna get himself out of this situation. This was the… Sixth? Seventh? Seventh Improbable Endeavor movie so far, and you wondered why they couldn’t just let the series die. It was simply too much at this point, a way to milk a famous franchise in order to earn money.

“Mommy?” A small, tremulous voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked at where it came from.

A small child looked at you from behind the living room door, his hand tightly clutching a teddy bear. Your son had just turned 4 and was the most precious thing the world had ever blessed you with. With soft brown curls and [e/c] eyes, he looked like a little cherubin, all chubby cheeks and dimpled smiles. You adored him.

“Yes, baby? What’s wrong?” You asked, furrowing a brow. However, there was no need for a reply. You knew what the answer was already. “Another one?”

Gabriel nodded softly, tears forming in his eyes, and fear turning in his tummy.

“The same?”

He nodded again, the tears now rolling down his round cheeks. The sight of your pouting son broke your heart. For a few months now he had been plagued with the same nightmare repeatedly: A brightly coloured spider sinking its teeth onto him, proceeding to devour him whole right after. It wasn’t a pleasant dream, and unfortunately, it felt too familiar. Not to you, but perhaps to someone who once used to be close.

“Oh honey…” Your voice was soft, as it usually was with Gabriel. You knew nothing else when you were with him. “I’m so sorry… C’mere baby, do you want to sleep near mommy tonight?”

Gabriel shook his head “yes” softly, a small breath leaving his mouth. He was glad you’d asked him that. He didn’t want to look like a baby, not in front of his mom. Not when she told him he was her brave boy all the time. He had to be a brave boy for his mama.

“Mama…” He breathed out, tears pooling at his feet. “Mama I’m sorry…”

“Honey?” Now you were worried. He looked so scared; your precious baby looked so scared. “Honey, c’mere…”

“I can’t…” He whispered, shaking his little head. “Mama I had an accident… I’m sorry… I made the bed wet…”

Your heart officially broke.

Motherly instinct was stronger than you, and within a few seconds, you had picked Gabriel up, shushing him and running your fingers through his brown locks.

“It’s okay honey, it’s okay…” You cooed as he buried his face on the crook of your neck, hiding away from all the troubles, from all the monsters and creepy spiders that threatened to hurt him. His mama always made the monsters go away. You were his hero. “You’re such a brave boy, it’s okay… I’m not mad at you, alright? You’re so brave for me…”

Your hushed words were quick to soothe him. He stopped crying, occasionally sniffling and rubbing his eyes from the sleep.

You took him to the bathroom, quickly washed him and gave him a new pair of underwear. Gabriel knew how to use the toilet – potty training was never a problem because to him, the toilet meant he was a “grown up”. He was quick to tell you when he needed to use the bathroom, causing you to leave the diapers behind. Unfortunately, nightmares didn’t care about that.

He looked at you while you got rid of his wet sheets, throwing them in the washing machine, and his eyes were full of adoration while you prepared him his favourite chocolate milk.

Once he had finished it, you turned off the TV – Com Truise would have to wait – and took Gabriel to your room in your arms.

He made himself comfortable on your bed, teddy carefully placed by his side, and you followed suit after quickly brushing your teeth.

“I’m sorry mama…” He mumbled once again. “Maybe I’m not brave enough…”

“Nothing to be sorry about, honey. It’s okay. You’re still my brave little boy. You’ll always be.” Bending over, you placed a soft kiss on his forehead, and he smiled, which made your heart melt. For all the sadness and hurt you’d gone through and suffered, Gabriel was the best thing that had happened to you. He was an amazing kid: curious, kind to a fault, and oh so cute. Of course, it didn’t help that he was like a mini-version of his father, but you’d learned to live with it.

After all, he wasn’t a little Miguel O’Hara. He was simply Gabriel, your sweet Gabriel who marvelled at thunderstorms and loved broccoli but hated tomatoes. Who liked to play in puddles and splash around at the beach, who giggled uncontrollably when you tickled his little tummy.

“Can you sing the song for me?” He asked, voice laced with sleep. And you couldn’t find it in yourself to refuse your son in any way. You nodded and tucked his teddy closer and caressed his cheek.

“Of course, my love.”

You took a short breath and started singing.

“Querido Cada momento de mi vida Yo pienso en ti más cada día Mira mi soledad, mira mi soledad Que no me sienta nada bien, oh ven ya”

Miguel had taught you this song. It was one of his favourites, and you used to sing it to him when he felt stressed or tired. His head on your chest, on your lap, on your neck, your hands running through his hair, his heart on your palm, yours on his. The original song was meant for a girl. Querida was a woman. But you’d adjusted it for him, and never had the courage to change it back.

It was a song of heartbreak, of longing and hurt.

How fitting.

“Querido No me ha sanado bien la herida Te extraño y lloro todavía Mira mi soledad, mira mi soledad Que no me sienta nada bien, oh ven ya”

Glancing at the little one, you chuckled to yourself. Gabriel fell asleep quite quickly, especially when you sang for him. This was his favourite song too, and you’d gotten used to singing it to him nearly every night before he went to sleep.

For a few minutes, you stared at your son. Soon enough, after he’d fallen into a deep slumber, you adjusted his rebellious curls and brought him close to you, his little hand instinctively coming up to wrap itself around your finger.

It’s impossible to describe the love you felt for Gabriel. You’d do anything for him, walk to the ends of the earth if it meant he would smile and look at you with his bright curious eyes. What was there not to love? You couldn’t figure that out. And you couldn’t shake away the memory of when you first asked yourself that question. Not when it used to play in your head every night, no matter how hard you tried to keep it from your thoughts.

The paper read “Test indicates the presence of hCG hormone, confirming pregnancy”.

Oh.

You were pregnant.

If the cheap pharmacy test wasn’t enough proof, now you were absolutely positive you were pregnant.

You. Pregnant.

A mother.

You were going to be a mother.

And Miguel was going to be a father.

Was it possible to die of happiness? You always felt like you were floating with Miguel, but this was different. The thought that you had a little human, a baby, a child, a mini-you growing inside of your uterus? It was too much. To say you were over the moon was an understatement.

That day, you cooked Miguel his favourite.

You got him his favourite wine, mentioning how you were “feeling too light-headed to drink”, but inviting him to do so anyways.

You wore the dress he loved so much, the one that, according to him, made you look like “a princesa”.

Before he arrived, you placed the paper sheet with the results inside an envelope. Taking the lip gloss shade he loved so much, you painted your lips and placed a soft kiss on top of the envelope, the red stain its only decoration.

And just as you hid it within your apron, the doorbell rang.

“Miggy!” You exclaimed, running towards him.

Miguel looked tired – eyebags ever so prominent, face tired and devoid of any emotion. But these features changed once he laid his eyes on you. The exhaustion almost as if evaporated from him, the tired look replaced by a warm smile.

His arms wrapped around you instinctively, head coming to trail his lips over your collarbone, humming ever so slightly – if you didn’t know your boyfriend, you’d think he was silent.

“Amor…” He groaned, hands squeezing your waist, lips caressing your skin.

“Rough day?”

“Would sewing a bunch of kids’ mouths shut make me a bad person? Answer me honestly mi Cielo, I trust your good judgement…” Was his mumbled reply.

You laughed, skimming your hand through his hair, as the other rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“It wouldn’t be the most moral thing to do, no.”

“Mierda.”

Your laughter filled the room and it was healing. It lifted all his worried, carrying them to a place far, far from your soft touches and kind words. You were his safe space, his little secret. For all the technological advances he had access too, Miguel found the best remedy to be purely and simply you. And didn’t you look extra pretty today?

You were always breathtaking, but that dress… Surely you knew what his thoughts on that dress were. You had to be doing it on purpose.

So, he let you lead him to the shower, covering his body with sweet kisses and kneading the tense and sore muscles of his back and shoulders. He let you wash his hair, giggling as you played with it, turning his soapy curls into a mohawk. He let you cover his body with body milk, rambling on about “it makes his skin so soft and healthy”.

He loved you. How could he not? What was there not to love?

And you loved him back just as much.

The way Miguel smiled as he took bite after bite of your food. He refused to talk about his day, claiming it’d only make him angrier. He’d much rather hear about yours.

So, you did just that, telling him about the things you did, the places you went. The new supermarket that opened just down the street with fresh fruit, the old market where you got the meat he’s eating right now, etc.

You were always out and about, keeping yourself busy while he saved Nueva York, volunteering, working with children, helping elderly people, or perhaps, if you were feeling lazy and tired, maybe just lounging around with a book in your hand.

It was when Miguel offered to do the dishes that you realised it was now or never. Time to shoot your shot.

You waited patiently for him, leading them to the couch once the kitchen was sparkling once again, and sat him next to you on the couch.

“Miguel, there’s something I wanna show you…” Was how you started. Goodness, had you always been this nervous? Were your hands this clammy? Why weren’t any words coming out of your mouth? Your breath was quickening, and a million questions were running freely through your head.

You didn’t think this through, did you? What if he’s not happy? But that is impossible, right? You two spoke about this. Miguel wanted a baby. So did you. You knew of his past, knew of Gabriella. But you also knew he was healing. You saw it happen before your very eyes. First there were the small glances, the small comments about baby clothing, and then there were conversations of children, of family. And of course, there was the trying. In fact, Miguel was more than invested in trying for a baby. “Just give me one more,” He’d whisper in the intimacy of your bedroom, “Wanna make sure it takes.” And you were soft and giddy and in love and oh so pliant for him.

And yet, it could go wrong. So many things could go wrong.

“Mi vida, what’s wrong? You look worried…” Miguel furrowed his brow, hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way he did when he wanted to see your face more clearly. His face had “worry” written all over it, and it’d be funny, if you yourself weren’t shaking with anxiety.

“Yes, I… I’m fine, just… Give me some time.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

Nothing would go wrong. Miguel loves you. Endlessly, and he’ll love your child just the same. You’re sure of it.

“I need to show you something.” You said more clearly, looking him in the eye. “I… I love you, Miguel. So, so much. Unimaginably so. I love you. I love everything about you.”

He smiled. A genuine smile, one saved for you and only you.

“I love you too, mi vida. Te amo con todo mi ser. Eres la luz de mi vida.”

Shit, it did things to you. Him speaking Spanish, that was. You’d been learning, just for him, and while you weren’t yet a professional, you’d picked on his endearing phrases quite early. In fact, those were the first you learned – you wanted to be able to understand the sweet nothings he whispered to you in the comfort of your home.

“I… I’m scared you won’t… At least not anymore, when I show you this…” You confessed with bated breath, shrugging your shoulders ever so slightly. Communicating your worries and fears with Miguel had never been an issue. He was very open, telling you whatever was on his mind with no hesitation. It had taken a while, but now he trusted you fully, and your relationship was based on trust and understanding.

“Mi vida…” He murmured, fingers slowly cupping your jaw. “Unless you ate the last empanada in the cafeteria, there’s nothing you could do that would make me love you less…” It got a chuckle out of you, and a smile out of him. Good. It was all he ever wanted to see; you with a smile on your face.

“Well then…” The words were muffled by the ruffling of your apron.

You took out the envelope and sighed.

This was it.

It was now or never.

Fuck, you were going to puke. This was simply too much. You were so worried, so scared.

But before you could do anything, he had carefully taken the envelope in his hands and opened it, smiling at the lipstick stain.

Oh god. This was it.

He unfolded the paper.

There was no turning back now.

He read the words attentively, curious about what had gotten you so worked up. You observed his face, his calm demeanour, his brow furrowing, his lips parting, his eyes widening-

“What?”

It was nearly imperceptible, but it was there, and you heard it.

His eyes scanned over the words again.

And then again.

And then again.

And then again and again and again and again, until his fists clenched the paper, and he was turning away from you.

“Estás… Estás embarazada…?”

“Miggy…?” You tried getting a glimpse of his expression, but he refused to look at you again.

“Is this true…? You’re pregnant?” There was something in his voice, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Grief, perhaps? Anger? Surprise?

His knuckles turned white, and the paper sheet was quickly torn in two.

“M-Miguel?” Your eyes went to his knuckles and the paper. Oh no. This couldn’t be good. There’s no way this is good.

“You’re PREGNANT?” He turned to face you, his eyes a dark shade of red. His voice boomed and you flinched. It was an instinct, truly. The paper was left forgotten on the floor as he balled his fists in his lap, as if he was restricting himself.

“Aren’t you happy?” The words left your mouth as a mere whisper, all of the confidence and bravado from earlier completely gone. What the hell was going on with Miguel? He looked angry, feral, like… No, you did not want to think about it. Surely, he was just a bit surprised, right? That must be all. “Miggy? Aren’t you ha- “

“How did this happen?!” He growled, and you could do all but scoff. Was he actually serious? Did he not know how pregnancies happened? Did he not know how babies were made? Wasn’t he there when you two were actively trying to get you pregnant?

