#i would die for juan

[clichejoe]

Candlelight End Notes

Hooooo boy kiddos, this is going to be a long one. 

I know I’ve been kind of off the fanfic radar for the past few weeks, but that was purely because this post right here was taking up most of my time. 

Trying to find a way to word all of the amazing feelings that this project has evoked simply isn’t possible. So instead, I offer you this:

I’ve never finished any writing before. Ever. 

I’ve never written anything over 80k words until I did this, and I know for a fact that the only reason I ever achieved as much as I did with Candlelight is because of you. 

Not you, generally. You specifically. 

Whether you commented, left kudos, reblogged, made fanart, messaged me, encouraged me, dealt with my ramblings about AUs and ideas, even if you literally just clicked on the link and went huh, nice and never thought about it again - I mean you. 

You matter. And you made all the difference to me. 

So to every single one of you, thank you.

Some specific shout-outs go to the following poor bastards who’ve had to deal with me in their own ways:

@neon-green-eyes @rosellacwrites @avocado-writing @o3ak @artsynellyyy @lunamadrigal @thecrazyashley-blog @cheesy-cryptid @sharknadoslutt @overly-dramatic-artist @breannaaiedail @missilestorm1 @daffy-dillysinthehillys

You are all delightful people. 

I hope Candlelight lived up to the expectations and hype, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I know I certainly enjoyed writing it.

And finally - I would die for Juan. 

- C.J.

#candlelight #i would die for juan #CJ talks #cj is a lil emotional #but cj will adamantly deny that if anyone asks

[overly-dramatic-artist]

POV: you just read chapter 46 of candlelight

@clichejoe I knew you said it was going to be bittersweet but all I’m getting rn is the bitterness from my tears what the jesus christ

#i would die for juan #screaming and crying and throwing up #clichejoe your work is amazing #now I gotta distract myself with a mamma mia ass fucking fluff fic so I don’t lose my mind #encanto

[o3ak]

Good: getting monday off work because Mayday

Better: finding our @clichejoe called my smut "the gold standard"

#fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 smut #encanto smut #i would die for juan

[the-badger-mole]

"he'd be shockingly smooth"??? We saw him with Mai, he wasn't smooth. 🫤

I think basing that opinion on his relationship with Mai is selling him short. That relationship was bad because Mai didn't actually like him. She also didn't appreciate or reciprocate his small romantic gestures. That seashell thing? Absolute gold, and something that just came natuarally. But because Mai had a bug up her nose it went over like a lead balloon. That wasn't his fault. Like I said, Zuko in a relationship where his partner actually likes him would be smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy. I'm basing that on how well his date with Jin ended once he got out of his own head. Imagine if they'd been able to go out a couple more times. Jin would've melted over that lil' seashell. And that's exactly why I'm baffled by the amount of people who seem to think canon Maiko was the height of romance. She didn't seem to like the boy, and he felt it. And he acted accordingly. He was dating someone just like his father. Of course he was weird and awkward.

#atla #zuko #jinko #sorta #anti-maiko #anti mai #zuko had the potential to be the smoothest operator in all the lands #but look at who taught him about girls #would you expect less? #i DID say that this was an unpopular opinion #doesn't make me wrong tho #mai on the other hand would make don juan look like an awkward schoolboy #she didn't actually like zuko #i will fight and die on that hill #and the show provides plenty of evidence

[earlgodwin]

"One thing that I've always said about Juan is that every action that he does is heartfelt and genuine. When it was the war against the French, he was there and he was going to go to war, even though he knew he was going to die. He saw them getting ripped apart, but he was there and he was going to do it. I believe if Lucrezia hadn't come over, he would have led all his troops into death. I don't think there's anything that he's done which was through general cowardice. In terms of his survival, he died how he lived, and that's laudable, in itself." — David Oakes.

#it just gets to me that juan is a kid who has no fucking clue what he's doing since his dad gave him a position that's difficult for him #and as much as he was scared to death of the french army and witnessing his troops being torn to shreds... #he was willing to die to protect rome and impress his dad because he's terrified knowing that his dad trusts and confides only in cesare #the family's fuck-up trying not fuck up? #the only reason juan retreated is because of his love for lucrezia and how she would be upset if he died and he can't have THAT #the writing was so biased against him because they were too busy propping up cesare i fear but alas #anyways juan borgia deserved better. being completely discarded by his family is such a tragic fate for a character. #a character who's storyline is trying to impress them but they've always ganged up on him which is annoying #juan borgia #david oakes #the borgias #theborgiasedit #periodedits #perioddramaedit #weloveperioddrama #juan x lucrezia #dailyworldcinema #tvarchive #cinemapix #by jen

[wonder-worker]

"In total, Leonor governed Navarre as lieutenant, with some minor hiatuses, from 1455 to 1479, making her the effective ruler of the realm for nearly twenty five years. Out of her female predecessors, only Juana I served a longer period; however, Juana I was detached from the governance of the realm and physically distant from Navarre. Leonor however, remained in the kingdom throughout her lieutenancy, making her the female sovereign with the highest record of residency in Navarre.

One of the enabling factors for Leonor’s constant presence in the realm was the “Divide and Conquer” power-sharing mechanism that she employed with her husband, Gaston of Foix. Blanca and Juan had a similar division of duties, but unlike her parents’ often contrary objectives, all of Leonor and Gaston’s actions can be seen to be working toward their joint goals of obtaining the Navarrese crown and politically dominating the Pyrenean region. In order to achieve their ambitions, the couple were adept at working as a team even when physically seperated or carrying out divergent duties.

Politically, it appears that they took on different areas of negotiatiion. Gaston was the designated emissary to the French court, which was entirely appropriate as one of the French king’s leading magnates. One important example of his involvement in negotiations of this type include Gaston’s visit to the French court in the winter of 1461–62 to negotiate the marriage between their heir and the French princess, Magdalena, which ensured Louis XI’s backing for Leonor’s promotion to primogenita. Gaston also conducted negotiations on behalf of his father-in-law, Juan of Aragon, with the King of France, with a successful outcome in the case of the Treaty of Olite in April 1462, which was intimately connected to the marriage that Gaston was orchestrating for his son and Magdalena of France.

