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anakin-pilled · 4 months

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𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 - anakin skywalker x fem! reader (part one)

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem! reader

wordcount: 4.8k

warnings: minimal uses of y/n (trying to avoid writing this as much as possible but sometimes u need to!), awkwardness, anakin needs a break, POV switching (im trying something new, but its still in 3rd POV), reader is a popstar (very loosely based of taylor swift), too many scenes (i'll limit it next chapter) rating: 18+ (my blog is 18+ only)

rating: 18+ (my blog is 18+ only)

taglist: lmk if u want to be added!

author's note: well, here it is!! my first anakin fanfic!! i was listening to gorgeous by taylor swift and it just reminded me of how much i hate beautiful men (hayden christensen) and the effect they have on me and then this feeling just spirialed and became a fanfic--and my first ever mini series! i'm aiming for four or five parts? enjoy!!! (proofread but if u see a mistake pls tell me). sorry if the first part is boring, i'm just trying to set the vibe and introduce the major plot elements! creds to saradika for the header!

All Anakin Skywalker wanted was one, uninterrupted kriffing break. Yet, even that seemed like too much to ask from the Maker. With an annoyed sigh, Anakin quickly ended the call on his comlink and made his way out of his living quarters and towards the Jedi Council’s meeting room. “What do they want from me now?” Anakin thought to himself.

It wasn’t unusual for Anakin to sport an attitude, but lately, his foul mood had been exacerbated in the last few months for several reasons. Anakin’s recent breakup with Padme laid heavy in his heart. As the war raged on and both of their duties called them away for weeks, even months, at a time, the young couple rarely had time to see each other. It was supposed to be a small break at first–Padme was working on an important bill that could change the tide of the war, so she wanted to focus all her energy on gaining support for the bill from fellow Senators and campaigning for its passage on the Senate floor. So, Padme suggested that she and Anakin take a quick pause on their relationship until she was finished with the bill. But even after the bill passed, Padme was too consumed by her senatorial duties to put her all into a relationship. Anakin was just as busy on the battlefields, traveling to distant systems, and ensuring that the Separatists did not win any more than they already had. However, he was still willing to put an effort into their relationship because he loved Padme more than life itself. Padme was Anakin’s first love, and they had already been through so much together. Didn’t that mean something? It was late one night when the couple retired to Padme’s apartment that she dropped the news. Anakin felt as if his whole world shattered. He begged on his knees to Padme, to give them another chance. She insisted it was for the best and that she would reach out to him in a few months when she felt ready. Anakin would be lying if he said a part of him was shocked. After all, Padme put her job as Senator above everything else. But still, it hurt knowing that the one person who he would abandon everything for, would not do the same for him.

Aside from the breakup, Anakin was tired of the constant fighting, the rising death toll, and the never-ending chaos that always seemed to follow him. The 501st Clone Battalion’s most recent war campaign was brutal, and they lost a few men to Trandoshan separatists while in battle at a small, Outer Rim planet. Anyone could see that Anakin thrived in war. He was nicknamed the “Hero With No Fear” for a reason. But, the death of his men, or any man under Republic forces, always left his heart and mind unsettled.

As Anakin reached the door to the Jedi Council, he quickly shook his head as if to ward away his dark thoughts. He really should meditate more. The door opened and Anakin was greeted with the sight of the Jedi Masters sitting in a circle, he noticed many of them appeared via holoprojectors.

“Hello masters,” Anakin said with a bow. He looked around until he met eyes with Obi-Wan, who happened to be off-planet at the moment. Obi-Wan gave Anakin an uneasy smile which blared the alarms in Anakin’s head. Anakin was already in a defensive mode due to his rocky relationship with the council.

It was Mace Windu who spoke first. “General Skywalker, we have called you here today to discuss an upcoming mission. It is to our understanding that you are currently on a break right now, however, you were specifically requested by the Chancellor for this task.” It must be an important mission if the Chancellor himself requested that Anakin carry it out.

“There will be an upcoming charity event hosted in honor of the Republic to raise funds for the war effort. The event is being held in Corulag in ten rotations from now. While Corulag is part of the Republic, there have been recent Separatist activities within the planet and its system,” Master Windu continued.

“And what will I need to do while in Corulag?” Anakin asked with a slight edge in his voice. He really didn’t want to travel off-world.