“Gee, Miguel, I don’t know, maybe it happened one of the times you pushed me up against the kitchen sink or the couch as soon as you got home, claiming you ‘needed me so badly’. Maybe it happened because we’ve been trying for a baby, because you said you were ready to start a family with me.” Was he being serious right now? It’s not like birth control was 100% effective – you had always warned him of that – and it’s not like he always used protection – something you both discussed as well. So how come he was asking ‘how it had happened?’. “We don’t always use protection, you know, these things happen- “

“How could you let this happen?!” Miguel stood up, his frame towering over you. And for once in your life, you felt something you’d never even imagined you’d fear when with Miguel – let alone because of him: fear.

“What? Me?” Your eyes widened, refusing to believe the words that he’d just uttered. “How is this my fault? Last time I checked, it took two people to make a baby, Miguel. And you wanted one. Holy – Miguel, what is wrong with you? We’ve been wanting a child for so long!” It wasn’t until the tears hit your palms that you realised you were crying. It hit you shortly after, Miguel made you cry. “Honey, please, just… Aren’t you happy?” You forced a smile through the tears, hoping to get him as excited as you were.

“Happy?!”

“Yeah!” Tear after tear escaped from your eyes, tracing paths down your face. You’d been so excited to find out you were going to be a mother. Fantasizing about holding your child, caressing their chubby cheeks, watching as you and Miguel doted over the tiny human that was both a mixture of him and you. And now those fantasies were shattered as Miguel paced back and forth in your living room, giving you a look that could kill you by itself. “I thought… I thought you wanted a family with me…! You said so Miggy, you told me you wanted to start a family…”

He all but scowled and threw a punch at a wall, cracking the surface around his fist. You flinched once again, shaking your head repeatedly. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t your Miggy, no. This wasn’t the man that whispered the sweetest words in your ear, who woke you up with gentle kisses, who placed gentle hands on your stomach and wondered about the family you would once start.

“Clearly, I changed my mind.” Your boyfriend – no, because there was no way this man was your boyfriend – rumbled, removing his hand from the wall, and inspecting it. “I… We… [Y/N], we can’t. Perdóname. I’m sorry. I know what I said, but… No. This is out of the question.”

“I don’t get it,” You shook your head. This whole thing seemed so farfetched – Miguel wanted a child. He had told you as much. Hell, you two had been trying for a baby. On purpose. How could he just tell you “No”? “Miguel, we wanted this. I’m pregnant because we wanted to start a family, because you told me you were ready and wouldn’t love anything more other than me holding your child, Miguel, I’m pregnant because we wanted this! And you need to take responsibility for your actions, you can’t just blame me for this when we were bo-“

“I don’t have to do anything. This is completely out of the question. I thought I wanted a child, well, turns out I don’t.” He was spitting the words so viciously, you could’ve easily mistaken them for poison. “Having a child now would complicate things too much.”

“Complicate?”

“Yes, complicate. Our lives shouldn’t be changing too drastically because of a baby. I’m sorry, [Y/N], but we can’t. We just… No. “ He didn’t even  have the decency of facing you. He was looking at the hole he’d punched into the wall, frowning.

“But Miguel…” You pleaded. You truly couldn’t understand what was happening. You could not understand why he wasn’t thrilled, excited, over the moon, spinning you around as he kissed your face and pledged his undying love to you. Undeterred, you take your hand in his and place it on your stomach, on the place your child would live for a few months before you had the joy of holding him (or her) in your arms. A smile, albeit a small one, graced your features once again. “We’ve been… We’ve been wishing for this…”

Miguel took a good look at you. He glanced up and down, taking your figure in. Your red eyes, your runny nose, your puffy lips. The tears, the hurt in your gaze. All because of him. He was hurting you. You truly wanted this, didn’t you? And didn’t he want the same? Hadn’t he told you time and time again how much he wanted to start a family with you? Weren’t you trying? Wasn’t he finally healing?

So why was it that the only thing he felt for the growing foetus inside of you was disdain?

He removed his hand from yours and shook his head.

“Get rid of it.”

Your jaw dropped.

What?

“Miguel? Honey, I…”

“Get. Rid of it.” He spat, eyes glowing bright red. “Or I will.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly parted, heart turning and churning and burning and hurting oh so much. How could he? His child, his own child… How could he say such things? How could he be so merciless? How could he want to… to kill the child you’d loved so unconditionally, even if for the past few hours?

It was horrifying. There was no word for it, it was truly horrifying, the way your Miguel was treating this matter. You’d looked at him with tears in your eyes, hoping that something, anything would leave your lips. But he’d opened a portal and left for HQ, leaving you alone in the middle of your living room.

So, you did the only rational thing.

You ran.

Jessica had helped you, along with Peter B. Parker.

Both were parents, so not only did they understand the way you felt towards your unborn baby, but also encourage you in your decision to leave Miguel. It broke Peter’s heart to find out the man that took care of the Spider Society had threatened to hurt his child and pregnant wife in the way.

But much to his sadness, he would have to act as if everything was fine and dandy, as if this man hadn’t threatened to kill a foetus, as if he wasn’t a monster. Peter would have to keep on interacting with him normally, in order not to raise suspicion. And so would Jess.

So, they did.

All traces of your existence had been removed from your shared apartment. Clothes, shoes, blankets. Anything that he could use to get the faintest trace of where you were was brought along with you, only his things and his things alone left behind.

It broke your heart to do it, but you had no choice. It was him or your unborn child, and although you’d known of your pregnancy for only a few hours, you were willing to do anything to assure its safety already.

You laid low for a while. Found a nice apartment where you could start over and build a life for yourself and your little one. Peter and Jess couldn’t keep you from going outside, so instead of trapping you, they helped disguise you. Both your appearance and scent changed every time you left the safety of your new home, with Jessica’s motherly instinct helping you find safety in new wigs and robes.

And so, your pregnancy went smoothly.

But it’s not to say it was easy – far from it.

Watching a baby grow inside of you all by yourself was terrifying. Not only was it terrifying, but it was also heartbreaking. Especially when the father of said baby had threatened you and him. It was even worse when you heard from Jessica that he was actively looking for you, coaxing every Spider in the Spider-Society to find you and destroy whatever was growing in your womb. How could he be so cruel? The possibility of someone killing your child just like that was frightening, but you managed to keep your fears aside for the well-being of your baby.

You could count with your fingers the peaceful nights you spent without a newborn toddler screaming and crying for your attention. For four whole years you were both mother and father, nursing and singing your baby to sleep whenever he was scared, kissing his wounds better, taking him to school, helping him talk and walk, watching him grow, looking over him the best you could.

There was no helping hand, no strong arms to hold your stomach during the day to ease your back pains, no soft rubs, and kisses on top of your belly at night, no proud displays of affection. When you gave birth to Gabriel, although surrounded by Peter and Jessica, there was no loving boyfriend or partner by your side, kissing your tears away, asking you to push, telling you you were “almost there”, holding your child in his arms and crying tears of joy, telling you you were oh so beautiful, to tell you that you were marvellous and miraculous and the most gorgeous woman alive.

While your heart could burst from the happiness of holding your son in your arms for the first time, it was also breaking at the realisation that, even if you had friends, there would be a major gap in your life that would scar you and your baby forever.

And there of course the questions. Gabriel was reaching his curious phase, and one time he had come home, asking why he did not have a daddy like his friends. That day you’d tried explaining it to him. You told him his father’s actions did not make you feel safe, and so you had to make the tough decision to protect the both of you and run away. You assured him that no matter what, you would love him unconditionally, that you were still a family, even if an unconventional one.

His reply was “Thank you mama, but I want a real daddy like my friends have!”

Tears streamed down your face until you fell asleep.

Gabriel was right. Even if he did not mean anything mean by it, even if his reply was something out of a clueless 3-year-old boy’s mouth and you shouldn’t take it to heart because he didn’t quite grasp the reality of your situation… It was still true. He needed a father, his father. You could try and try and try all you wanted, but he needed a father figure in his life, a role you’d never be able to fill.

The next day, you called Jessica and cried on her shoulders for a few hours while Gabriel was in school. She made up some stupid lie in order to be with you for the whole day, reminding you that children often said things they did not mean. Gabriel was a child; and children were way too straightforward, and it was not his intention to hurt you – wanting a father was a completely normal thing and you shouldn’t blame yourself for it.

But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.

At first, the life you shared with Gabriel was terrifying. What if Jessica said the wrong thing, or Peter made a mistake? Thankfully, they behaved remarkably well, always prioritizing your safety and well-being over their duties to Miguel. As time went by, more people were in on your little secret. And you couldn’t help but worry. What if Hobie decided to “stick it to the man” and inform Miguel of his son? What if Pav thought “the power of love” could fix everything? What if Gwen and Miles tried to talk some sense into his head?

But luckily for you, they were all as interested at keeping Gabriel under wraps as you were. And the reason it was so easy for you to keep Gabriel away from his father was also because of Lyla. She’d witnessed the whole exchange of course, being an artificial intelligent program meant that she was everywhere Miguel habited – and that meant his home. So, she too was in on your plan, keeping everything away from Miguel. Every visit from the Spider-People, every time Gwen or Miles babysat your kid, every time something remotely urgent happened, Lyla was there to cover your tracks, and everyone else’s.

You also suspected everyone else in HQ helped, refusing to let Miguel murder an innocent child, or even help him with it. You were grateful.

Miguel was completely in the dark, he had been for 4 whole years, and you were happy it was like this.

Your son got to grow up in peace, and you got to watch him. Or so you thought.

“Honey, have you washed your teeth?” You asked as your son made his way out of the bathroom. Before he could answer, you spotted the stain of toothpaste on his chin, and bent over to quickly wash it. “There. Dashing.”

Gabriel smiled a toothy grin at you. “I’m wearing my Snoopy PJs!”

“Well, you’ll always be dashing to me. Snoopy PJs or any other kind of PJs.” You poke his tummy softly and he bends over, as ticklish as always. Before you can open your arms and embrace him, your ringtone rings through the room. You wink at Gabriel and take your phone into your hands, looking at the name on the screen.

“Oh honey, it’s auntie Jess. Give me a few minutes and I’ll tuck you in, is that okay?”

“I wanna speak to auntie Jess!” He exclaimed excitedly, to which you nodded, before picking up.

“Hey Jess! What’s up?”

“He found you.” Was all you heard on the other line before you felt your stomach fall.

What?

You couldn’t make out her words at first, but slowly, everything around you came to your consciousness again.

“Take him and go. [Y/N], can you hear me? You have to leave. I’m so sorry, we don’t know how he found out, but you need to take him and leave, now.” Jessica repeated these words urgently like a chant, and yet, all you could do was stare at Gabriel, his big eyes round and bright, his head titled to the side as he often did when confused, the little triangle in his brow all Miguel O’Hara.

You couldn’t move. Miguel had found out.

Shit.

And then someone knocked on your door. Loudly. Repeatedly. The sound echoed and rang in your ears, and it was Gabriel who brought you back to your senses by hugging your leg.

“Mama?” He inquired, looking at the door.

“Stay here. You hear me? Stay here, do mama a favour and stay here. Can you do that?”

Gabriel gave you a quick salute, a smile playing in his lips. He probably thought this was some silly game in which he acted like a big boy and his mama high-fived him and made him some chocolate milk as a reward. But unfortunately for you, there was nothing silly about this.

Your feet slowly dragged themselves to the front door, and you mustered all of the strength you had to open it.

With a deep breath, you turned the knob and pushed it open, revealing no one other than the one you feared the most.

Miguel.

You try to block the entire door with your figure, but Miguel is tall. Incredibly so. And while it used to make you squirm and gush and blush, it now fills you with a sense of dread you cannot shake away.

He takes a step forward and you speak, voice sounding braver than you were feeling.

“Leave.”

“[Y/N].”

“Miguel, I’m warning you, leave.”

He grumbled something under his breath and took another step, looking directly under him – at you. You used to love when he did it. It made you feel safe, protected, cherished. Now all you want is for him to back off.

“I do not want to force you. Let me come in, or I’ll have to. Please. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” The worst thing about Miguel was that when it came to you, he was always genuine. He never lied to you. And that did not change now. He looked almost… Scared. There was a mix of anger and sadness and… was that betrayal? In his eyes?

Nevertheless, it made you vulnerable. Such a hurtful expression from the one you once loved… You couldn’t lie and say it did not make your heart twist a few times.

“He threatened to kill your child. His child, too.” You told yourself, shaking all those soft feelings away. No use being weak, not when you wanted to protect your son.

Still, he looked genuine when he said he did not want to hurt you. And it’s not like you can take him on your own, the man is literally 6’9, built like a Greek god, and Spiderman. You wouldn’t stand a chance, and your son needs to be protected. So, you slowly back away from the door, keeping your front to Miguel and your back to Gabriel.

You take a few steps back and are about to ask him what he wants, when a small voice interrupts you.

“Mama? Who is this?” Your son, your sweet, caring, clueless son asked, his neck craning all the way up to get a good look at Miguel.

Gabriel was a big fan of Spiderman – much to your chagrin – so the thought that maybe Miguel was wearing his suit terrified you. The last thing you wanted was for your son to idolize the man who threatened to kill him while he was nothing more than just a foetus. You quickly turned, taking in Miguel fully.