Even though Gaston normally took on the role of intermediary with the French crown, there are two letters issued by Leonor during her marriage in December 1466 as lieutenant of Navarre that show her involvement in French affairs. These letters were written during a period of extreme crisis, when Juan II’s difficulties in Catalonia were matched with Leonor’s continuing struggle with the Peralta clan in Navarre. In these letters, Leonor was playing on her familial connection to Louis XI, in hopes of his aid and backing, asking him to “commend this poor kingdom and the said princess to him [Louis XI] as one who is of his house.” Moreover, these letters show Leonor’s independent interaction in crucial diplomatic negotiations with France, both in receiving embassies directly from Louis and in sending her own personal ambassador, Fernando de Baquedano, with detailed instructions on how to proceed.

Gaston appears to have been more engaged with marital negotiations for their numerous offspring than Leonor. However, this may be due to the fact that the couple overwhelmingly chose French marriages for their children. Only three of Leonor’s children did not contract a French betrothal: Pierre who became a cardinal, a daughter who died young, and Leonor’s youngest son, Jacques (or Jaime), who married into the Navarrese nobility. Given the fact that Gaston was more intimately connected to the French court and the nobility of the Midi, it seems reasonable that he would take on the role of chief negotiator for these matches. All of the marital arrangements for their children were made in order for Gaston and Leonor to achieve their joint goals, the acquisition of the throne of Navarre and the consolidation of their power and influence in the Pyrenean region.

Another area where Gaston necessarily played a more central role was militarily. Robin Harris acknowledges Gaston’s successful military career and notes that after his useful military service to the French crown, “the comte was permitted by the [French] king in the last years of his life to employ his military resources in order to further his family’s interests in Navarre.” Gaston also performed many military services for his father-in-law; the agreement of 1455 that promoted Leonor and Gaston to the successors of the realm required Gaston to go to Navarre on Juan’s behalf and retake those areas that had fallen to the rebels “for the honor of the King of Navarre as well as for his own interests and those of the princess his wife."

However, there is some evidence for Leonor’s involvement in one military foray. In the winter of 1471, Leonor took part in a daring attempt to seize the capital, Pamplona, from her opponents, the Beaumonts. Leonor participated in an attempt to storm one of the city gates with a group of armed supporters. Moret notes that “this surprise was reckless; for it exposed the person of the princess to obvious risk and was somewhat rash.” Moreover, the element of surprise was ruined by the cries of her supporters shouting “ Viva la Princesa !” which alerted the Beaumont troops to the threat, and Leonor and her supporters were swiftly ejected from the city.

Like her mother, the noted peacemaker, Leonor was also involved in moves to reduce the civil discord in the realm. Zurita credited Leonor with “making a great effort to resolve the differences of the parties and subdue the kingdom into union and calm.” Leonor represented her father in negotiations for a truce with the supporters of the Principe de Viana on March 27, 1458, at Sang ü esa. Zurita notes, “The princess Lady Leonor was there at that time in Sangüesa and signed the treaty with the power of the king her father.” Leonor was instrumental in the forging of another truce that was contracted in Sangüesa, in January 1473, and she was also present at a conference with her father and her half-brother Ferdinand in Vitoria in 1476 “accompanied by the nobility of Navarre to renew the treatties . . . and attempt to arrive at a stable peace.

Although both spouses were named to the lieutenancy of Navarre, the documentary evidence clearly demonstrates that Leonor appears to have taken on the bulk of the administration of the realm. This was entirely appropriate as it was Leonor, not Gaston, who had the hereditary right to the crown. Moreover, it was logical for Leonor to remain in Navarre so that her husband could look after his own patrimonial holdings and continue to serve as a military commander for the King of France.

Leonor was an active lieutenant but she struggled to implement her rule fully across the kingdom, as many areas were dominated by the Beaumont faction who were opposed to her and her father Juan of Aragon. This meant that at times, she had no control or access to certain key cities in the realm, including the capital, as mentioned previously. Her grandfather’s impressive seat at Olite was the center of her sister’s court, but Leonor eventually regained her hold on the castle and used it as one of her primary residences between 1467 and 1475. Sangüesa remained an important base for Leonor, and she was also associated with Tudela on the southern edge of the kingdom.

Leonor’s difficulty in implementing her rule across the whole of the kingdom is illustrated by a prolonged struggle between the lieutenant and the town of Tafalla, which consistently refused to send representatives when she called together meetings of the Cortes. Tafalla was a center of Beaumont strength, which had supported her brother Carlos in his struggle with Juan of Aragon and was thus bitterly opposed to her appointment to the lieutenancy. Between 1465 and 1475 there is a series of missives from Leonor both summoning representatives from the town and then expressing disappointment when they failed to arrive. During this period, Leonor appears to have called a meeting of the Cortes at least six times, but the town consistently refused to send envoys to the assembly. There is a sense of increasing exasperation and anger in these documents at the repeated failure to participate in these important events. At one point, in late 1471, Leonor personally came to the town to give advance notice of her intent to call another Cortes the following summer, perhaps to circumvent any excuse that the town did not have sufficient time to send representatives, but Tafalla still did not participate in the assembly.

As her authority was contested, Leonor was keen to stress her agency and her position in the documents that she issued. However, at times she even struggled with the chancery; between 1472–73, Juan de Beaumont retained the seals of the kingdom and refused to let Leonor have access to them. In 1475, she granted a reduction in taxes to the important city of Estella acknowledging the reduced capacity of the city to pay after the population had shrunk from the effects of war and flooding. In this document she stressed her efforts to assist all of the urban centers of the realm, to help them recover from the years of civil conflict and devastation, “the other good towns of the said realm have been refurbished by our certain knowledge, special grace, our own change and royal authority.