“You will be the personal escort and bodyguard to the charity’s main event, singer (Y/N) (L/N). She will be performing a show as part of the charity and her presence is estimated to bring in a lot of credits for the war effort. While we don’t personally believe there will be a threat on her life, the Chancellor suspects that the Separatists may try to infiltrate the singer as a way to ruin the charity’s efforts.”

Anakin felt his annoyance flare up again. He was being taken away from his well-deserved break time to babysit a singer? This was a job that even a Padawan could carry–Ahsoka could do it with her eyes closed.

Even through the holoprojector, Obi-Wan could see the tale tell signs of his former student’s growing anger. He pitied the boy. Obi-Wan felt that Anakin deserved his break, especially after his most recent mission. However, it was not up to Obi-Wan alone to make these decisions. With the war prolonging itself more than necessary and the expenses rising every day, the Republic needed as many credits as it could get from its supporters. Obi-Wan quickly piqued up from the side to calm his friend, “Anakin, the Chancellor personally requested you as the singer is a family friend of his, and he trusts you. The Council will discuss giving you vacation time after completing your mission.” As vexed as Anakin might have been at first, he certainly didn’t want to disappoint the Chancellor. He had no choice but to accept the mission. Anakin silently nodded to the council.

“Recieve more instructions tomorrow, you will. Rest for now,” said Yoda from his chair.

And with that, the meeting was over. Anakin said his goodbyes with a bow and walked out.

After Anakin left the meeting, he headed towards the Jedi Archives to conduct some research on his new mission. He wasn’t interested in who the singer was, or what she did. Rather, he wanted to know what kind of person she was–was she a controversial celebrity, or did she stay in the lines? Anakin prayed he wasn’t dealing with some crazy, entitled celebrity who did whatever she wanted. That would make his mission harder than it needed to be. He had heard of the singer’s name in passing from Ahsoka, who kept up with recent trends via the HoloNet. As a General and a Jedi Knight, Anakin no longer had the same sense of freedom that he had as a Padawan, even though he had much less freedom than his other Padawan counterparts. “Perks of being the Chosen One, I suppose,” Anakin bitterly whispered to himself.

Anakin filtered past the front desk of the Archives after giving Madame Jocasta a quick nod and small time. He wanted to be in and out so he could get food from the Temple’s cantina before retreating to his living quarters for the night.

“What do you mean they are assigning a Jedi Knight as my security detail?! I thought this was supposed to be a simple concert for a charity event, why are they assigning a Jedi if there is no imminent danger?!” you exclaimed to your manager, Gido Frisco, with a pointed look.

When you agreed to perform at this charity event, you did so because you wanted to help raise credits for the Republic. Your management discouraged you from having any outspoken opinions on politics as it could lead to alienation from fans and tabloid backlash. But after your home planet became a recent victim to Separatist forces, you could no longer idly sit by and continue living as if the war didn’t affect you. When the charity’s organizers approached you to do this event, you happily agreed because all the credits earned were going to a meaningful cause. To the Republic. To democracy.

The event was to consist of several performances by famous artists from throughout the Core Worlds, but you were the headlining event. Though you would humbly deny it, your popularity superseded everyone else set to perform. The media and your fans dubbed you “the Galaxy’s princess” due to your popularity as a singer across the Galactic Core. You hated that nickname. You were very far from a princess–you were just lucky enough to be born with an innate musical talent. Nonetheless, you were still treated as if you were royalty.

“Look, I’m going to be blunt with you. There has been Separatist activity in and around Corulag, but we don’t predict that it will directly affect you. Think of the Jedi as an extra security personnel. They won’t let anybody or anything hurt you,” explained Gido.

“Who is we?”

“We as in myself, and the Chancellor. He was quite worried for your safety when he heard of your acceptance to perform.” That made much more sense. The Chancellor, an old family friend of yours, often looked out for you throughout your years on Coruscant. You had no family on the planet as all your family lived on Bar’leth, only visiting you every few months. While you saw them as often as you could, the help and care they provided you was limited to messages on your holo tablet and calls via communicator. The Chancellor took it upon himself to help you whenever he could. You were extremely grateful for his help, but you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the thought of having a Jedi accompany you. You knew Jedis were the peacekeepers of the galaxy. As the war started and worsened, the Jedi were thrust into a new, partial position. Where the Jedi went, trouble unfortunately followed. Would more trouble follow you if you were accompanied by a Jedi than if you were not? Only time would tell.

“Very well. And when will I meet this Jedi?”