He was clad in casual clothes, a white shirt underneath a black leather jacket. He was dressed normally, thank God.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the tiny voice, and he looked at the child before him.

His eyes widened.

It all clicked in his head.

His eyes darted from you to him, from him to you, over and over and over and over again. He seemed to be making the connection in his head. Soft brown curls, furrowed brow, tiny nose that resembled yours and bright eyes that belonged to none other than the woman he loved.

This was his son.

“Mama?” He asked once again, tiny hands grasping at the loose sweatpants you usually wore around the house. Tiny fists curled around the fabric as he hid behind you.

You stared, wide-eyed at Miguel. You were silently begging for him not to cause a scene, not here, not in front of your baby, most certainly not at all.

“Please…” You whisper, nudging your head towards the little guy by your feet.

After a few seconds of dead silence and a stare off, Miguel hung his head low and nodded. You sighed in relief.

“Honey, time for bed. Mommy’s gonna tuck you in, alright?” Gabriel nodded and clung to you as you picked him up securely in your arms. Tucking his little hair in the crook of your neck, you slowly took his scent in. Citrus shampoo, the lavender fabric conditioner you knew he liked, he smelled like your darling song through and through, untainted by the evil and darkness of the world, untainted by the hands and knowledge of his father.

Once he was all tucked in, teddy loyally by his side, Gabriel reached out to hold your hand in his tiny hand.

“Mama?” He probed quietly, drowsy eyes twinkling with the gentle glow his dinosaur lampshade.

“Yes, honey?” He was about to ask about the mysterious man in your living room, you were sure of it. You just weren’t quite sure what you were going to tell him yet. The truth? He couldn’t know. At least not now. Not when Miguel was just a few rooms away, waiting patiently for you. Not when you had no idea if he was still violent.

“Who is that man?” Gosh, he looked so much like his father. The furrowed brow, the squinted eyes, and pouty lips. When he was born, you huffed and puffed to Peter, saying how unfair it was that your son had inherited Miguel’s looks, even though you were the one breaking your back to carry him – and then later, take care of him.

“He’s… He’s an old friend.” Technically not a lie. Miguel had been your friend once.

“Is he the one in the pictures that make you cry?”

Oh.

What?

Noticing your confused expression, Gabriel spoke again, shrugging.

“Sometimes you cry in the living room when you look at pictures… Is he the one in them?”

Were children supposed to be this curious? Or perceptive?

How come he had picked up on you crying? It was true, sometimes your hands instinctively reached out to the old photo albums you kept on the top shelf of your living room wall cabinet, far from his reach.

There was no need to lie to your son – not when he was so smart and cared so much, not when he was so perceptive.

“Yeah, baby.” You sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He is.”

“Why do you cry? Did he do something to make you sad?” The worry in his eyes was inevitable. If the situation weren’t so scary, you’d laugh. Your sweet child, always so worried about you.

“Yeah, he did. He made mommy very sad, that’s why she cries.”

“Did you like him?”

Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, and you fought them back. “Be strong”, you thought. You always played the part of the strong caretaker, the fearless mother who protected him against the dangers of the world – but right now, with Miguel waiting outside, you weren’t sure you were strong enough anymore.

“Yes, pumpkin. Very much. Very, very much.” You removed your hand from his hair and moved it to his round, chubby cheek. “Mommy loved her friend a lot. And I was very sad when he hurt me. Incredibly so.”

“Do you miss him?”

The question hung in the air.

Miguel was still asleep.

Today was one of those days he had decided to remain home, take a break from all the stressing Spiderman stuff and just relax.

He looked so handsome like this, lips slightly parted to breathe in and out, cheek smushed against his pillow, legs entwined with yours, arm lazily thrown across your waist. You loved him like this, before the burdens and responsibilities of the suit dawned upon him, before he was a superhero and was simply Miggy.

You’d been tenderly running a hand through his curls, enjoying the view before you. Such a handsome man, such a kind soul. Sure, he was rough with everyone else, but with you? Away from the prying eyes and annoying questions? Away from the screens and all of the Spider Society duties?

He was plush. Soft, sweet, mellow, delicate.

You were whipped for this man, truly.

He stirred awake next to you, grumbling something in Spanish you couldn’t quite hear, and shuffled closer, lips quick to latch onto the column of your neck.

“Buenos dias hermosa…” He murmured against your skin, voice groggy and deep, earning the sweetest sigh from you. His grip on your waist tightened and you turned to him, smiling. He was such a vision.

“Morning, handsome.” You smiled, tugging on his curls to tilt his head towards you. He chuckled and kissed you tenderly, as if you were a figment of a dream he hadn’t yet abandoned and could disappear at any time.

You decided to remind him you weren’t going anywhere, pressing yourself against him to kiss him harder, obtaining the most delicious moan from your boyfriend. He pulled you closer by your waist, and with a quick movement, was on top of you, arms and hands caging you beneath his figure.

“Felling cheeky, aren’t we, mi vida?”

“I’m just kissing you Miguel, nothing cheeky about that.” You were quick to defend yourself, giving him a smug look.

He lowered himself, ghosting his lips over yours, almost as if on the brink of promising the entire world to you. Instead of doing that, he laid down, hair barely grazing your breasts as he placed soft kisses on your stomach.

You knew this look.

For a while now, the conversations about children and family had become more frequent. Miguel would catch you staring at baby clothes at the mall, or interacting with toddlers who looked and waved at you, and his heart melted. You had mentioned wanting a family before but were waiting on his signal. You knew Miguel had gone through something horrible – losing the family the way he did… You couldn’t imagine how that must’ve felt.

So, you waited.

And lately, he seemed to be on the same page.

Last week, when you two had gone to the mall, he’d found you staring at a baby blue stroller, and the expecting couple examining it. You sighed, hands slowly trailing up to your stomach. Someday you hoped that would be you.

And it was then Miguel realised that he would want nothing more than to see you pregnant with his child, round and soft and plush and his, for the whole world to see.

He could picture it, you sitting in your garden, sunbathing and applying lotions on your baby bump, and him, by your side, kissing your forehead and placing his hand on your stomach to feel his child kick.

You, waddling over to him when your cravings got the better of you, begging him to get you some pickles and strawberry jam, promising nothing in this world you make you happier or satisfy you more – even if the combination did seem disgusting. ~

You, sitting down on a big chair, breasts exposed as you gently nursed your child. Your baby would have its tiny, miniscule hand on your chest as he drank your milk, and Miguel would be watching from the doorway as you fed your son, before placing him to sleep.

He could see himself too.

Playing with his child in the park, teaching his son how to play football, helping his daughter score goals, lifting his child over his head once they won their first game, reading them bedtime stories and saying “Don’t tell your mom” whenever they got into trouble.

It was all so very vivid.

“Miguel?”

He could picture it all, reach before him and grasp it.

“Honey?”

How pretty you would look, all swollen with his child.

“Earth to Miguel?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he sighed, kissing your stomach.

“Mi vida, I think…” He looked up at you, fondness and love nearly spilling from his gorgeous brown eyes and held your hand in his. “I think… How would you feel about starting a family with me?”

There. It was out. He’d said it.

And although he knew what your answer would be, his heart still flipped when your eyes turned into crescents, and your lips curled into a gorgeous smile.

“A family? With me? Really?” You sounded so fucking happy; it made his heart swell. Was it possible to love someone as much as he loved you?

“Yeah,” Miguel replied, and pressed his hand against your stomach. He could almost feel it. Picture your baby bump, feel the soft kicking of your child against your stomach, a silent reminder that it was alive and breathing and waiting to meet you. “A family. You and I and our child… What do you say?”

You giggle – you giggle! And por Dios if it isn’t the most gorgeous sound he has ever had the blessing of hearing. If anyone asked what Miguel’s favourite type of music was, he’d probably say it was the sound of your laughter. Either that, or the pretty mewls you make for him when it’s late and he’s needy and you’re oh so pliant.

“I say it’s perfect!” Hands fly to his hair, and suddenly he’s being pulled towards you, lips hungrily crashing onto his. You kissed him with everything you had. All of the love you felt for him, the love you felt for the family that was yet to come, the joy, the laughter, you tried expressing it all through this kiss.

And he smiled because nothing would ever make him as happy as you do. Nothing would ever get him to smile as much as you do. Nothing would ever complete his life the way you did, and he was so, so grateful for that. He kissed you back, hands carefully placing themselves on your hips to steady you, yours gripping his jaw to bring him closer.

When you parted away from air, he looked at you through lidded eyes, a very familiar form of desire dancing in the brown of his irises. You smiled sheepishly and watched him shrug his shoulders.

“Well, I guess… Since we’re on the topic of baby making…” He whispered near your ear, relishing in the full body shiver it elicited from you.

“Now who’s the cheeky one?” You faced him, brow comically raised at him.

You were so cute; Miguel could just eat you up.

And there was no one to stop him.

“Shh, hermosa, don’t give me that.” Barely a whisper, and yet it made heat pool in your lower belly, and your face warm upr. “I’m just saying, we should start practicing.”

With one swift movement, he was between your legs and your laughter filled the room.

Everything seemed right in the world.

Not at all. Not anymore.

“No, I don’t.” You absentmindedly ran your finger through Gabriel’s hair, “Not anymore. Right now, I have you, and you’re all I need.”

“Do you want me to draw a picture for you? I can draw a giraffe because I know you like them, and then you’ll smile and be happy.” This got a chuckle out of you. Always trying to cheer you up, this one, no matter what.

“Mommy would love it if you drew her a picture of a giraffe. It’d make me super happy.”

“Okay then! I’m gonna do it tomorrow, and I’m gonna use the crayons Mrs. Camille gave me, so it will look extra special –“ Before your son could continue, you smiled and ran an index finger from his forehead to the tip of his nose, a small gesture between the two of you, one that had a bazillion meanings. But right now it meant something around “Time for bed”.

Gabriel looked up sheepishly, shrugging.

“Can you sing for me?”

You felt slightly self-conscious about singing to him, especially since Miguel was standing right in the other room, and you used to sing this song to him.

“Let him hear”, you thought. He meant nothing to you anymore. This song was no longer his.

The song came to you naturally as you stroked Gabriel’s curls and watched his cheeks huff and puff, his slow breathing reminding you that he was here, safe and sound.

“Querido Cada momento de mi vida Yo pienso en ti más cada día Mira mi soledad, mira mi soledad Que no me sienta nada bien, oh ven ya”

All it took was one single stanza and he was already fast asleep. You chuckled to yourself and kissed the top of his forehead. He looked so peaceful; you took a mental picture of this moment.

Because perhaps, it’d be the last one you’d have.

You took a deep breath and stood up, not wanting to delay what was to come any more. Miguel was standing in your living room. You couldn’t hide from him forever, and you weren’t going to.

Closing Gabriel’s door, you decided to once and for all, face the man who had broken your heart four years ago.

The fact that he spoke to you first didn’t surprise you – Miguel had always been straightforward. It was what he said that caught you off guard.

“Was that…?” He asked, clearly referring to the song.

Stay strong. Don’t waver. You have to be strong for your family.

“Yes. Yes, it was Querida.” Your voice sounded certain, confident. You weren’t feeling very confident, but the taste it left on your tongue was quite nice. It made you feel more and want more. A placebo, maybe, but right now, you took all the help you could get.

Miguel chuckled dryly, running a hand through his hair.

“Wow. I haven’t heard that song in… What? Four? Maybe five years?” How dare he act like everything was normal? Like you had simply forgotten to sing it for him, like instead of Querida, you’d started singing Para Siempre from Doreen Montalvo. He seemed too at ease.

“Yes, well. How sad.”

He stared at you, unsure of what to say. And was that regret on his face? Regret? Fear? You couldn’t tell. And it’s not like it mattered – Miguel had to leave. That much was final.

“And… And, well…” He stammered, eyes darting behind you, to the closed door of your son’s room. “He…”

“He’s yours.” You cut him off coldly. Why was he dancing around the subject? Miguel looked at you and swallowed harshly, scratching the back of his neck. You wouldn’t let him be meek and weak, you couldn’t. He had no right to. “What? Wasn’t that what you were going to ask?”

Miguel straightened himself, regaining some of the composure he’d lost earlier.

“I see.” He nodded and nudged his head towards your kitchen – that’s when you saw it.

“I did your dishes.”

Your brow furrows and your eyes widen all at once.

Your dishes?

“You were tucking, um, our, well, your, um… The kid. You were tucking him in, and I thought maybe I could be of help.” He looked so earnest it almost hurt you. Ever the gentleman, your Miggy. When you were together, no matter how late he got home, no matter how tired he was, Miguel still made time to help around the house. Cleaning, cooking, doing whatever it took to make sure you had no extra burdens.

But right now?

You didn’t care if he was Spiderman, you didn’t care if he was nearly 7 feet tall and wide and strong enough to snap you in two – you wanted to punch him in the face. Oh, so badly.

The anger took over you and you scoffed at him.