Leonor’s address clause drew on all of her family and marital ties as a means of establishing her authority:

 “Lady Leonor, by the grace of God princess primogenita , heiress of Navarre, princess of Aragon and Sicily, Countess of Foix and Bigorre, Lady of Bearn, Lieutenant general for the most serene king, my most redoubtable lord and father in this his kingdom of Navarre.”

The signet that Leonor used for the majority of her lieutenancy as well as her sello secreto had heraldic devises that mirror her address clause, bearing the arms Navarre, her family dynasty of Evreux, her husband’s counties of Foix, Béarn, and Bigorre, and finally the Trast á mara connections to Aragon, Castile, and Léon.

To sum up, Gaston and Leonor’s ability to divide up roles and responsibilities demonstrates the couple’s effective partnership, using each partner in the most appropriate arena. Moreover, this division was entirely necessary as the couple’s widespread territorial holdings and the demands of balancing the complicated and difficult political situation both within Navarre and the Midi and between France, Castile, and Aragon meant that both partners needed to be fully engaged and active in order to achieve their mutual goals and further their dynastic interests.

Even though Leonor and Gaston generally employed this mode of “Divide and Conquer” that left Leonor primarily responsible for the administration of Navarre while Gaston oversaw his own sizable patrimony, the couple did work together as a unit whenever possible. Documentary evidence shows that Gaston came to stay with Leonor in Navarre for short periods, particularly during the autumn of 1469 and 1470. There is also some additional evidence to indicate an earlier reunion in 1464, which appears to indicate a desire on the part of the couple to be together. Gaston and his party were stuck in the mountain passes between Foix and Navarre on his way to visit Leonor. The princess issued a series of orders to dispatch men and pay for additional recruits and mules in the mountains in order to clear the passes and roads for Gaston, including one order for 300 men to be sent to help. Gaston’s death in 1472 took place on another journey to see his wife in Navarre; he died en route of natural causes in the Pyrenean town of Roncesvalles.

 Overall, Gaston and Leonor worked together with the mutual goal of obtaining the crown of Navarre, throwing the weight of Gaston’s power, wealth, connection, and military forces behind Leonor’s hereditary rights and were willing to fight off opposition from their own family in order to succeed. They worked in partnership, with each partner taking on the most appropriate role; Leonor was responsible for the governance of Navarre, and Gaston supported her militarily and financially. They both worked on diplomatic efforts to achieve their ambitions; Gaston used his position as a powerful French vassal and general to gain support while Leonor negotiated with her Iberian relatives to maintain their rights.

[...] Tragically perhaps, Leonor hardly had a chance to enjoy the position of queen regnant when it finally came her way. Leonor’s death, only a few weeks after her father’s in February 1479, meant that her rule as queen lasted less than a month. Leonor changed her address clause to reflect her altered position as “Queen of Navarre, Princess of Aragon and Sicily, Duchess of Nemours, of Gandia, of Montblanc and Peñafiel, Countess of Bigorre and Ribagorza and Lady of Balaguer.” Ram í rez Vaquero points out that most of these titles were disputed; several were titles that should have come to her as part of her paternal inheritance from her father but in reality would have gone to her half-brother Ferdinand de Aragon. In addition, the French titles that Leonor had held as Gaston’s wife had already been passed to her grandson. It appears that Leonor had enough time to mount a formal coronation, on January 28, 1479, at Tudela, firmly establishing herself as Queen of Navarre, even if only for a brief moment. Moret remarked that “out of all the kings and queens of Navarre she was the one who reigned the shortest, although she may have been the one who desired [the crown] most.”

-Elena Woodacre, "Leonor: Civil War and Sibling Strife", "The Queens Regnant of Navarre: Succession, Politics and Partnership, 1274-1512" (Queenship and Power)

#gotta love ruthless ambitious mutually devoted power couples 💅 #(they can have a little fratricide. as a treat) #historicwomendaily #Leonor of Navarre #Gaston of Foix #aka the self-declared malewife #Navarre history #Leonor fighting and scheming and waiting for the throne for decades only to finally succeed and then die less than a month later #biggest of Ls honestly #I do wonder what she would have thought about that twist of fate #Was she bitter about the hollow victory of it all? #Or was there nothing but satisfaction that she died as the Queen of Navarre #a position she had fought for for so long #or...both? #(also let's get one loud 'BOO' for Juan the Faithless aka one of the worst historical fathers I have ever read about) #(this is the guy who raised Ferdinand 'I'm going to lock up my own daughter' of Aragon btw. This is where he learned it from)

[the-acid-pear]

today's prompts are spiders and self insert so i've been thinking of drawing nembone and a uh, bunger. but Im still thinking around the uh. ? i cant remember the word HELP the fucking COMPOSITION there.

#luly talks #i was thinking of formating it like a parody of a flash or mobile game where the character is like FEED ME x =D but i cannot find like #references. #btw another ideas i had was doing ONLY self insert and make a character select screen with my sonas #first i thought of a gif where you'd change selection making the border shine and the character change expression and get color #(otherwise they'd be greyed out) and then i thought of doing a more classic smash bros like character screen #but those two ideas would be too hard #i also thought of something more simple like just. my fursonas hugging yuri style #and then i was like no lets go back to nembone (my og idea as mentioned yesterday on the tags of my art post) #and i was CONVINCED today the prompt was path and i was gonna make a very cool scene with Nembone and Keabin sitting on a bar #and i hope yall know why i hope yall are tuned in with the completely neglected bugsnax oc luly lore but in case youre not first of all #shame on you but second its bc keabin actually is my save where ppl DIE #and i spoke in a post that i think is in my oc blog or maybe my self ship one either way im sure is crossposted on both but i spoke about #how fucking Low Nembone would be in a post Shelda's death path <- eh eh get it get it that's where the prompt plays!! #they'd also be saying something about wishing things could've been different or something #it'd have been a cool drawing and a great excuse to draw my guy keabin who has been borderline fucking retconned otherwise but hey #its not the prompt. so. #idk what i will do for tomorrow btw i dont have many complicated fits ocs juan has been in my brain for close to a decade or more #and he has never wore anything but a green tshirt and some pants #but ill figure something i might do Bloody #or i might double the fuck down and if i do bloody i can tie spiders to her and do nembone and keabin today #it is cringetober after all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sapybara]

Well I think dtkq+ should be included in all mc events always

#its literally just the language barrier #if that thing werent there im sure they would be invited to literally every event #they happen like. all the time #and outside of mc too #i would die to see pico park Spr.een d.tkq Juan or smt like that

[juneknight]

Hand Covers Mouth

Kink: sex pollen/aphrodisiac

About this: Takes place during canon events, Steven/fem!reader, Marc/fem!reader.