“You will meet him tomorrow morning. Please do not stress the situation. We are merely taking precautions. Rest for tonight and we will talk more in the morning. Goodnight, princess.” And with that, Gido walked out of your apartment and you were left alone.

You walked outside and onto your balcony and observed the night sky. Your eyes followed the speeders flying through the air–a cacophony of honks and whizzes! reached your ears. You leaned upon the stone masonry of the balcony’s railing and rested your elbows on its surface. You then laid your cheek in your palm and closed your eyes as the lights of Corscuant reflected off your statue. You took into the slight breeze of the night and enjoyed this moment of serenity. Who knows what the next few rotations will bring? You could only hope you would suffer a nicer faith than your home planet. Your eyes opened, and you retreated into the lush interior of your apartment and began your nightly routine.

Holy kriff, this man is kriffing gorgeous! Those were the first words that popped into your head when you saw the Jedi knight walk into your living room. It was early in the morning. You thought he was only supposed to accompany you at the charity benefit, but your team thought it would be best if he accompanied you throughout the week as you prepared for the event and ran errands.

As he walked closer to you, you felt your mouth run dry and a creeping heating sensation sprouted from the base of your neck to your cheeks. You could only hope he didn’t feel the heat radiating off your body. He was wearing dark-colored robes, with a maroon long-sleeve undershirt, and only one leather glove on his right arm. Was this a fashion statement of some kind? Gido spoke up before you could say anything.

“Welcome, and thank you for being here Jedi. I can assure you that it means very much to us and I hope that you find yourself comfortable for the next few rotations. Our team will do its best to ensure you are properly accommodated. My name is Gido Frisco, and I am (Y/N)’s manager.” Gido reached out his hand for Anakin to shake. Anakin took his hand in a firm grip and replied.

“Thank you. My name is Anakin Skywalker, general of the 501st Legion. I will do my best to keep (Y/N) safe.”

Anakin. You had heard of him before–he was the Republic’s poster boy and a very successful leader. Though you knew of him, you had yet to put a face to the name until now. Instead of making eye contact with the man, you simply stared at the ground until Gido included you in the conversation.

“And this is (Y/N),” Gido said.

You then looked up at Anakin and made eye contact with the gorgeous man in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the color of his eyes. They were a dazzling shade of blue that was highlighted by the scar running down the right side of his forehead to underneath his eye.

There was an awkward moment of silence before you stuttered as you reintroduced your name to Anakin and shook his hand. Shit, he's strong, you thought as he shook your hand with a firm grasp. If there was one thing you were weak for, it was a strong man. A strong, beautiful man!

“Pleasure to meet you too. I’ll be at your service this week,” Anakin stated with a small smile. Kriff, even his voice was attractive! You could only stare at him and nod. You were truly at a loss for words. Wait, can he hear my thoughts right now? You thought to yourself. You heard the Jedi could use the Force to read minds, but you didn’t know if this was just a rumor. You hoped it was just a rumor or you'd find yourself burying yourself six feet under the ground out of embarrassment.

“Well, now that you two are acquainted, I’ll be taking Anakin so we can go over the security details. Stay here until then.” Gido then led Anakin out of the room and that was the last you saw of the Jedi until dinner time.

When Anakin woke up the next morning, he walked toward the Temple’s catina to grab a warm cup of caf and breakfast. The food was meager most days, but it beat having to live off the plain-tasting ration bars that he ate most of the time when he was on missions and campaigns. As Anakin walked through the tables to find a seat, he was greeted by the site of his former master sipping on a cup of tea and conversing with Ahsoka.

“Ahh, Anakin. Nice to see you this morning. I am terribly sorry that you have been called upon for another mission. I do believe that your rest was well-deserved, but unfortunately, I had no power over this decision,” Obi-Wan stated as he continued to sip on his tea.

“Thanks, Master. I can’t say I’m particularly excited about this, but hopefully, after this is done, I can properly enjoy my rest.”

“Master, you’re so lucky! I am so jealous of you right now. I wish I could join you, but Master Sinabu has requested that I assist him in a few lessons with the younglings,” Ashoka pipped in. “Hey, do you think you could get me an autograph?” She was excited. Ahsoka was no stranger to being in the company of high-profile people, but most of the time, it was limited to officials and members of the Senate. Boring! The thought of her master working with one of the most famous singers of this generation was honestly hilarious to her. A part of her wished it was her on this mission instead. The last time Anakin was on babysitting duty was when Ahsoka first joined Anakin as his Padawan was to rescue Jabba the Hutt’s son. Much like Anakin, Ahsoka believed this task could’ve been carried out by a Padawan, but as Obi-Wan explained to her, the Chancellor personally requested Anakin for this task.