“Oh! You wanted to help, huh?” You leaned against the couch and raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “I see. Well, thank you for the help, Miguel. Unfortunately for you, I don’t need you to take care of household chores for me. Washing a few plates isn’t going to change anything.”

He winced at your words. Good.

“I just thought –“

“Well, you thought wrong.” You interrupt him once again. This conversation is not going to be about him. He’s not the victim, he’s not the vulnerable one. He doesn’t get to be vulnerable.

“[Y/N], we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. You need to leave, and I need to get some sleep.”

“No, please, we need to talk. We have to.” He sounded desperate. Goodness, you loved it. His eyes were filled with something you’d never seen before. The bags under them reveal he must not have been getting a lot of sleep, and he kept pinching the bridge of his nose as if in exhaustion. You weren’t naïve – not anymore. You didn’t feel bad for him per se.

But seeing the man who once seemed to carry the weight of the world in his shoulders, who took care of an entire city and never even wavered, look so defeated… Well. It did pull at your heart strings a little bit. Maybe that’s why you nodded and gestured over to your couches, sitting down in one of them and waiting for Miguel to do the same.

Maybe that’s why you watched as Miguel sat on the couch facing the TV and waited for him to speak.

“[Y/N], I… Mierda… No sé por donde empezar…” He cursed under his breath, head hanging low.

“I don’t have all night, Miguel.”

Oh, how he missed hearing his name spill from your lips. But now, instead of filled with love and warmth, you spit the words almost like they are poisonous, like you can’t hold them on your tongue for more than two seconds without them corrupting you.

He supposed he did that to you.

“I suppose I should start by apologizing…” Miguel finally looked at you, brown eyes staring into yours. You’d have done anything for those eyes once upon a time. Not anymore. “[Y/N], that night, all those months ago… I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am…”

So he was here to apologize? Was that it? Did you even want to hear his apology? Were you going to forgive him?

“When I told you those things, when I told you to…” He averted his gaze for a few seconds, probably too ashamed to look at you as he remembered telling you to kill your child. And you felt good that he was ashamed. He deserved to be. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared. Scared it would happen again, what happened to my sweet Gabriella… I lashed out on you, and I scared you. I’m so sorry.”

You nodded once, and upon hearing no reply from you, he continued.

“I… I really have no excuse other than that. Seeing Gabriella disappear right before my eyes, it… Mierda, it really scared me. So, when I read that test, when I saw you were pregnant, I was afraid it would happen again.”

Miguel found you staring at him, unimpressed, unmoved. Did his words mean nothing? Had he reached you?

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Is that why you came here? To apologize?” You questioned him, brow quirked.

“Well, yeah. You deserve an apology mi vi- [Y/N]. What I did to you was inexcusable. And yet, I hope that someday you manage to find it within your heart to forgive me. You know I’ve never lied to you, and I’m still telling you the truth when I say I’m so, so, so sorry. I’m ashamed of how I behaved, I was a monster, and you didn’t deserve that.”

For some unknown reason, his words made you weak, if only for a few seconds. You saw in front of you, your Miguel, your sweet, sweet Miggy who brought you breakfast in bed, who kissed your period cramps away, who carried you when you were too tired to walk, who treated you like you were God’s gift to green earth. You saw him scared and vulnerable and hurt, and all you wanted to do was take him in your arms and hold him tightly until all of the pain was nothing but a distant memory.

But you also couldn’t ignore the other Miguel, the Miguel who had jumped and punched a wall and yelled at you, demanding you to get rid of your baby, and forcing others to do it. No matter how much you had once loved him, Gabriel was your life now, and you couldn’t allow yourself to feel soft over someone who would do something so inhuman as threaten an unborn child.

“Thank you for the apology.” You told him. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have things to do. Now, please leave.”

He seemed confused by that. Leave?

“Wait – what?”

Standing up, you gently adjusted the couch you were sitting on, and shrugged at him.

“Yes. I have heard your apology, and now I want you to leave.”

“Well, what is your response?”

“To what?”

“To the apology.”

“I’m not accepting it.”

“What?”

What was he expecting? You to run into his arms with tears of joy, kissing him until he was dizzy and proclaiming his love for him? Was that it?

“You heard me,” You crossed your arms, “I’m not accepting your apology.”

“But – I thought – “

“You thought what, exactly?” Now your words were pure venom, meant to poison his skin and hurt his heart. You wanted him to feel a least a fraction of the hurt and pain he caused you, of the heartbreak he submitted you to. “That you could just come in here after I actively ran from you, after I tried to hide, and you would solve everything by washing my dishes and giving me a half-assed apology?”

“[Y/N], I told you what happened, I’m sorry, I was scared – “

“How do you think I felt, huh?” You felt the rage in the back of your throat. It hurt. It felt nice to let your anger out, to direct it at him, the source of your ache. “How do you think I felt when you threatened my baby? Were you also scared when you sent your Spider-People after my child and I?”

“What?” Miguel looked at you, dropping his hands to his sides.

“That’s right. I’m not stupid, Miguel, I know what you did. You asked for them to search for me, and to kill my son. You think all of that is washed away simply by apologising?”

“I was afraid you’d disappear on me too!” He pleaded, hands gesturing to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what else to say, how else to show you how heartbroken I am…”

“Well then, perhaps you should’ve thought about all that before you decided to have a child with me, Miguel. You don’t get to do this – You don’t get to picture a future with me, with our family, you don’t get to tell me you’re ready only to then threaten us. You should’ve voiced those concerns instead of taking it out on me. You got me pregnant and didn’t even deal with the consequences of your actions!” You threw your hands in the air, desperately trying to make him see your side. Could he not understand the gravity of the situation?

“You should’ve told me. We would’ve worked something out, Miguel, I knew we would’ve.” Your vision becomes blurry – all these emotions aren’t really helping your “Don’t waver” plan, but at this point you just need to vent your frustrations. “But what you did? It felt like betrayal. We were trying for a baby, and when I finally got pregnant, you threatened us. I know what happened to you in the past, and I can’t imagine how it must’ve hurt, but it is no excuse for what you did to me.”

For a while, the both of you were silent. There was nothing else to say.

“What’s his name?” He asked silently, looking at Gabriel’s door.

You hesitated, but figured telling him what you had named your child probably didn’t hurt.

“Gabriel. His name is Gabriel.”

His eyes twinkled in acknowledgment. You had wanted to name your son anything that had nothing to do with his father, but you couldn’t. You considered that your last act of kindness towards Miguel.

“After my brother?”

“Who else?” You looked away.

“He… He’s beautiful. He looks…”

“Like you, I know.” You’d made your peace with it, sure, but sometimes it still stung that your child looked nothing like you, you who carried him and took care of him and fed him and rocked him to sleep. Instead, he was a near perfect copy of his father, opting to act like you, rather than look like you.

“How is he?” Miguel felt scared to ask. He wasn’t sure if you were going to tell him anything – and why should you?

“He’s… He’s the greatest kid ever. He’s smart and kind, and so considerate. He’s his own little man, even though he’s only four years old…” A smile spread across your lips, as you always did when talking about your son. He was your pride and joy, after all.

“Will I…” Miguel hesitated. You know what’s coming. “Will I get to meet him?”

“No. Not if I can help him.”

Miguel’s lips formed a tight line.

“[Y/N], he’s my son too –“

“No, he’s not. You might be related by blood, but that doesn’t make him your son, and it most certainly doesn’t make you his father. You lost that right when you threatened to kill him, and sent your goons to do it.” Your voice was getting louder, so you tried to lower it. The last thing you wanted was to wake Gabriel up.

“You can’t do this. I have a right to see him.” Miguel’s voice was also getting louder. Not only that, but he had also gotten up, towering over you. So much for weakness and desperation, this Miguel looked the same as the one you left four years ago.

“You don’t, that’s the thing. I don’t trust you around my son. I’ve spent the past four years trying to protect him from you, and I’m not going to stop now.” As if by instinct, you placed yourself right in front of him, blocking his passage to Gabriel’s room. Could he snap you in half and get to him by himself? Yeah. Were you going to let that stop you? No.

“What did you tell him? What lies did you tell our son?” Was it just you, or were his eyes turning red?

“My son. And I told him the truth, that his father wasn’t making me feel safe, so I had to run in order to protect him.”

Miguel visibly flinched at those words. He never wanted to make you feel unsafe, never.

“I understand I made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be a part of his life.” His expression changed to something darker – you weren’t sure how long you had until he snapped. A mistake? How dare he downplay his actions like this?

“That is precisely what it means. I want you away from my son.”

“He needs a father. What if – what if he inherits my abilities, huh? What are you going to do then?”

That’s when you snapped.

“He needs ME!” Hot tears streamed down your face, and you did not try to stop them. “Do you understand? Me. I am his mother. I cared for him for the 9 months he was inside of me, scared shitless because I didn’t know what you might do if you found us. I took care of him for 4 whole years. I was the one who fed him, I was the one who changed his diapers, I was the one rocked him to sleep when he cried and I’d been awake for hours, I was the one who gave up everything and started from scratch because of him! And what did you do? You whispered pretty things in my ear and got me pregnant, and then got scared and proceeded to tell me to kill my child! That’s not something a father does!” The words kept spilling from your lips and there was no way to stop them. You could finally speak freely, get him to understand the pain he put you through.

“If my son happens to inherit your abilities, then I will take care of it. Just like I’ve been doing all these years, I will take care of it. You’ve done nothing for us, and we don’t need you. I don’t need you Miguel, I don’t love you anymore. My priorities in life have changed, and now they lie in the safety and well-being of my son. So, for once in your life, stop being so fucking stubborn and LEAVE!”

“Mama?”

Your heart fell as soon as you heard Gabriel’s scared voice.

Shit.

You turned to him, only to be meet with a teary-eyed child, holding onto his teddy bear way too tightly.

“Honey, I… I’m sorry… Did I wake you up?” Your voice was automatically gentler, lower, something above a whisper, something reserved for him and him alone. Right now, you didn’t care that Miguel was right there, angry, and tall, all you cared about was your son, who looked so, so scared it nearly killed you.

“I heard you yelling…” He murmured, running towards you and hiding his face on the crook of your neck. His tears fell on your skin and you allowed yourself to cry with him, clutching him close to you, afraid he’d disappear right before your eyes because of your actions.

“I’m so sorry…” You mumbled into his hair, hoping all the love and sincerity you felt right now could be translated into words. “Honey, I’m so sorry, mommy got angry and started yelling… I promise it won’t happen again… I’m so, so sorry…”

You felt Gabriel nod, and pressed your lips to his head, a thousand promises laced in one simple kiss.

Standing up and turning to Miguel, you gave him a serious look, despite your puffy face and red eyes.

“You should leave. For good.”

And for all his bravado, Miguel couldn’t help but melt when he looked at your son, at his round, bright eyes, and small pout. He might look like his father, but right now, he was all you. It killed him. He drove you to yell, he drove you to be mad and wake him up. Mierda. He’d fucked up again.

Miguel took his son in one last time, telling himself he’d keep an eye on him from afar, and nodded before walking away and leaving you alone in your living room.

You locked the door behind him, heart tightening.

You’d made the right choice.

“Would you mind sleeping with mommy tonight? I think I need my brave little boy to scare away the monsters…” You whispered.

This earned a chuckle out of Gabriel, who nodded and placed a hand on his forehead in a salute, no doubt imitating the cartoons he watched.

“I’m going to protect you!”

You smiled and took him to your bedroom once more, not even bothering to change. Your sweatpants were comfortable anyways.

Holding Gabriel close to you, you sighed when you heard him speak.

“That man said he was my father…”

You pressed your lips. However were you going to work this one out?

“Was he the one you wanted to protect me from?”

You let your hands run through his hair.

“Yeah, my love. He was.”

“How did he find us?”

That was a good question. With all of the yelling and anger, you’d forgotten to ask. But after all, this was Miguel you were talking about. He was a genius and would surely always find a way to you, sooner or later.

“I’m not sure. But he won’t hurt us. I promise.” You looked at him, offering him your best reassuring smile. Truth was, you weren’t sure he would follow you once again. But what you were sure of, was that you would always do your best to protect him and keep him safe.

Gabriel looked into your eyes and slowly wiped away what was left of your tears.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

No matter how used you were to it, it would always catch you by surprised how perceptive and intelligent your son was. You smiled slowly grabbing his hand and kissing it.

“I know.”

“Are you scared?” He asked again, his eyes droopy and his lips parting to let out a big yawn.

“I was a few minutes ago. But I’m gonna tell you a secret. That alright?” You moved your hand to cup his cheek.

“Mhm…” Gabriel mumbled, sounding like he was dozing off already.

“Mommy is never scared when you’re by her side.” It was barely a whisper, and you didn’t even know if he had heard it. Still, you added, “I’ll always be strong for you.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you watched his gentle breathing.

And then, words.

“I love you, mama.”

They were barely audible, but nevertheless, they were there.

A few tears managed to escape – tears of joy, of love.