*

Let’s split up, Layla had said. She tacked on a hurried, ‘You with Steven? Be careful!’ before nearly sprinting off down a tunnel, leaving you (her scowling friend) and Steven (a mesmerized puppy) alone in a sandy tomb.

Look, you understood it was complex. Steven shared a body with her (soon to be? Possibly?) ex-husband, after all; but in your mind, that gave her even more of a reason to be the one responsible for him. Absently, your hand reaches down to lay your palm on the holster where your gun rests. You have no doubt that Harrow’s minions would kill without qualm. While you would not find it so easy to digest, you would do whatever you had to, to keep yourself safe.

To keep Steven safe. No matter what—

“What are you doing?” you ask at a frantic whisper. Steven is barely visible in the darkness where he is brushing sand and dust, centuries of time away from the hieroglyphics on the wall.

He glances back over his shoulder at you, giving you his typical expression of an adorable animal who fears they are about to be on the receiving end of a harsh kick in the rump, but who is so thrilled by their own discovery that they hardly care. He points to the wall.

“Reading these hieroglyphics,” says Steven. “Think they might be important.”

You glance toward the wall. You are not like Steven or Layla, able to read the symbols. You did not have the same practical and personal education which they had so tediously earned for themselves over the years. At the base of the wall sits a gilded table, the bottom of each leg morphing into the paw of some great cat. Some of the items around it are unrecognizable, turned to rubble, after so many years. But resting on top of it, there are a set of neat little figurines inlaid with moldavite, glittering black in the darkness.

“You don’t think—the ushabti?”

“Not likely,” Steven admits with a frown. “But some of the wall has crumbled here, can’t make out the rest, can I? It does say that this is powerful. Maybe we should take these to Layla and have her look at them.”

You fight the urge to scowl again. Layla. Steven was always trailing after Layla…

Alright, perhaps you had another reason for being so sour at Steven’s mention of your closest friend. How could you help being enamored with him, with his big brown eyes, with his undying enthusiasm, with his gentle heart and scathing wit? But Steven didn’t look at you like that. He was always too busy looking at Layla.

When you look at him, the expression of hope on his face is painful. You do your best to bite back any sarcastic or caustic replies. He truly doesn’t deserve them. It isn’t his fault he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“We don’t have time to hunt down Layla with every artifact we find,” you remind him gently. “And we don’t have time to search every little artifact for significance, either.”

He leans against the wall, like some suave Don Juan from a movie.

“Life’s about stopping to smell the roses, love, or stopping to find the roses if no roses immediately present—oh—oh bugger.” Steven slips, more of the wall crumbling away beneath the weight of his elbow. He stumbles into the little golden table—and off go all three of the little figurines, smashing into brittle pieces on the stone floor, the sound deafening in the silence around you.

“Oh my gods,” Steven says, both hands coming up to clutch at his curls. “Oh no, I deserve prison. Oh look what I’ve done—these were thousands of years old and I just destroyed them—”

“Steven—” Your words die in your throat. Your heart begins to race, breathing becoming fast and shallow. He looks up at you from where he has knelt on the floor in anxious guilt over the figurines, and you see something in his eyes which you can’t identify. Something sharp. Something hungry.

Then he blinks.

In the distance, you hear the sound of voices calling, none of them the familiar timber of Layla. He reaches out with the reflexes of a snake and grabs you around the waist, dragging you down to his position. One hand—warm, tasting faintly of sweat and sand—clamps over your mouth as he drags you back against his body, making both of your positions smaller as you hide behind a pillar.

Against your back, he is hard.

“Quit it,” he hisses lowly in your ear, and that’s when you realize that it isn’t Steven at all. That posh British accent has dissolved into something relaxed and loose, a Chicagoan accent that you’ve never heard before but would recognize anywhere. Marc. His words register secondarily, and you realize that you are writhing against him, literally arching your back to try to rub your aching cunt against the hard line of his cock.

A whine slips past his hand, and he lets out an angry, shaking breath against the crook of your neck. His free hand reaches around and slips right down the front of your pants. By the time he is cupping your sex with his broad palm, you are soaking wet, aching, already working towards that blissful crest even with the only stimulation being in your own mind.

“It must have been an aphrodisiac,” Marc whispers, barely audible over the raging pulse in your ears. “If I give you some fingers, can you be quiet until they’re gone?”

You nod, exaggeratedly. Truthfully, you aren’t sure. You just know that you would say anything, agree to anything to have any one of his fingers inside you.

He gives you two. You cum straight away, eyes rolling back, pussy clenching around his digits tightly. Marc gives a choked breath at the sensation of your walls squeezing and squeezing his fingers. His hips work once, twice, three times against the curve of your ass and then he stiffens himself, a breathless, nearly inaudible sound of pleasure passing through his lips.

The sweetest fucking sound you’ve ever heard.

The voices in the distance begin to fade away—the sweetest silence.

Then you have a mouthful of sand, Marc’s hand between your shoulder blades pinning you into the ground. You hear the clinking of his belt as he frantically tries to loosen it, and you wiggle your hands beneath you looking for the fasten of your own pants.