“Snips, I’m there to protect, not get autographs. Try practicing your mediation skills, and maybe I’ll get you an autograph,” Anakin said with a small smirk on his face. Much like him in his Padawan days, Ahsoka found meditating tedious and boring. He honestly should meditate more to set a better example, but Anakin’s teaching method was more of “Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Oh come on Skyguy! You owe me this favor after I saved your butt back on Florrum. What would you have done if I wasn’t there to save you from all those assassin droids?” quipped Ashoka with a slight raise in her eyebrows. Damn, she got me there, thought Anakin to himself. But, he wasn’t going to let her have this win so easily. One might say that Anakin was acting immature for his age, but he and Ahsoka’s relationship thrived off witty remarks and friendly competition. Anakin’s relationship with Ahsoka was one of the most precious things in his life.

“Except I won our last sparring battle. That makes us even, no?” Ahsoka’s smile quickly dropped, and she glared at her master. Anakin took a sip of his caf and continued, “Only kidding, Snips. I’ll try to get you that autograph. I might be too busy trying to keep this singer out of trouble.”

Obi-Wan observed his former student and Ahsoka with fondness. “Do not worry, young one. You will beat Anakin one day. A student is only as good as their teacher, and you have a good teacher. I would know–I taught him,” Obi-Wan joked with the two. “Anakin, I hope this mission goes smoothly. I know how badly your last assignment went.” Obi-Wan placed his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Though Anakin’s ego subsided since he lost his arm at the Battle of Geonosis, it didn’t mean he liked talking about his failures. The Separatists somehow acquired important Republic intel and managed to ruin Anakin’s battle strategy with a surprise attack. He and his men just barely made it out on time before a full Separatist takeover happened. Anakin’s appetite was ruined by the thought of it.

Suddenly, Anakin’s commlink beeped and he knew it was time to head out to the hangar and receive his instructions for the week. He said his farewells to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka before going to the hangar, where he was surprisingly greeted by the Chancellor. The older man smiled at Anakin and shook his hand.

“Anakin, my boy. I cannot express my gratitude to you for accepting this assignment. You see, I specifically asked for you because I knew that I could trust you with my dear family friend. I do hope that you take care of her well.”

“Of course, Chancellor. She will be safe under my watch.”

“Now, she shouldn’t give you any trouble. She is a well-mannered girl. However, I have just received secret Separatist intel and wanted to share it with you before I visit the council. According to the intel, Count Dooku has ordered intelligence to interfere with the benefit. Our report says that he is planning on hacking our broadcasting signal and threatening the talent for the whole galaxy to see. For what, I do not not know. While we do expect the benefit to raise many credits for the Republic, the show will also provide a boost in morale for the citizens of the Republic. I theorize that Count Dooku wishes to ruin the public’s perception of the Republic’s efficiency and control over the war and the talent are a way to do this,” explained Chancellor Palpatine.

Anakin furrowed his brows. “Seems like Count Dooku is running out of scare tactics. Chancellor, the Jedi will ensure that the benefit proceeds as expected and that no harm comes to anyone there.”

The Chancellor smiled at Anakin’s words. “Thank you, my boy. Now I mustn’t take any more of your time. I will let you go now. You will receive more information on the Separatist intel later on.”

Anakin and the Chancellor shook hands once more before Anakin boarded his ship and plugged in the coordinates provided to him by the council.

Anakin’s first impression of you was that you were pretty. A delicate kind of pretty that Anakin had only seen in one other person before, Padme. But as quickly as the thought entered his conscious, he pushed it toward the back of his mind. What was he even thinking? He chalked up to him missing Padme. Yeah…Anakin just missed Padme and now that he was in the same familiar situation that he was in a few years ago when he first met Padme, familiar feelings are rising. After all, this wasn’t the first time Anakin had been sent on bodyguard duty for a well-known beautiful public figure.

Your manager introduced himself to Anakin and then introduced you to him. Though he wasn’t excited about this mission, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit relieved that he would be staying in your luxurious apartment for the next few rotations until you traveled off-world. It wasn’t very often that the Jedi were afforded such accommodations. Anakin had spent his fair share of nights seeking refuge in strange, foreign biomes with only mere sticks and leaves as shelter. If he couldn’t sleep in the comfort of his private quarters at the Temple, he might as well enjoy the lavish high-rise Coruscanti apartment.