You would always do your best to protect him. You’d always be there to hold his hand and watch him grow, watch him become his own person, cheering him on as he went.

No matter what came your way, no matter what happened, you’d always be there by his side. For the good things, for the bad things, for the so-so things. To hold him tightly when he felt clingier than usual, to pin his drawings on the fridge, to hear him babble about whatever new topic he’d discovered in school, even if you were tired beyond reason and all you wanted was for him to go to sleep so you could get some rest.

You’d be there to tie his shoes until he could do it by himself, and to clean his face whenever he got too excited with his lunch. You’d be there to explain to him what a “memamporphosis” was, and to listen to him explain to you why Spiderman was the greatest of heroes.

You’d be there when he cried, and when he laughed.

And be there when he wasn’t yours anymore.

Four years ago, you had chosen him, and you would always choose him, for as long as you breathed.

“I love you too, my sweet boy.”

Spanish Translations

Mi cielo - My sky Mierda - Shit My vida - My life Te amo con todo mi ser - I love you with all of my being Eres la luz de mi vida - You're the light of my life Estás embarazada? - You're pregnant? Perdóname - Forgive me Buenos dias hermosa - Good morning beautiful Querida / Querido - Dear (While Querida is meant for a female partner, Querido is meant for a male partner, both are a term of endearement and have the same meaning) No sé por donde empezar - I don't know where to start

If you'd like to check out the song's translation, you can check this page out!

I hope you enjoyed this! Have an amazing day ahead, please keep yourself hydrated and safe <3

[howtofightwrite]

this scenario happened on Twenty-Four and they didnt really account for the long term damage -evelynmlewis

"No long term consequences" could have been the tagline for 24. I mean, we are talking about the show where terrorists detonated a nuclear weapon in Los Angeles, and a few hours later people were going about their daily lives like nothing had happened. But, I think I remember what you're talking about, and it was a small symptom of a much larger problem.

Two important caveats: I haven't watched season 3 in roughly 20 years, so I might be slightly misremembering when things happen. Second, IMDB's trivia page doesn't have any mentions of what I'm about to say, so it's entirely possible this was a fiction cooked up by someone on TV Tropes.

The short version was that Chase (James Badge Dale) was captured and was being tortured by a Mexican cartel. (Because no synopsis of 24 is complete without gratuitous torture sequences.) And, at one point, one of the cartel members shoots him through the hand. The problem is that Chase was originally planned to be killed off right at the beginning of the next episode.

However, going into season 3, the show runners had, supposedly, gotten into a bad habit of watching fansites, and started tweaking things on the fly, when fans accurately predicted the outcomes of upcoming plot twists. This included keeping Chase alive, when the original plan was to kill him off, and also killing off Chappelle (Paul Schulze), later in the season.

So, I mentioned that the plans for Chase's execution being changed are a bit dubious, that's not true with Chappelle, and there's a couple major things to pick up on here. First is that we have confirmation from Paul Schulze that the original plan was to fake his character's death. (This came out of an interview Schulze did, though I'm not sure with whom.) The second is a production cue from the way the show was produced. By season 3, the show was being shot in two episode blocks, (so, for example, Day 3: 1:00 p.m. – Day 3: 2:00 p.m., and Day 3: 2:00 p.m. – Day 3: 3:00 p.m. were shot at the same time. Also, yeah, the official episode titles are a bit unwieldy.) In the case of Chappelle's death, it came at right before 7am (which would have been part of the shooting block for 5am to 7am.) However, Chase's death would have been right after 9pm. (Which would have been part of the 9pm to 11pm block.) This would mean that the production would have needed to bring James Badge Dale back in for what would have amounted to a glorified cameo, if they were originally planning to kill off his character. Once you're aware of the way that episodes were shot, the pacing of the series gets a lot more predictable. Significant characters (even short term ones) tend to get introduced in the front half of a block, and killed off in the back half. Not necessarily the same block, but the structure tends to hold up. Especially when the show plays with the idea of someone dying during the episode cliffhanger.)

So, where am I going with this? Don't mess with your story to keep your audience off-balance. Your first concern is keeping your story coherent, if members of your audience manage to accurately predict what you're doing, good. They're invested enough in the story that you're telling to care about what you're going to do next. These are the last people you want to mess with. And if their prediction is correct, when it does play out, that's a reward for them.

Don't follow the example of 24(especially in season 3), where the overarching plot degenerates into an incoherent mess, because it keeps getting revised, on the fly, to keep things surprising. A well written thriller shouldn't be predictable, but it should have internal consistency so when the unexpected happens, it makes sense. A second viewing (or reading) of a thriller, should provide more satisfaction, as you can now see all the pieces getting dropped into place, long before they pay off. But, again, when you're writing in a serial format, if you start flipping things around to keep ahead of what your audience is predicting, that will ruin the cohesion of your story. (And, it's why I haven't watched Season 3 since shortly after it released on DVD. When I did go back and rewatch the first two years of the show.) While it's a bit uneven, it is something the first season of 24handled remarkably well, especially in comparison to what came later.

There's a couple advantages to writing in a serialized format. If you're unfamiliar with the term, serialized fiction refers when a piece of fiction is released in multiple parts over time. This is somewhat distinct from episodic series and metaplots. Episodic series tell multiple self contained stories, while metaplots refer to an overarching storyline that hooks into episodic stories granting them a larger context. Serials are smaller parts of a larger whole. The individual pieces (or, in the case of television, the episodes) are segmented portions of a larger story. Now, I said there are advantages to serialized writing, but almost all of those come with some significant perils, that if you're wanting to

The first advantage is you don't have to have the work completed before you start putting it out there. If you have a completed chapter, you can simply post it out there for the world to see. The peril is that you can't (really) go back and change it. You're committed to the previously released material. Even if you go back and revise the earlier work, you'll have a significant portion of your audience who don't want to go back and reread chapter 3, because you cleaned up the dialog, and also closed a plot hole that would emerge years later.

The second advantage is that serials can easily deliver much larger stories than you could offer in another format. For example, each season of 24 tells a single twenty-four hour story (actually, about 18 hours, once you account for commercial breaks.) Just putting that scope in front of someone is kind of wild. The peril is that serialized stories can easily spiral out of control. For example, nearly every webcomic ever, with an ongoing plot. This can result in some insane bloat. So you can either accept the content in medias res, or you can be looking at an unpleasant amount of homework. Whatever praise 24 deserves, the show asks you for an entire day of your life to watch a single story. When put in those terms, frankly, it's not that good.

The third advantage is that you can adjust your later work to better fit what your audience responds well to. If your fans like something you're doing, you can expand that part of your story. This time, there's multiple perils. First, you can easily lose track of how your original plan fit together. This is less of an issue if you're running with a fairly loose outline, but the better scripted your original plan, the more this can inadvertently screw you over. And, as I mentioned above, with the first peril, you can easily trap yourself. For an example I'm not completely conversant in, this might be what's delayed the final Game of Thrones book, as Martin may have accidentally killed off a character he needed, and now he's spent years working out a Plan B. The second peril is a little simpler, sometimes fans are reacting to what you didn't say, rather than what you did. Peripheral characters or concepts can prove to be fan favorites because the hints you provided along the way were more enticing than the full background you had in mind. This is a very subjective risk, because ultimately, it is more about accurately gauging what your audience reacted to rather than what they said they reacted to. That's a tricky one to split.

The fourth advantage to serialized writing is, almost, more a peril disguised as an advantage: You don't have to know how this will end, when you start. You can go on the same journey as your reader. The real advantage is that it can make the story more approachable. If you look at the idea of writing an entire novel, and the scope of that scares you, then smaller serialized novellas are a lot less threatening. However, this also means you don't have a plan to finish this. Much your characters, you're going to need to figure it out on your feet. If that sounds like a fun challenge, then that's absolutely something to drop into the “Pros” column. The downside is, I've seen professionals screw this up, and worse, get it past their editor. (In this case, I'm thinking specifically of Transmetropolitan. If you know, you know; if you don't, it's a massive spoiler for the end of the series.)

I will say, on this last peril, having good documentation, and a good project bible can save your ass. Don't trust your memory to keep all the (figurative) plates spinning. Take notes on what you're doing in another document, so that in the future you'll have easy reference to try to avoid accidentally creating temporal paradoxes as you try to sketch out your conclusion.

Also, yeah, if you're going to shoot someone in the hand, even if it's with a .22, don't change your mind about killing them 20 minutes later. James Badge Dale was cool, but, dude had nothing to do but chew scenery for fifteen hours.

-Starke

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[mashiraostail]

Me sitting sooooooo nicely

Could you possibly do “you can sit on my lap” from the prompt list with Fatgum? As NSFW as your heart desires, but I loooooove how you write him! (Ngl your depressive episode reader fics got me through some tough times here and I treasure them with all my heart)

omg thank you for sitting nicely!!!!

A quiet day in seemed to be exactly what you needed, it was all the more delightful that Taishiro was there. You were glad he'd found the time to spend with you, even moreso to spend it lolling around your. place together. You'd ran a few small errands during the day but ultimately came back together in the afternoon, content to enjoy each other's company. You're sitting on the couch, watching some silly television program when you decide to start washing up. You announce it as you stand.

"I'm gonna wash my face and stuff, maybe put on some PJs."

"PJs?" Taishiro sounds excited, "maybe I'll follow your lead."

You grin and stand in front of his seat, "we can't go to bed too early."

"I know, I know, I wanna spend as much time together as possible too, but we might as well be comfy while you tell me all your work gossip. I swear I'll stay awake, and if I don't I owe you big time....but I will stay up."

You laugh at that, a quiet lilting sound that Taishiro feels like he's always chasing. His hands rest on the back of your thighs and he leans his head into your stomach, "go on, I'm excited to talk to you some more. You're leaving me with a crazy cliffhanger with that HR lady."

"She works in finances." You chuckle as you kiss his brow, "but sure."

You make fast work of washing up it wasn't anything major, just washing the oils from the day off your skin and changing into a comfy set of shorts and a teeshirt. You didn't look when you reached into your pajama pile, and the shirt you produced was a bit smaller than your average bed time tee shirt but it wasn't too tight or restrictive and you figured it would be nice to have some more exposed skin for Taishiro to brush his fingers against anyway.

When you emerge again Taishiro looks surprised.

"Woah-"

"What?" You prickle, "you know I don't have any matching sets or-"

"No it's good, a good 'woah.'" And he's being honest, all of your newly exposed skin looks equally tantalizing from your thighs to the sliver of your belly showing over your shorts. He realizes how close you'd been all day and how little he's actually be able to touch.

"Come here," he eggs you on, "don't torture me now, I'm just a man."

You go to him, no real reason to deny him popping up in your immediate thoughts. In fact all you can thing of are reasons to indulge him.

"You look pretty as a petal." He's smiling, grinning impishly at you, "'re you gonna let me touch you?"

You flush, surprised at his change of mood but not at all displeased, "of course I am."

"Lucky me." He huffs out a quiet laugh, "come on, you can sit on my lap." The motion is so practiced and easy, you'd dare call it muscle memory.

"That's perfect." He's already sliding his hands into your shirt, the devil.

"Is this what you've been waiting for this whole time?" You laugh a bit, unable to even feign anger with him.

"Oh no," He assures you, "I was just...listening to you talk with that pretty voice of yours all day, watching you play with you hair, and smile at me like you do." His hands are gliding up your back pulling you closer to him easily.

You don't mind the direction this is going in, you indulge him, maybe a bit selfishly. You kiss him, hands holding on his shoulders and sliding down his chest. You enjoy the feeling of his lips wandering down your jaw and neck, and his hands sneaking lower to your belly then your thighs. You don't mind taking off the pajamas you just put on, and he certainly doesn't mind undressing and shifting his own clothes to get as much skin to skin contact as possible.

For all intents and purposes you liked being in his lap, you felt surrounded by him, and something about the idea of him watching you, egging you on along the way lit a fire inside you. And watch you he did, he liked having you on his lap just as much. He could touch and guide you but also leave you to your own devices and he could watch. He liked to let you set the pace, especially at a time like there where he would just like to ravish you with attention from all fronts. For now he'll huddle you close, and follow the roll of your hips while he continue to kiss around your lips and jaw. When you work yourself up to a climax he'll welcome you, slumped over into his chest, and he'll stand, taking you with him. He'll clean you off and bring you to bed and you won't have to say a word if you don't want to. He'll huddle you even closer under the covers and rub circles in the nape of your neck until you doze off for the night.

[witheringwidgetwrites]

Benny weir wanting to ask reader out?

Hi hi!! I hope this is OK, I'm a little nervous about it and I ended on a cliffhanger because I wasn't sure which direction I wanted to take it in, I struggle a little bit with more general prompts, but I hope I did Benny justice enough!!!

------------------------

The bell had just rung for the 4th hour class of the day, the halls were quickly clearing out as Ethan emptied his previous class's books into his locker.

"Benny, just go for it." Ethan ducks his head, turning to Benny while he gesture's towards Y/N. He is tired of watching his best friend stare longingly at the back of their head.