“Didn’t want it to go like this,” he says through clenched teeth. You can’t even imagine his expression: something hard and desperate. You wonder if he took over for Steven forcefully or if Steven retreated, anxious at the potent desire that the aphrodisiac evoked in him. “Didn’t want our first time to be like this—”

“Is he okay?” you whisper, working your pants and underwear down at once, arching your back for him. He still has on his boxers, but he’s grown desperate: hands gripping your hips, thighs snapping against the back of your own as he simulates sex with you. Marc makes a perplexed sound. Fuck, his cock feels good, even covered by soft cotton that you’re drenching with your own slick. You struggle for a moment to remember your question. “Steven—is he okay?”

“Steven is—fucking great,” Marc says, laughing a little derisively. “Trust me. Steven’s been wanting to fuck you since the moment he saw you. There’s a little place in my head where’s he’s beating off furiously, I’m sure—”

“You’re such a dick,” you gasp.

“I’ll show you dick, gonna give you mine,” he mutters through his teeth, finally working down his boxers. “Gonna fuck that girlish expression you give Steven all the time right off your face, gonna make it so every time you look at him, you’re thinking about how good my cock fills you.”

“His cock,” you breathe, arching your back more, fingers curling in the sand and scratching the stone beneath. “His cock too.”

“Yeah yeah,” says Marc testily, finally resting the head of his cock at your entrance. He slips in with one devastating, life-changing thrust. “We’ll test that theory when I let him out for his turn.”

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader

[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

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara scenarios #spiderman 2099 #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel spiderman #across the spiderver fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n

[lumiinix]

HIII!! I just wanna say first that I just ADORE ur writing so much!!!💘 And I saw that ur request are open and I was wondering if by any chance you could write abt how the haikyuu boys would react to meeting a beautiful fan (fem! Yn). I was thinking maybe like atsumu, Oikawa, Sakusa idk. ANYWAYS It’s okay if not lol! 😎🤘💟

Meeting a beautiful fan (but with my own little twist)

Pairing(s): Oikawa, Atsumu and Sakusa x fem!reader

Warning(s): Fem!reader, reader is famous so it’s like a mutual celebrity crush.

A/N: Don’t mind me putting a little twist of my own here anon~

Oikawa

Being a model sure is exhausting, but you can’t denied that the perks that comes with your job is sure worth it, especially when that perk is a vip ticket to a San Juan home game where you got the chance to see and later have a meet and greet with your favorite member, Oikawa Tooru.

“Yep, totally worth it.” You said as you fawn over the Japanese man.

Oikawa was just drinking water during half-time when suddenly he sees it, in the corner of his eyes was the most beautiful person he has ever seen, his breath hitched as his heart began to beat faster, he almost even drop his water bottle. He had to look in your direction again to see if he’s not dreaming. Holy shit you are real and you’re in the vip section too? So that means he has to meet you later?! Oh now he’s panicking.

The match ends with the win goes to San Juan and the meet and greet began, and when he’s seeing you walking towards him? Man’s double panicking (from the inside).

“Hi! I’m a big fan of you! It’s nice to finally meet you Oikawa!”

And your voice is also pretty? Oh boy.

In the midst of panicking, he blurts out. “I THINK YOU’RE REALLY PRETTY AND I’D LIKE TO ASK YOU OUT.”

Silence.

Everyone in the rooms blinks, his teammates trying hard not to burst out laughing, other fans are looking at you whispering, some are about how lucky you are, and others are how they seemed to recognize you as that famous model. Oikawa tho, he wants the ground to swallow him whole, and the fact that he just heard that you’re a famous model doesn’t help the situation at all.

You on the other hand, smiled at the confession.

“I like your boldness.” You chuckled. “Here, take my card.”

Flipping through your purse you take out a business card, but you also took out a pen and wrote your personal number on it as well.

“This is my personal number, I will be busy in the next month but will be free for a while after that, call me when you wanna have that date.”

Oikawa shakily grabs your card before nodding, he was at awe with you. “You bet I will.” He said with his signature grin. He couldn’t wait to go on a date with you.

Atsumu:

Atsumu found you while scrolling through social media and was instantly hooked. Not only were you a rising star in the singing world, but you’re also a famous socialite that captures the heart of millions with your beauty and talent, including him. It was a mini crush that he had, you just had to be beautiful and talented and so on. The other guys would shit on him all the time, especially Sakusa.

“Omg y’all, she followed me back on Instagram! I can die a happy man now.” He sigh dreamily.

“Then die, at least I won’t hear your fanboy squealing anymore.”

“Wow, so rude Omi-omi.”

Fast forward to a MSBY home game that his team had just won, so everyone is going out treating themselves some drinks at a nearby cafe. When suddenly, someone bumped into his back and he hears a plastic material drops.

"I'm sorry!" Atsumu recognize that voice. He turns around and sees you bending down to reach for a pair of sunglasses, but he hasn't yet recognized you because you were also wearing a cap that completely obscured your face from his view.

He looks outside of the store where he saw a group of people holding cameras. Paparazzi, he realizes, and they were chasing…you?

“I truly apologize for stumbling into you again.” He almost spits up his drink when he finally sees your face after you speak up and stand up. There you are in all your glory, although not wearing makeup or expensive clothing, you still look stunning to him.

“Oh! You’re Miya Atsumu! I’m a big fan!” And you were a fan of him too? Did he just won a jackpot?

The two of you just stand there in shock, having to meet eachother’s celebrity in this situation was not what you expect, no one said anything, that is until his teammates had enough.

“Hey Miya! Why don’t you ask you ask her out? Aren’t you simping for her?” Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), Sakusa spoke up first, opening the gates for his other teammates to hype in up as well.

“Yeah dude, stop being a wuss!”

“Simp!”

“Come one, are you really gonna let the beauty hanging like that?”

And that’s just the boost he needs, he has to thank them later, so with a deep breath, he gave you his signature grin. “So, wanna hang out sometime?”