Despite Anakin’s initial impression of you, your reaction toward him was…intriguing. Based on his research last night, Anakin couldn’t anything on the HoloNet that painted you in a bad light. Sure, there were the occasional tabloid articles that made outrageous claims about you, but all of those were overridden by the amount of good publicity you got. Charismatic, friendly, confident, a sweetheart–these were all words used to describe you by the various media outlets. But the person standing in front of Anakin seemed everything but that.

Your nervous energy radiated off you and permeated Anakin’s senses through the force. You avoided eye contact with him until your manager forced you to properly look at Anakin and introduce yourself to him. You definitely didn’t seem as confident as the Holo Net made you out to be, but Anakin didn’t fault you for this. He’s sure you felt nervous in the presence of a Jedi because it implied that there was some danger lurking around. If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been assigned to his task. What did you know about the terrors of war and the cruel reality of death and destruction? You were just a rich celebrity located within the safe confines of the Galatic Core. Anakin felt a twinge of jealousy at this notion. He knew that he belonged with the Jedi, but Anakin couldn’t help but feel envy at the fact that you were simply an innocent civilian whose daily life was virtually unaffected by the war. You didn’t have to witness violent bloodshed, say goodbye to your comrades, and live life constantly on the move. Sometimes Anakin longed for his days on Tatooine when he lived with his mother and worked in Watto’s workshop. He was a poor slaveboy, but at least he had his mother, and life was relatively peaceful. Before Anakin could harp on these thoughts any longer, he caught a stray thought that didn’t belong to him.

Kriff, even his voice was attractive! Anakin was sure the thought didn’t belong to Gido, so he could only assume that it belonged to the woman standing in front of him. Anakin internally smirked to himself. Could it be that Anakin made you nervous for reasons other than him being a Jedi? Perhaps…you found Anakin attractive. Anakin didn’t care if you found him attractive, but it did boost his ego a bit. It seems his split from Padme was affecting him more than he thought. Since when did trivial things like this matter?

Anakin looked over you once more before following Gido to discuss the schedule and plan for the upcoming rotations.

Dinner was…awkward, to say the least. It was just you and Anakin eating in your dining room. Gido had some business he needed to attend to so he could not join you for dinner. Anakin insisted that he could eat somewhere else as he did not want to intrude, but you insisted that he eat with you. It was the polite thing to do. But after you insisted that Anakin sat with you, you realized that you had nothing to talk about. A singer and a Jedi Knight turned war general? What would you have in common? A pregnant silence enshrouded you both. Only the soft clinks of silverware could be heard.

You sipped on your water every few bites to calm your nerves. This was so unlike you! Honestly, you were never one to shy away from anyone’s presence. A part of your job was selling a likable persona to the public–countless interviews, media appearances, meet and greets! You had done these all with grace and a smile. Yet you couldn’t find the proper words to say to the gorgeous man sitting right across from you. Geez, he must think I’m one of those stuck-up celebrities, you chided in your head. You were far from stuck up, but something about Anakin set your nerves on fire and made the social part of your brain feel like mush. Sweat started building up in your armpits as you thought about it. You had to do something to salvage your reputation and stop yourself from sweating through your outfit.

You cleared your throat and looked up from your dinner plate. “So, Anakin. How do you know the Chancellor? I hear you’re friends with him.”

“I’ve known the Chancellor since I was a little boy. We first met when I left my home planet after I was discovered by a Jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn. He was Naboo’s representative back then.”

“Oh, that's interesting. My family goes way back with the Chancellor too. My father and him studied at the same university on Naboo. Though my father was a few grades below the Chancellor, they became good friends,” you replied.

Anakin nodded at your story before focusing his attention elsewhere. You internally deflated once you saw he did not seem to care about keeping a conversation. However, if you were going to spend the new few rotations together, you’d rather it not be more awkward than it already was.

“Uhm, where are you from? You mentioned that you left your home planet. I’m not from Coruscant either! I am from Bar’leth.”

“Tatooine,” Anakin answered curtly. The way Anakin said Tatooine almost made you think that he disliked his home planet. He didn’t say it with any fondness, or longing.

“That’s in the Outer Rim, right? I’ve never been. How is it?” you questioned.