"Absolutely not E! Maybe if I had some sort of love potion or maybe something to make them forget it ever happened. Just in case I get rejected," He turned his head back to Ethan, "I need a plan. In all due time buddy."

The bell rung once again before the halls cleared out entirely, a majority of the student body filing into the cafeteria.

Benny and Ethan sat at the lunch table, awaiting the rest of their usual group. "So, what's your plan Benny?"

Benny looked around quickly, a swift bloom of flowers erupting from his hand. He sat them down on the other side of the table, checking again to make sure that no one has seen him. "I will obviously woo them secretly until they fall in love with me, then I'll reveal myself, and they'll have no choice but to be my partner."

Ethan scoffed, and shaking his head he was about to speak up until Y/N sat their tray down across from them, plopping into the seat, Rory following along. Before they could speak, Rory chimed in, "wowza, where did these come from?" grabbing them, and shoving them into his nose.

"Those are for Y/N actually, the little card thing says so, not sure where they came from."

They chuckled, "are you joking?" They picked up the bouquet, checking the tiny card with the inscription of their name. "From secret admirer, ha. This has to be a joke." A soft blush lit up their cheeks as they rolled their eyes, assuming it was some sort of prank.

"I don't think it is," Ethan took a bite of his sloppy lunch potatoes, watching Benny push his around intensely.

"Anyway, did you guys see that new movie that everyone was hyping up?"

The rest of the night was uneventful, until a few days later, when Y/N opened their locked to a stuffed bear. They were used to smaller tiny surprises, but they seemed to really step up within the next few week. The next time it was chocolates, then answers to a math quiz, and then a letter. A long letter. They were eager to share it with their friends, especially Sarah, who might have an idea on who it is.

Y/N waited by their locker for Sarah, who came by a few minutes before the first bell. "Oh my gods, Sarah, read this. I've been getting these presents from a "secret admirer" for a few weeks now, but this is the best one yet."

"I noticed, those flowers you had the other day were gorgeous. I was kinda jealous," she chuckled and started reading, mumbling to herself as she scanned the page. "Wow."

"I can't tell if it's an elaborate prank or not, it's kind of sweet." Y/N shrugged, avoiding Sarah's eyes as she looked up.

"This seems really heartfelt. I bet it's from Benny. 'I want to play Knights Of Ninjitsu IV with you for hours, I want to kick your butt, then let you win.' Who else would write that?"

They chuckled, "god no way it's Benny!"

The bell rung. "Just think about it," Sarah assured as she turned to walk to class. Had these really been from Benny? It would make a little sense, but Benny seemed like he had a type, and that type was not Y/N.

Hours later, they had finally caught Ethan alone. "Is it him, Ethan?" They seemed a little panicked, and he couldn't help but feel bad.

"I can't say who it is. I am forbade." He turned quickly and walked away, almost tumbling over his own footing. The more and more they thought about it, the more sense it made that it would be Benny. But that would be too good to be true.

The small clique had a movie night scheduled for that Sunday evening, and slowly, but surely everyone had arrived. Everyone meaning Ethan, Benny, and Y/N. They had all agreed upon a new movie, normally watching reruns, but tonight's movie seemed a little awkward, Benny had just seen slightly off all night, and for the past few weeks. Ethan ran off to the kitchen, quickly making a few bags of popcorn, the majority of which would be eaten by Benny.

"Oh, I'll go help Ethan!" Benny sprung up, turning on his heel before Y/N grabbed his hand. "I need to ask you something." Benny's breath hitched momentarily, a small blush flooding his face, "of course, what's up?"

"Has it been you?"

[buffyfan145]

Fellowship of Fans have released their take on The One Ring Net's article last week about those major "Rings of Power" season 2 leaks. Was curious if they would and glad they did as it's interesting to hear what FOF has heard too. They actually confirmed some of these they have also heard and they've also debunked a few too, but there are a few they don't know about so could be possible as the show did keep a few things secret for s1. Again we won't know if any of these are true, including what FOF has said, till s2 finally airs later this year. But will say they also included more about Charlie Vickers' screen time in s2 and it's good news as I know some of us were worried about it, and they're suggesting something we wanted to happen actually is. I'll break down their take between what they've also heard and what they've debunked and/or haven't heard at all.

ETA April 2024: A lot of these spoilers have been confirmed as false now including some that were leaked on purpose from Amazon to catch the leakers.

Confirmed:

The first major thing is it is possible Amazon got the ok from the Tolkien estate to use some of "The Silmarillion" to explain Sauron's backstory. This likely is mostly the use of names like Mairon, Mirthrander for Gandalf, Melkor/Morgoth, and show the Valar and Maiar.

There are flashbacks telling Sauron/Mairon's story but they haven't heard anything about what this leak said with the details. Possible the Valar and Maiar are shown on-screen in the opening, similar to Galadriel's opening in s1.

Sauron is in every episode.

Charlie Vickers filmed almost all the flashbacks and FOF seems to suggest that the Halbrand form is the human-like form of Mairon. Like above we might see what Mairon actually looked like fully as Maiar and Charlie is playing him. There likely is a flashback to his time with Adar, as Adar know Gavi Singh Chera's version, that Charlie won't be in but sounds like Gavi is mostly being used only as the Annatar version.

The 3rd actor playing Sauron very well could be Calam Lynch. They have also heard that Sauron will pretend to be Celeborn when he goes back to Eregion too, as well as shifting into Annatar when needed, but will pretend to be Galadriel's husband. They haven't posted this scoop though yet as they were waiting to get more confirmation but it is possible this is correct.

Is possible The Stranger being Gandalf/Mithrander will be revealed in the flashbacks with Charlie's Mairon/Sauron.

Sauron does use his connection to Aule to convince the dwarves to his side.

Tom Bombadil and Goldberry likely will appear.

The One Ring likely is getting made in the finale and Galadriel might make a huge choice for the cliffhanger for s3.

Debunked:

There are no bottle episodes.

Shadowfax will not appear.

Amelia Kenworthy is not playing Celebrian and there is no evil Celebrian, but Amelia's unnamed character is a villain.

That thing about the same actors playing Morgoth and Ungoliant playing Tom Bombadil and Goldberry is false, and they are not the same characters.

While the Valar and Maiar might be shown in the s2 premiere it's not what this leak described.

Things they haven't heard at all:

That Sauron has a son. That was the first time they ever heard this and they think it's false. However they aren't ruling out anything as again s1 did have leaks come out this exact same way and like they said TORT has the right to post these if they want. Will point out too TORT has doubled down on all these leaks, including this one about Sauron's son and that Adar killed him. I posted my other posts how this makes sense and I kind of do want this to happen, so if it doesn't I might write a fic about it as it weirdly works. LOL

So again we'll know for sure once season 2 airs which of these leaks/scoops were true. But again I'm really happy that it seems like Charlie is playing Mairon after all as so many of us thought he should.

[trashexplorer]

BLCD Review: Saezuru 7

Title: Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai 7 (囀る鳥は羽ばたかない 7)

Author/Artist: Yoneda Kou

Shop: CD + Manga

Release Date: 2021/07/28

Cast:

Hatano Wataru + Shingaki Tarusuke

Okitsu Kazuyuki

Masuda Toshiki

Ookawa Tooru

Ueda Yuuji

Satou Takuya

Miyake Kenta

Ito Kentarou

Nara Tooru

Synopsis: Adaptation of the 7th volume of the series.

Review Proper

I'm not sure what's gonna end first: the series or my fucking life.

As much as I love Saezuru, it's gone on for so long that it's starting to get old literally and figuratively. You know, I wouldn't even be mad if Yoneda Kou ended the series by killing Yashiro off in 6. 7 is still well-written to a point and the BLCD did deserve to rank second AGAIN in chil-chil 2022, but I'm not sure about the future of this series (it wasn't nominated in 2023 tho which is one of the few good things about 2023's).

I say a lot of things, but I'm still invested in vol. 7 & 8.

I don't know who I'm jealous of, BUT THAT SHOULD BE ME! This scene is in vol 8, not 7, but I wanted to include it anyway.

I do agree that Saezuru portrayal of the whole yakuza deal is the realest 'cause happy endings over there are quite rare, but this isn't a novel that comes out in one go. Doesn't help that June is ass. I've heard from several friends who've read the latest releases that it feels like it's lost its way and that just makes me sad. I'm still hopeful tho.🤧

As I've already stated, this placed second in 2022's awards. I mean, it's Saezuru. Frontier doesn't spare a penny for it lmao. All the major characters are voiced, and they managed to bring the A-listers back again. Sometimes, I forget that Saezuru is actually based on a manga whenever I listen to the BLCDs 'cause the production is just that good.

Shingaki slayed as usual. I've said this many times before, but no matter how bad or how well he does in another role, he will always be Yashiro. I just came from Tsunaida and we're in the middle of a Rei event in Nu:carnival, so I would expect myself to adjust to Yashiro, but I didn't need any of that lmao. Yashiro is truly Shingaki's magnum opus. I'm not at all surprised that he placed 3rd best seiyuu for Yashiro. Deserved.

Speaking of Nu:carnival, I will forever be obsessed with Yashiro's relationship with the other characters aside from Doumeki. Nanahara's voiced by my one true love, Okitsu, but like Yashiro, I love him for his character and not his voice. It is nice having the other veterans in here with him, too. The slut trio is complete with Daddy Complex SatoTaku, Boss Ass Chaser Okitsu, and Damel in Distress Shingaki. #BLESS I want Kamiya to end up with Nanahara.

I haven't heard Wacchan in years HAHAHAHAHA. His Doumeki is still amazing as always. My issues with the story aside, I'm really looking forward to his "break" in vol. 8. EEEEEEE

Special mention to my Ryuuzaki and Miyake Kenta who made their comebacks here too. I missed him so much! LMAO

The BLCD is pretty accurate to the... magazine at least, but June does sell the translated tanko (fortunately). Like the previous installments, reading the manga while listening to the BLCD was so smooth because it was so accurate. Now 7 does end in a cliffhanger, so I don't really advise listening to it if you still don't have 8. But if cliffhangers aren't an issue for you, then break a leg!

[bingebuddie]

Here... We... Go...

Hi all,

Well, so far, 2024 has sucked for me... but anyway...

I've been feeling pretty out of sorts mentally, and depending on where my head is at, I've been bouncing back and forth between Fics and my Wes and Cole novel.

I am going on a writing retreat May 4-12th... so... expect some major movement...

I wanted to provide a few updates on where I am with my Fics and other works.

Sideways:

Published updates here have been slower than I wanted or anticipated. This has nothing to do with the story, as I have this outlined for Arcs 6-10... Yes, up to Arc 10.

My personal life has gotten in the way a lot over the last few months and has just eaten up my time to write.

Now, Arc 6 will lead right into Arc 7 and 7 into 8. You will want to throw some stuff at me for some of the wtf moments and having to wait between arcs... but it's all coming. Anyone new to the series has had the benefit of reading five fully finished-out arcs that took me about a year to write. Have some patience with me. It will be worth it.

Arc 6, Into The Unknown, has multiple chapters drafted. I just need to clean up some edits from my beta, and they will be posted. May is going to be a big month for this arc.

This is a pivotal point in the series. It spans Chapters 37-48, making it the longest arc so far. This installment will delve into the Seals' backstory, their connection with Buck and Eddie, and much more. It’s a substantial piece of the puzzle that you won't want to miss.

This one does have some heavy moments...

This does end with a cliffhanger... But I promise, it's not our boys directly you are left wondering about...

Arc 7—Strong—Eddie will need his friends and family like never before. This is a heavy Diaz family arc. The outline is eight Chapters.

This also ends in a cliffhanger and that promise I made above... does not apply here.... insert evil laugh...

Arc 8 Genesis—This is the big one. It all comes together here, and it is the part I am most excited to write. It is also the longest, with an outline of 16 chapters. You will find out more about Genesis in Arc 6.

This arc will change all of their lives and the status quo as we know it. Grab your seats and tissues. The previous title for this was Unleashed...

Arc 9 - Experience/Circles - Tentative Title - No tease, as it will spoil what's to come...

Arc 10 - My All - googles Mariah Carey ...

Sideways isn't going anywhere...

Shifted:

Volume 1: Nevermore

This was originally planned to be 30 chapters. I have 20 published right now. The rest of this is outlined, and chapters 21-25 are written and ready to be published. I haven't posted these because Chapter 25 ends on a massive cliffhanger, and I don't want to leave you all hanging. I will be finishing this... after Arc 6 of Sideways ...

I have a plan for the second arc... but that's all the way behind everything else on my docket...

Impossible:

If you have read this one, I have yet to post the last chapter...

This has an MCD, and while I was writing this, I lost a friend. It was hard to finish. I have finished the outline, and this will be completed soon.

Run:

This is on hold. I have too much else to focus on. Consider this on hiatus until I say otherwise. It might even be scrapped... will see...

Would You Mind:

This one was a lot of fun... The wrap-up/epilogue is done; it's with my beta...

Lap Dancing Eddie will return... in Sideways...