Sakusa:

Sakusa doesn’t know when he started to see you, but he’s glad. For some reason, he always seemed to notice you in the stands, seemingly blending into the rest of the fans, and it annoys him at first, but the more he saw you, the more you grew on him even though you two don’t have any interaction. To him, everything about you just screamed perfect and when he saw you wear his jersey number, cheering for him specifically, he cannot denied the fact that he’s fallen for you.

So when he looks up in the stand and cannot find you anywhere, his mood dropped and although it didn’t effect his game, even his teammates notices this and although they didn’t know why (bc Sakusa would dropped dead before he is even considering telling them about his crush), they knew is was kinda big. It was at that day when he decided to fuck it and decided that the next time he

He knows that you cannot make it to his game, but what he didn’t know is the reason why you cannot go there, and it’s because by the time the game is over, you are on a plane going back to Japan after winning an ice skating tournament. Sure you won, but you’re still salty about the fact that you miss your favorite athlete Sakusa fricking Kiyomi’s home match which they also won.

Promising to yourself that you see him next time, not knowing what would come next.

“How did it comes to this?” Is the first question you two had when you met him again…in an ice skating tournament you are in! Apparently, Komori dragged him here because for some reason he got interest in this sport and Sakusa was about to complain when he saw you. There you are, in your shiny outfit and perfect makeup, you gracefully slide on the ice while doing spins and jumps making him completely infatuated by your skills. You were an athlete yourself? And you’re a fan of him??

And when your eyes met, it was like the world around you was slowing down, your eyes widens as you realized that your athlete crush is here and although flustered, you now completely focused on showing of your best move to impress him (not that you didn’t already), leading you to winning the tournament.

Sakusa definitely had to thank Komori for this later, but first, he had to find you to ask you out.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

#lumi:post! #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #hq oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa imagine #oikawa fluff #oikawa scenarios #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons #atsumu miya #hq atsumu #atsumu fluff #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa x y/n #sakusa imagines #sakusa x you #haikyuu sakusa

[clichejoe]

*slides this in front of you* *runs away*

*grabs you by the scruff of the neck*

*drags you back*

OH

MY

GOD

LOOK AT THIS LOOK AT THIS AMAZING ART WORK RIGHT NOW THIS IS AMAZING IM DYING YOUVE KILLED ME YOUVE RESURRECTED ME THEN KILLED ME AGAIN 😍😍😍😍😭😭😭😭IM SCREAMING! SHES PERFECT!

I LOVE I I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT!!!

Thank you so much 😭😭😭❤❤❤

#i would die for juan #candlelight #remedios #bruno madrigal x reader #encanto oc #ask #fan art #I CANT EVEN PROCESS HOW AMAZING THIS IS

[madman479r]

This was it. For decades Jaune had longed for this moment, the time he would finally leave the Ever After and return home.

It honestly seemed sureal. Every now and then, Jaune feared he would awaken and be back in his cabin, ready to start a new day of keeping the Paper Pleasers safe and failing to find a way back to Remnant.

But no such soul crushing reality came.

He... he was really going home.

Jaune watched as team RWBY stepped through the portal and made to follow them until the voice of the Blacksmith stopped him.

"One last thing, Knight." Jaune turned as the Blacksmith came towards him, her larger form towering over him, but not in a form of intimidation.

"The Tree watched over you, saw what you did, how you put your own life at risk to save the Afterans. Such nobility, such heroism." Despite the Blacksmith's encouraging words, Jaune only frowned in disagreement.

"Nobility? Heroism? No. I was selfish, I forced the Paper Pleasers to live in such frail bodies. I played the hero just for the rush, the feeling of being the hero because I could never be one back home." Jaune was no hero. He was, and always will be a fraud.

The Blacksmith only shook her head. "You thought you were saving the Paper Pleasers because you come from a world where death is the end with no new beginning. You became a hero because that's what the Afterans needed. For all you've done, the Tree has decided to repay you."

Now Jaune was confused. "What do you mean "repay me"? I already have my youth back and I'm going home. What more could I need?"

"The gift of youth was from Alyx. The Tree has her own gift for you, she sees potential within you. The same potential your partner saw. Untapped power."

Jaune nearly choked. "Pyrrha?" What was she talking about? What did Pyrrha see in him? What untapped power?

"This gift will be given to you when the time is right. The unlocking of your true potential."

Now Jaune was baffled, but figured it was another Ever After strangeness he had come to expect. With a grateful nod, Jaune bid farewell and left through the portal.

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

Jaune gritted his teeth as his shield took the brunt of Cinder's fireball, the force of the blast pushing him back a few feet but he remained standing.

Damnit, this was bad! He and Winter were on patrol in Vacuo, having received a mission about a few bandits attacking a settlement. That's where they met Carmine and Bertilak, a pair of veteran hunters and members of The Crown.

The Huntsman and Winter Maiden then found themselves ambushed by a new ally to the Crown, Cinder.

Winter was currently occupied with fighting off the veteran hunters, their combined skills and coordination giving the magic wielder a challenge, leaving Juane to fight Cinder alone.

Cinder smirked smugly, fire dancing in the palm of her hand, though she also had a twinge of respect in her eye. "I must admit, you certainly have gotten stronger, a better warrior altogether in such a short time. But it's still nothing compared to the power of a Maiden." Cinder then aimed her hand at Jaune and shot forward a wave of fire, completely engulfing Jaune.

Jaune put his shield up for protection but the fire came over him like water, simply crawling over the shield and directly into him. He felt the intense heat all over, his Aura working overtime to try and keep him safe but even his Aura had limits. His vision was becoming blurry, black spots clouding his eyes and he felt his body losing strength.

This was it. He was going to die. At the hands of Cinder no less.

It was a shame, he never got to avenge Pyrrha or Penny's deaths. Now he could at least join them in the after life.

But a voice called to him, one he never expected to hear again.

"This gift will be given to you when the time is right. The unlocking of your true potential."

And then Jaune saw a bright, blinding light.

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

Cinder felt satisfaction killing the annoying knight. He had been a bigger thorn in her side then she ever thought he'd be. Especially when he denied her the Winter Maiden powers, but she'd have that power soon anyway.

Though she did feel a little disappointed, he didn't even give an scream of anguish in his final, fiery moments. Maybe she shouldn't have done it too hot, it completely evaporated him before he could even feel any pain.

Cinder's eye then widened in pure shock as a golden pillar of pure aura came from the flames, where the fraud stood in the blaze of heat.

Cinder was too focused on the sight, not noticing how the Schnee, Carmine and her partner also stopped in the middle of their fight to see the light.

Her fire vanished yet the pillar remained and a silhouette stood in the centre. The light then disappeared and the silhouette became clear.

It was a tall, and powerful looking Knight with rusty armour, complete with a helmet that showed only two glowing blue eyes in the darkness of the visor.

Cinder stood in disbelief. What... what was this? Was this the fool? What was that light?! What was this?!

The Knight, with Aura practically flowing out from his body, took a step forward and readied himself for a fight.

Cinder growled in frustrated rage. Why wouldn't this idiot just die?!

"Come on." Cinder used her magic to hover in the air before shooting at the Knight like a javelin. "What now?!" She screamed and shot her hand forward, directly into the helmet as a fireball formed, exploding on impact. The explosion was powerful enough to send dust, rocks and debris flying away, even the other combatants were pushed back slightly.

When the smoke cleared, Cinder expected to see a smoldering, melted mesh of metal and flesh but her heart dropped when the smoke parted, revealing the fraud to still be standing without so much as a scratch!

Cinder looked up and saw the blue glowing eyes glaring down at her, making her feel like the weak, helpless child she once was all those years ago.

Before Cinder realised what was going on, Jaune pulled back his fist and delivered a devastating haymaker right to Cinder's cheek!

The blow sent Cinder to the sandy ground, the force behind the punch made her bounce up only inches from the sand the before falling to the ground again. Cinder lay there dazed as her head shook, her eyes came unfocused and her ears rung, her disoriented mind needing a second to register the pain, only then did she also taste the bitter iron taste of blood in her mouth.

Jaune looked at his own hand, seeing the familiar rusted armour now in place. He could feel strength unlike anything he felt before coursing through his body, through his skin, his muscles, his veins and bones. He also saw what looked like gold vapor coming from all around his form. Was that his Aura, was it literally pouring out of him?

"Huh. Thanks, Tree. That gift came in handy, and not a moment too soon." Jaune clenched his fist again as he finished admiring himself before focusing on Cinder again. His determination saphire eyes meeting her bewildered and angry fiery eyes.

"Alright. Now the real fight starts." Jaune, the Rusted Knight said and launched himself at Cinder.

#rwby #jaune arc #cinder fall #winter schnee #inspired by orange piccolo scene #Rusted Knight #blacksmith #rwby blacksmith

[madreemeritus]

Don Juan Triumphant — An analysis of Erik's masterpiece

Warning: i don't speak French and i don't have english editions of PotO, only Portuguese, so i will translate it directly from my text

Gaston Leroux's novel narrates the fact that Erik was producing an Opera of his own with the theme "Don Juan Triumphant". Unfortunately, we never hear it because it's a book, but a few adaptations brought his work to live with different interpretations.

Let's analyze what Leroux intented to write with Erik's character.

Don Juan is a Spanish archetype of a lascivious and libertine man, created by Tirso de Molina, a poet and religious playwright of the Middle Ages. His character was supposed to be an antagonist of what society considered to be moral and pure at that time. And as any other story, it has its adaptations.

Don Giovanni (the same as Don Juan) is the work of Mozart (composer) and Lorenzo Da Ponte (writer), where Don Giovanni is a scoundrel who seduces and abandons women; one of his victims has his father murdered by Don Giovanni after he tried to prevent the seduction. The spirit of the Commander (Donna Anna's father murdered by D. Giovanni) returns in the form of a statue and drags the protagonist to hell with the help of demons.

Erik, after Christine asks him to play Don Juan Triumphant, says: "Never ask me that. This Don Juan was not composed for the libretto of a Lorenzo Da Ponte, inspired by wine, by furtive loves and by vices finally punished by God. I can play Mozart if I so wish, which will bring beautiful tears to your eyes and inspire you with frank reflections. But my Don Juan burns, Christine, and not because he has been hit by heavenly fire!" (...) "You see, Christine, there is a song so terrible that it consumes all who approach it. You haven't reached it yet, and that's good, because you would lose your soft colors and they wouldn't recognize you anymore on your return to Paris" (...)

Erik says that his Don Juan "burns" and that Christine was in no condition to understand the somber depths of his masterpiece. He refuses to play Don Juan at first (although he is willing to play other Mozart pieces), but after being unmasked, he plays in a form of escapism. Christine is enthralled by the terrible, somber performance. Erik's Don Juan is a reflection of the pain he feels.

He apparently has no interest in writing a story like Don Giovanni, possibly an inspiration for him is Lord Byron's version, where Don Juan is neither a seducer nor a villain: but a victim of a cruel and false love of a woman. Erik says that it took him years to finish his work, as if each event in his life influenced the work more. He also says that, when finishing Don Juan Triumphant, he would die and be buried along with the scores: he changes his mind when he falls in love with Christine.

Don Juan is an archetype that contradicts everything Erik is and believes. Erik scares women by his ugliness / Don Juan seduces and conquers them all. Erik wants true love / Don Juan wants to deceive women in exchange for sex. Don Juan is a handsome, seductive man who is admired by people / Erik was born deformed and was abused, humiliated and rejected by (almost) everyone he met. Erik would probably change the character of Don Juan just as Lord Byron changed it according to his own life experience. That's why he is "Don Juan Triumphant", rather than the protagonist's defeat.