I Don't Want To Be Your Freind:

As of today, 7 of 11 chapters are posted. This is all outlined. I have drafts of chapters 8-11 done. Going to beta and will be posting soon...

I started this leading up to Season 7; it was my mind dealing with all the rumors and leaks... In my mind and my group chat, I was calling this my Anti Tommy and Marisol fic...

This got way out of hand and became a monster of a fic...

Now... on to what else I have brewing...

Future Shock - 3 Part Series - Magic/BAMF/Mayhem/Found Family/Soul Mates/Redux/Ryan Throw's The Timeline Into A Blender and Tada...

As It Is - 2030 and the 118 have been a fractured team since the lawsuit. When members of the team start to be picked off one by one, Hen, Chim, and Bobby, have no one to turn to until friends and family return in their most desperate hour.

As It Was - Details what led to the fracturing of the 118. A retelling of Season 2 and part of season 3...

As It Was Always Meant To Be - Now reunited, will the 118 be able to rally around each other, or will their painful past be too much to overcome.

This has a loose outline and it's very large ...

Depressed, Devasted, and Destroyed aka Something To Hold On To:

I keep calling this Triple D or DDD... This is a pure angst fest... major whump... like I'm mad at myself for the whump here ... seriously...

This has an outline...

Relationship Goals—In an effort to rebuild their friendship after their recent relationships crash and burn, Buck and Eddie join a local hockey team along with some of Buck's old seal friends. This was pure fan service to myself and a way to get Buck, Eddie, Wes, and Cole to play hockey and not have to do it on Sideways. This currently sits around 60 pages.

Stolen - A stolen kiss changes everything between Buck and Eddie... This angst fest is somehow incredibly soft... This is about 35 pages right now...

The Ties That Bind - Buck breakdown fic... This might get scrapped and merged into DDD from above...

All I Want for Christmas - Think Scrooged Vs. It's A Wonderful Life Vs 911... This won't be posted until holiday time...

The Wes and Cole novel is still moving along... it's my refuge when the show does something stupid...

I should probably get to writing... it's not like I have nothing to do....

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones II

Summary: You promised Clay to get him help but for that, the two of you still need to make it through the night…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Major Hurt/Comfort, Still Angsty, The Slow Burn Is Slowly Burning Y'all, Kinda Calm And Domestic Vibes For A Treacherous Second, Talk About Rehab, Talk About Track Marks, Brief Mentions Of Other Substances (Painkillers And Alcohol), Talk About Past Self-Harm, Clay Still Being Miserable, Crying, A Short Sloppy Make Out Session In The Shower, Smutty Cliffhanger 😬

A/N: I actively lost my mind over this, y'all. Major shout out to @cc-luvr for listening to my demented rambles and proofreading this stuff 🫶🏻

Find Part I and Part III here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

You are all I need

You're all I need

I'm in the middle of your picture

Lying in the reeds

I am a moth

Who just wants to share your light

I'm just an insect

Trying to get out of the night

- All I Need By Radiohead

You knew that you should just hand in your resignation at the Boston PD by now, kiss your badge goodbye and face the fact to get demoted to filing parking tickets again. The second someone just got so much as a whiff of you taking your informant in at your own home would have you suspended in absolutely no time whatsoever. Anyhow, that train of thought had to wait while you scooped a hastily put together grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to a small plate and placed it onto your kitchen table right next to a cup of hot chocolate.

"I know, it's not strawberry milk but basically the next best thing now, no?" You tried to sound a little cheerful although there was nearly no energy left inside of you.

Hauling Clay out if his hellhole of a flat had been hard enough on both of you since he practically broke down crying anew every few steps down the way. Only when you'd put on the heating and the radio in your car did Clay calm down eventually.

Before answering to you, Clay just looked at the food with wide eyes, his form hardly more than a weak silhouette slumped in your kitchen chair. In that moment it dawned on your sleep-deprived mind that he probably hasn't had a real home-cooked meal in god knows how long. While you wouldn't even really call a grilled cheese sandwich home-cooked, it meant the world and more to Clay, who still just stared at it, seemingly hypnotized by the token of hospitality in front of him.

"Thank you…you didn’t…it wouldn't have been necessary." He expressed his gratitude with a sore voice and looked up to you as you took a seat in front of him, your own late-night snack in hand.

"But I wanted to.", You smiled at him softly but with obviously very tired undertones, "Now, please, dig in."

Your invitation to take a bite of the sandwich had hardly left your lips as Clay already munched down on it.

"Please don't choke yourself, okay? I said I'd drive you to rehab first thing in the morning, not the morgue." It rolled over your tongue in an upright and honest chuckle.

"It's kinda the same thing, depending how you look at it." Clay snarled back, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Oh, c'mon now.." You arched your brows at him while taking a much needed bite out of your own sandwich.

"Sorry…" Clay broke from your gaze with an apologetic expression on his face before downright devouring the cheese-stuffed toast and chugging down the cup of hot chocolate, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of burning his mouth with the fresh from the stove liquid.

"That good?", You asked in between bites, the crunchy and creamy texture of the warm sandwich feeling like a near orgasmic experience to your whiplashed senses, "Do you need anything else? Painkillers…alcohol…whatever really?"

"No, not…not yet." Clay shimmied around in his chair a little, "I'm kinda cold though.."

"Maybe a hot shower would help with that? No offense, Clay, but you could use one.." You suggested, eating up the last bits of your sandwich.

"I know.", He reciprocated dryly, "But.."

"But what?" You inquired calmly, taking a deep drag from your steaming cup of coffee.

"The last time I tried, I got heart palpitations, fainted and nearly smashed my head on the fucking tiles.." For the blink of an eye you just stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Do you need help with that then?" Your question was sincere.

"Fuck off, I'm not a toddler that needs to be mothered." Clay pursed his lips as he started chewing on the insides of his cheeks, crossing his arms in front of his chest in resignation.

"I never implied that, Clay. You asked for help and I am offering it to you. Simple as that." You knew all too well that the current situation you found yourself in was everything but simple, however, that was a problem for sometime tomorrow.

"I'll just be there, making sure that maybe you won't flail out of my shower head first." You suggested while looking at him, waiting for an answer.

It took a good moment of silence for him to redirect his eyes towards yours right before he mumbled: "I'm….I'm embarrassed. My body.. is- is not in a good condition, shocker, I know."

"Clay…", You sighed after taking another sip of coffee, "An hour ago, I pulled a needle from your arm. There's nothing you'd have to be embarrassed about, I promise you."

In a nervous, clearly still unsure motion, he rubbed his palms together, pulling the hem of his sleeves up to his knuckles.

"Promise?" He furrowed his brows and bit down on his bottom lip.

"I promise." You assured him, "How about you go upstairs? It's the first door to the right and I get you some fresh clothes from my wardrobe while you make yourself as comfortable as you can, hm?"

"I guess we can try that." You knew it was the best you could get out of him about that and you acknowledged it with a nod while scooting away from the table.

"I'll be with you right away, yeah?" You smiled at Clay before putting both plates in the sink and taking the stairs towards your bedroom.

At this point, you just left him to himself for a moment. Sure, you thought about him taking his chance and running. Maybe the next thing you'd hear would be the slamming of your front door but that would be his choice then. A choice you wouldn't take from him, there was no use to that. Clay was here on his own accord and you left it up to him to show you that he really wanted this.

While you pulled a long-sleeved shirt from the bottom of your wardrobe's drawer, accompanied by one of your oversized sweatpants, you felt your heart thrashing against your ribcage. Your ears were picking up every possible sound and you couldn't help yourself but to wish that he wouldn't do anything stupid. The pent-up breath leaving your lungs in a heavy sigh as you heard the creaking of the stairs should've given it away to yourself, practically rubbing it into your face that Clay had grown important to you, but you chose active denial instead.

"There should be a leftover toothbrush on the shelf above the sink if you want to use it!" You called down the hallway, folding the clothes into one neat pile before getting up from the carpet floor of your bedroom.

"Noted." Clay answered back after stepping into your bathroom, not fully closing the door behind him.

Before stepping in after him you gently knocked.

"Can I come in?" You asked in a soft tone, leaning your shoulder against the door.

"Uh-Huh." He mumbled in return, the toothbrush already between his jaws.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you pushed the door open slowly, the pale skin of Clay's back facing you.

You tried your best not to stare like a total idiot, but the way you could practically count his ribs and the intervertebral disks of his spine up to the nape of his neck had you stunned for a second. Tearing your gaze away from him, you placed the clothes on top of the laundry bin right next to the door and sat down on the closed toilet seat beside the sink, getting yourself out of your PJ pants first.

Up until that moment, you didn't waste a second thought about your own body in this whole scenario but as the soft fabric of the pants pooled on the tiles in front of you, the discomfort shot as a hot wave into your cheeks. Clearing your throat a little, you silently stared down on your thighs, faded out, thick scar tissue ogling right back, mocking you in a way.

"How about…", Clay spat out an amalgamation of saliva and toothpaste, leaning his hands against the sink, "You just stare at me for a moment while I do the same. Get it over with."

"Yeah, hold on…", You pulled the PJ top off, too, leaving you in your underwear. "Now it's fair.."

Your eyes traced the trail of self-induced scars up to your navel before you raised your head back to Clay.

"What happened?" He asked bluntly, turning himself to you, vulnerable and exposed, the waistband of his shorts sitting loosely on his pointy hip bones.

"I could ask you the same." You chuckled dryly, your eyes wandering over his torso, ribs poking through just like his collarbones.

"Life, I'm afraid." He responded in an equally dry tone.

"Same here.", You shrugged your shoulders a little, "How about we put some antiseptics on the puncture sites? They look like they could use some. I have a bottle in the drawer to your left."

With a short nod Clay opened up the drawer, pulling out not only said bottle of antiseptic lotion but also a still wrapped shut set of razor blades.

"The monsters still live in the closet, huh?" He put the package back as fast as he'd pulled it from the drawer.

"They never really moved out, no." You confessed, gathering a few pieces of toilet paper to douse it in the disinfectant.

"I wonder if they ever do." Clay sighed, inhaling sharply as you caressed the plentiful of his track marks with the improvised paper swab.

"Thank you…" You pat every little inch on the inside of his elbow carefully.

"For what?" Clay sounded thoroughly confused.

"For trusting me, shitbum." You said in return, throwing him a faint yet upright smile.

"Uh, sure…" He shrugged it off while you dumped the soggy toilet paper into a trash can underneath the sink.

"Now let's get into that shower, no?" You nudged your head towards the shower.

"Yeah, uhm…", Clay's eyes darted down to his shorts, "Should I…I mean..?"

"Whatever you are comfortable with." You got up and stepped underneath the shower head, fumbling with the faucet handle to not just drench the both of you in ice cold water.

"Uh, okay…" He mumbled, deciding to leave his boxers on before cautiously following you.

"Is the temperature okay for you?" You reached out to gently grab his hand by the wrist, holding it under the softly flowing stream of warm, but not exactly hot water.

"A bit more, maybe? I don't wanna burn you but I feel like I'm freezing." He asked hesitantly.

"Sure, don't worry about me, okay?" You pushed the handle a little more to the left.

"How about now? That better?" A wave of significantly warmer water hit your front and the palm of his hand.

"Yeah…" Clay smiled contentedly whilst stepping into the flow of water coming from above.

A long, low humm of comfort left his lips while you watched him closely as the water soaked his unkempt hair and cascaded down his body.

"Fuck…that feels good." He sighed with eyes closed, his hand now holding on to yours for guidance.

"Good, I got you, yeah?" You carefully wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his, slowly crouching down to pick up a bottle of shampoo.

You let him soak in the heat of the water for a while before you asked: "Mind taking just a little step towards me? I think we should take some care of that hair if yours, no?"

"Sure…" Clay blindly stepped out of the frequent stream, now just standing inches away from you.

With your free hand you unscrewed the bottle and tilted it over the crown of his head until a big dollop of shampoo oozed out of it.

"Am I going to smell like flowers and berries now?" He chuckled whilst you put the bottle back down and started lathering his scalp with tender, circular movements of your fingertips.

"Actually…" You started, his comment eliciting a short laugh out of you as well, "It's mint and green apple scented."

"Oh, I can get behind that." He murmured, his face clearly telling you how much he enjoyed you soaping up his hair right now.

"Well, it's not like you really got a say in this, huh?" You returned, delicately letting go of his hand to put both of yours to use throughout his knotted hair.

"Yeesh, we'll need a lot of conditioner to tame that mess." You noted with slightly pursed lips.

"Conditioner now, too, yeah? Gon' be the best smelling lowlife in rehab tomorrow." At first you smiled but soon enough the reality of his comment hit you deep down again.

For an innocent, foolish moment you simply forgot about it, had allowed yourself to get carried away.

You tried your best to not sound too taken aback as you uttered: "So, you really want it?"

At that Caly also lost his faint smile and you deeply regretted every word that just left your mouth.

"Fuck, sorry…" You whispered to him, feeling sorry for the both of you for bluntly trashing the moment like that.