Christine's words after hearing Don Juan Triumphant: "His Don Juan Triumphant (for there was no longer any doubt that he had rushed his masterpiece to forget the horror of the present minute) appeared to me only one long, frightening, magnificent sob, where poor Erik had deposited all his misery." (...) "I remembered the notebook with red notes and easily imagined that that song had been written in blood. It guided me through all the details of martyrdom; it made me enter all the corners of the abyss, the inhabited abyss by the ugly man; it showed me Erik atrociously banging his poor, ugly head against the funereal walls of hell, where he had taken refuge so as not to frighten human eyes any longer, where Pain was deified, and then, the sounds that saw from the abyss and suddenly grouped together in a prodigious and threatening flight. the world. I understood that the work was finally done and that Ugliness, borne on the Wings of Love, had dared to look Beauty in the face!" (...)

For me, Erik's Don Juan is an expression of his life and inner demons. The rejection, the suffering, the pain, the hate, the jealousy, and at the same time, the love, the desire and the will to be loved like any other human being. Erik is as much compared with Death as with Sexuality. This duality would be expressed in his work. And since the work is Triumphant, in the end he would find the love and happiness he longed for.

Adaptations

In my opinion, Andrew Loyd Webber's "Don Juan Triumphant" doesn't make much sense because it only explores a carnal scandal between Don Juan and Aminta. It looks like the same character as Tirso de Molina and Lorenzo Da Ponte, not the alternative — painful and suffering — version of Erik. There is no tragedy, no hellfire and no suffering. It just seems like an empty work made to shock the society of the 19th century. "Oh but it's Erik's self insert", the original work was clearly an escapism, a reflection of his life, a form of expression of the pain he felt. It's not that Erik's work in the book doesn't explore the theme of sexuality, but that's not all. It's not just a horny show between Erik and Christine. Especially because it gives off a weird vibe that Erik just wanted sex with her, and that's a lie. I do love The Point of No Return by its beautiful melody and my E/C bullshit that likes some horny fanfiction.

I adore, however, the 1925s (or 1929s rebuilt) "Don Juan". Not only because it's the main theme scored by Gabriel Thibaudeau, but also because this specifically is the unmasking scene and it captures everything that I imagined as Leroux's description. The pain, the passion, the tragedy, is all there. Lon Chaney's Erik says to Christine that since the first time he saw her, he was inspired to write such a magnificent piece of music. Not 20 years writing it as originally, but more a romantic inspiration coming from his heart. This adaptation, to be fair, is my favorite.

And another version which I apreciate a lot is the 1989 slasher movie with Robert Englund. It's such a sublime song that remarks the exact 'Dark Romance' vibes of E/C relantionship. Obviously is not the best adaptation, actually it has little to do with the original work as Christine is a time traveler, Erik is a murderous psychopath villain and the story goes totally into a supernatural horror. But if you put in your mind that PotO and A Nightmare On Elm Street were merely an inspiration to a slasher/supernatural movie, it's actually an interesting experience.

So in conclusion, this was my analysis of the mysterious Don Juan Triumphant. Feel free to disagree or point out new things in the comments 🙏🏽❤️

#erik #the phantom of the opera #poto #gothic #gothic literature #gaston leroux #andrew lloyd webber #musical #broadway #lon chaney #poto 1925 #the phantom of the opera 1925 #silent movies #robert englund #don juan triumphant #the phantom of the opera 1989 #erik destler

[horseimagebarn]

welcome to the weekly horseimagebarn interaction recap where every friday i recap this weeks fun comments and tags and such and offer responses as well as just inform you about the state of this account

first off i would like to begin this weekly address with two bits of housekeeping number one being please do not come on my account just to be a horse hater and say theyre ugly or stupid if you do that you are the opposite of what i want to be and i hate you die die die die die

second a tangent slash request so i love hearing everybodys comments on my horses it is why i do this because i love making people happy and reading your responses fuels me however please do not correct me because i am not trying to be right on these horses real opinions i just think theyre funny and i want everyone to laugh with me at the horses not debate the horses real opinions with me i like making up odd descriptions for these horses and while i can tell that most of the time the horse is calm and actually having quite a good time i enjoy making humorous posts implying more complex horse emotions as i believe it is my sworn duty

okay now its what you came here for its response time apologies if i didnt get to your response i have been rather busy this week and fell behind on reading reblogs

haha i do not know what that word means

but upon googling it its called a horse in the name so its allowed because it says horse in the name i feel no guilt nor shame and neither should you

question why are those horses specifically gay

thank you for enlightening me my friend i am saddened to see drama in the horse image community but i am emboldened by the fact that the account is survived by another i am also emboldened by the reality that the horseimagebarn is run by one guy only and as i have no plans to welcome any more humans into my barn it shall remain that way and no fights shall lead to my sudden disappearance i hope

juan

this is my new mantra

that is very unkind of you

sadly i am not m

shoutout nicky

#horse #horses #horseimagebarn weekly recap

[earlgodwin]

LUCREZIA BORGIA + JUAN BORGIA

"One thing that I've always said about Juan is that every action that he does is heartfelt and genuine. When it was the war against the French, he was there and he was going to go to war, even though he knew he was going to die. He saw them getting ripped apart, but he was there and he was going to do it. I believe if Lucrezia hadn't come over, he would have led all his troops into death. I don't think there's anything that he's done which was through general cowardice. In terms of his survival, he died how he lived, and that's laudable, in itself."  — David Oakes.

#lucrezia was so worried about juan i wanna scream i love my babygirl #this part always gets me because obviously juan was trembling from the fear of disappointing his family #like he wanna prove to rodrigo that he IS truly worthy of his position as a gonfaloniere since juan always feels inferior #he is scared and clueless yet he was willing to die when he could've chickened out after his troops got killed but no he was like fuck it #after lucrezia tried to convince him to turn back..he was like no i won't surrender but the prospect of him dying would make lucrezia upset #and THATS what made him turn back which is soooo personal to me and i love it #i love the borgia siblings so bad help #juan borgia #lucrezia borgia #the borgias #theborgiasedit #holliday grainger #david oakes #weloveperioddrama #cinemapix #tvarchive #smallscreensource #juan x lucrezia #tvfilmcentral #by jen