"No, stop…it's okay.", With his hair full of bubbly shampoo, Clay took another blind step towards you, nearly bumping into you, his arms clumsily wrapping themselves around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, "It's a valid question and the answer is yes."

For seemingly endless seconds your severely overworked brain oh so desperately tried to compute what was happening.

"Are…are you hugging me right now?" You stammered awkwardly.

"Kinda looks like it, no?" Clay answered, wrapping his arms closer around you as if to prove his point.

"Oh-, okay, cool…", You felt your mind gradually losing the plot, being so utterly stunned by his display of affection, "Let's…how about we rinse that shampoo out now." Trying to regain your composure, you cupped his hips with your hands, gently guiding him back underneath the steady flow of steaming, warm water.

"Yeah, sure…" It bubbled out of his mouth as you watched the shampoo residue slowly trickling down the drain.

Yet again, Clay rested his chin in the crook of your neck, his face slightly tilting towards your collarbone. In this very moment you felt his lips brushing over your skin, his wet hair falling across your shoulder and it led you to forsake all rational reason for good.

In a moment of unadulterated senselessness your hands cupped his face, pulling it up to yours to press a painfully longing kiss to his lips.

"Fuck…" Clay huffed right before reciprocating the kiss, practically shoving himself onto you, tightening his hug around your lower body.

"Shit, fucking hell…no.. we shouldn't-" You rambled into his mouth.

"I know but fuck that." He groaned nonchalantly.

[kraken-o-doyle]

All I have to say is that this little guy is the one of the diamond choices I am happy to pay. What did you name the owlbear cub? I am curious to know did you keep the given name or used something else?

Tyril... Okay, my guy made me so sad. I still don't like Nia, she is like affected by the shadow and thinks she needs no one. sigh. Depresso backstory for Valax and her actually opening up to MC, but is it just me or is it a tiny bit late to have her backstory revealed - the only way they could get away with giving us this piece of lore is because it's gonna end on a cliffhanger. :)

There is a lot to wrap up if this book has 16 Ch.

1. Where the mother green grass did MC go for the majority of the year; likely will be explained that she trapped herself in the dream state for longer than she thought and is manipulated by the Watcher from day one, aka end of book 1 (we saw his ass hiding in shadows).

I genuinely believe that we are gonna meet the watcher in the next leg of our journey like in real life no longer in the dream state thingie. (because the MC has been closing rifts mayhaps, the veil is too thin and any creature/being pass through to the real world)

2. MC's family - honestly they might leave it absolutely ambiguous, like we got some of the crumbs that the Nighblooms helped the goblins and that's it. That family isn't that special (sure -_- )but that would be unsatisfactory to say the least.

Potentially the Watcher is in some way related to MC, aka her ancestor from the days of gods. He worshipped them and they gave him power in return; which is why the Watcher says he was created/given power by the gods. (sidenote, this is my personal belief, if its wrong, 🤷)

3. Who is the Ash Empress?

I have a scenario that the empress isn't all that able, (almost like the queen from alien 💀 i'm sorry 💀) meaning that she is ruling from afar. Her daughter Valax is ruling in her mother's name as we know the blood princess was made of magic, so I think that solidifies the theory that the Ash Empress is the Nilfara or maybe it's an entirely different thing. But it would be odd for them to bring it up and never use it in the story.

4. Where is Aerin and why did he leave? Genuinely have no clue why he would leave except to shield MC from seeing his shadow side, similarly to Nia. That is if he is still even shadowy, but I have doubts because if he knew how to rid of shadow he would've shared it. But it might've been a traumatic experience for him so he kept everyone at an arms distance. Another possibility is that he went off to rally forces for MC'S cause, aka. Kade, Threep, Loola and other characters that we met in book 1 and 2.

[purplemarshal]

Cause For Concern

Chapter two of my 2012 Caseytello fic! I don't know how long this will go on for but, I have many ideas. I am also going to start posting some of my art soon!

Casey’s P.O.V. 

Our laughing stopped as we watched Donnie sprint out of the dojo, promptly slamming their lab door behind them.

“Great job Casey, now we won’t see him for like two days.” Raph claimed.

“What?” I turned to look at him, “does this happen a lot?”

Leo took a step forward and placed one of her hands on my shoulder, looking past me.

“I’m sure it wasn’t all you, they mainly just do it if they're overwhelmed.” She looked at Raph, and even with her still not looking at me I could see the concern in her eyes.

“Well,” Raph started. “This time it was clearly from Casey!” 

Now if I said that I wasn't confused before, I definitely was now. I never thought that my flirting really had anything to do with their attitude lately. Maybe I embarrassed them though? But this seems like a real cause for concern.

“No, my children. Donatello just has some things they need to figure out.” Splinter paused. “Emotions that they aren’t sure about.”

Leo steps back as Splinter takes his spot, startling me.

“Perhaps Casey should talk to them. Hm?”

I looked up at the rat man. “Yo, I don’t know if that is such a good idea, I mean like what if they try to get revenge or something.”

“Pft- like they would dude.” Mikey laughed. “Do you really not know yet?” 

“Not now Michelangelo, you go check on them.” 

“You got it Sensei!”

And with that the orange turtle was also gone.

Leo and Splinter sat down to talk and most likely meditate, kicking out Raph and I in the process. So we just went to the entrance/living room of the lair and talked, awaiting the arrival of the other family members.

“What was that anyway man?” I looked up at Raph as he said that. “You were like a major cringe fail.” Raph stated with a look of disgust on his features.

“C’mon man.” I whined as I stretched out my limbs.

“I’m serious Casey, you aren’t going to get anywhere with how you're going about it.”

I gave him a look that told him to elaborate, so he did.

“Don and I are like twins so we know everything about each other. And to get them to melt like you want, you have to massage their intellect.”

“Massage their what?” I stared at him blankly.

“Look.” He sighed, “the smarter they feel, the more they’ll melt. Complement them dude.”

“Y’know I can’t do that!” I threw my hands up dramatically. “Everytime that I try to, it just becomes an insult.”

“Or maybe you should write it down and get them a gift. That’s their love language.”

I shot up at that, jumping off of the couch.

“Y’know what, I will be back.”

I started to walk to the turn thingies but the sight of two turtle mutants made me rush back to my original spot, then moved again by the orange clad turtle who plopped down basically on me. Donnie on the other hand just stood there awkwardly probably waiting for Splinter or Leo.

I took careful note of their fidgeting, how their three (6 if you count both hands) fingers messed with about everything they could before finally landing on their mask tails. The light purple seemingly dancing between the light green of their skin.

Oh how much I wanted to know what their hands felt like. They have clear burns and scars, but something about them just seemed so soft and warm and. I don’t know.

“You gonna be okay Don?” Raph was the first to speak which was followed by a hesitant nod from the mentioned sibling. “You can sit down y’know, you don’t really look too good.” 

If this was any other time the turtle in red would’ve followed that up with a snicker, but I took note of the lack of one. 

See, I can be very observant when needed.

“Casey, could I talk to you for a moment?”

Wow, a cliffhanger! Who wants to talk to Casey? We may never know. Hope you enjoyed it, stay tuned. <3

[mayasdeluca]

Okay so what is your expectation versus reality for the finale; Marina edition. I think they save Maya pretty quickly and end the wildfires. Since Grey's happened first I don't think anyone is severely injured to need medical care on burns or it happens off screen. The rest of the majority of the episode needs to be on seeing Travis and Vic pack up, Maya and Carina being pregnant and adopting Liam and Andy forming her own team.

I agree that no one else is going to be severely injured and Maya will probably end up being okay but I also think that they could still have a hospital scene for Marina in the Station 19 episode because Carina works there (just like they had the Carina/Helm scene in the hospital this past week) so they can still have hospital scenes even if Grey's happens first.

I think it will be super disappointing if Maya is just saved quickly and doesn't have any residual damage from it later on or anything because then what's the point? Is Carina even going to find out or is it just something they will discuss later when Maya tells her she's leaving SFD? I feel like that would be so cheap and won't pay off the cliffhanger but I guess it's possible with so much they have to cover. I think the Grey's part of the crossover being focused on Theo and Ben is where they have it all wrong because that could have been where they picked up the Marina portion of the cliffhanger too and then they'd have more time to do the other later/future stuff.

I honestly have no clue what to think though and I'm just hoping that the cliffhanger has a good pay off otherwise I'll be really disappointed. I know they have so much to cover but they knew that when deciding to have the wildfire cover this much time so I just hope they can do it all justice. I could see them having a party for Marina officially adopting Liam just like they did when Pru was adopted officially and that could be the scene of the beanery BTS where all the cast was crying because it was the last day.

[ask-sibverse]

What a cliffhanger! You think Swad will ever feel anything since being heartbroken just about since Swan found Reader as a partner?

Short answer: absolutely. He's been feeling heartbroken for a while now

Long answer: Idk why, but writing Swapdream Reader specifically has gotten a lot into my own experiences with emotions (traumatic emotional repression and issues expressing emotions anyone?). This goes into two major parts.

The first part is what effects Naiad themself. I headcanon Swad's powers working as something akin to hypnosis, it works on people who are "open" to it's effects. And since the vast majority of people would rather be happy all the time, it's extremely effective! But Naiad, like some people in the real world, has encountered mentalities like "toxic positivity" and hiding negative emotions or shoving them down. They would rather acknowledge their emotions, face them, and move on. Naiad is simply the first person Swan and Swad had met with that mentality, but Swan's allies he gains later have a similar mentality to Naiad and are similarly immune.

The second part is about Swad himself. (And corrupted Nightmare too). Because 1) only being able to feel "positive" or "negative" emotions only is flat and boring, and doesn't make a lot of sense. You wanna know what does make sense though? Traumatic emotional repressionnnnnnn. Repressing, ignoring, pretending these emotions don't exist. Putting on a mask that you're always happy, it's fine, everything is just fine. Even though it's not fine. Swad wants his brother back, he misses him dearly and feels replaced. "But it's all okay! I'm the only one he needs, he just needs to see it. I'm not hurting, everything is just fine!"

I'm sure it'll be interesting to see that mask eventually crumble, won't it?

[vaamiel]

So, I don't know if anyone else has touched on this really, but with all the biblical references these past couple of episodes as well as Angela Bassett specifically using 'biblical' when asked about the finale in an interview, is anyone else getting Last Supper vibes from this scene's promo images (and maybe even a little bit the medal ceremony)?

There's something about a lot of these promo images that... comes off a little ominous almost? I'm not sure if it's just because WE know there's more lurking around the corner, so maybe it's just the calm before the storm, but going back to the 118 meals does feel like a pretty deliberate thing to dedicate screentime to.

Regarding the Last Supper specifically, we've already seen Bobby-Jesus comparisons in 7-8; most on the nose when he was dragging Amir on the tarp - to me it felt VERY reminiscent of Jesus carrying the cross (idk could be off the mark here, but to me that was the vibe).

The other thing with this comparison is, if we have Jesus/the Last Supper, who is our Judas?

My initial thoughts are it has to be someone we're familiar with, so either Eddie, Buck or Tommy would be my vote for the 'betrayer' in this scenario. I mean, if something happens to the 118/with Captain Gerrard, there needs to be a catalyst for it, right?

For Eddie, I could see it be the kind of thing he stumbles into by accident - his carelessness with his personal life could spill over into just revealing something he's not supposed to to the wrong person which puts the 118 in jeopardy. For me this is less based in things we've seen on screen, and more Ryan's comments about Eddie feeling isolated going into next season. What would be more isolating than oops I betrayed all my friends and coworkers!

(Of course, this is precluded by Eddie not suffering from a mental breakdown because I still think that's the most likely resolution to his story at this point but with how season 7 has gone you really never know!!)

For Buck, I feel like it would be the kind of thing where someone is forcing him to betray Bobby/the 118. I don't think he could ever be capable of doing it intentionally, but if someone made him feel like it was the only option to keep them safe? Much like when Bobby decided to prolong Buck's leave from active duty, it would be something he did trying to protect his family and not realizing the long-reaching consequences it would have.

Tommy probably feels like a bit of a wildcard pick, but... in a way it also makes sense? Looking back at early season 7, Tommy never seemed to face any major consequences for stealing a helicopter. I get this is a tv show, but like... that's the kind of thing you would expect him to get a reprimand or charge for, not a commendation/award! Just hypothesizing here, but what if:

Someone approached Tommy offering him... I don't know, an escape from reprimand if he could place blame upon the 118. Basically, a situation where he would need to get close to his old house to provide proof that he wasn't the most at fault for the whole... helicopter theft.

Of course I could be totally wrong with this, or even the person (I mean, Hen could even be an option for a Judas figure - she's got enough to lose!), but returning to the framing of the team meals, right before we know things are going to go VERY to shit? I don't know, feels pretty biblical to me!

Mostly this is just VERY speculative musings so I'm very happy to be proven wrong tomorrow lol.

I think in general, I'm SO scared for these last two episodes and even a finale cliffhanger. There's so much still to address and I really can't settle on a single theory even for how things are going to turn out!