“Hot, lawless, and sandy.” Another short answer.

You got the impression that Anakin wasn’t exactly fond of his home planet, so you decided to change the subject of conversation. “You travel a lot as a Jedi. Which has been your favorite planet so far?”

Anakin was silent for a moment before, as if he were thinking deeply about it. In reality, Anakin knew his favorite planet. Naboo. He only paused for a moment because he was unsure if he wanted to reveal this information to you. Though it was seemingly an innocent question (and it was), Anakin felt it was a vulnerable question. Naboo is the planet he spent days frolicking in the lush, romantic meadows with Padme, falling deeper in love with her as the days passed. Naboo represented a part of Anakin that no longer existed–an Anakin that didn’t know the pain of losing a mother, losing a part of himself in the process. When his mother died, gone became the young boy with a golden aura and eyes full of hope. On Naboo, Anakin was still bright and naive with a laughter full of joy and excitement. That Anakin died the day he and Padme set out to find his mother on Tatooine. Anakin wished every day to the Maker that part of him could come back from the dead and replace who he currently was. To better days.

“Naboo. That’s my favorite planet,” answered Anakin. He decided to be truthful instead of responding with a random planet. Anakin didn’t know what compelled him, but he knew you were only being polite.

“Naboo is beautiful. Though I mainly grew up in Bar’leth, I spent a lot of my childhood summers in Naboo. I don’t think there is any other planet with views as stunning as Naboo,” you revealed.

You felt that there was nothing else to say. The remainder of the dinner was quiet. Though there wasn’t as much tension as before, it was still awkward. You finished your dinner as quickly as possible before retreating to your personal quarters for the evening.

To be continued!

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lexical-lushes · 7 months

Text

A Lesson Learned

“Sit still, dear, this is delicate work.”

I do my best to obey, trying to shut out the tickle of my Maker’s tools like I would any other sensation. It doesn’t do me much good – my phylactery is sensitive in a way my vessel isn’t, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it the work of sealing the little cracks in that vibrant purple gemstone buzzes inside me like an electric arc.

Despite myself, I fidget restlessly, and my Maker’s patience grows thin.

“If you can’t sit still on your own, I’ll need to disconnect your phylactery entirely. Now behave, dear.”

The threat of being pulled into that absent blackness does its job – I find it in me to ignore the buzzing, jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. My Maker gives an approving little noise, then continues on with her work, tone softening once more.

“There’s a good doll. You know what would have happened if you’d succeeded.”

I give the slightest nod, still focused on keeping still, on not flinching away from the sizzle her iron makes as it carefully and precisely seals the cracks in my phylactery, whispering the artifact whole again. If I’d succeeded, I’d be dead.

“I’m nearly done, now, dear. Just a moment longer to make sure the mounting is still set correctly.”

I close my eyes, let the ticking of my metronome provide me some meager stability. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the buzzing in my soul fades and I can feel my Maker pull away, feel her satisfaction with her work.

“There. You can relax now, dear.”

With a gentle sigh, I open my eyes again, let my jaw relax, let my breathing resume. I take a moment to reaffirm my surroundings – sat on the edge of a workbench in my Maker’s studio, stripped of my clothes, one arm wrapped in a brace to prevent the spiderweb of fractures that reach all the way up to my chest from worsening. My Maker is sat turned away from me on a tall stool, carefully replacing the iron in the appropriate drawer.

Turning back towards me, she slips one of many tuning forks out of her work apron, twirling it between her fingers. I say nothing, but I feel a blush creep across my face, warmth tinging my cool porcelain skin at the thought of what must be coming next.

“Yes, dear,” she says, catching my reaction. “I’m going to need to tune you.”

“Just stay relaxed and let yourself sink into it... there’s a good doll...”

She taps one talon against the tip of the fork, sets it singing, and leans in to gently press it into one of my aetheric hooks – I can’t help but do as she says, sinking, sinking, feeling my consciousness pulled inwards towards my phylactery, leaving my vessel a hazy afterthought.

I can feel her winding one of my threads, feel the tune of her fork vibrate into me, her intent a hypnotic, drowning tide that pours in along the thread, filling me up until at last I can take no more, resist no more, and I fall inward, into the comforting warmth of a trance.

...and then I’m wide awake again.

“Such a good doll...” my Maker reassures me, gently stroking one hand through my silver hair, cupping my cheek. I realize I must have been crying – my face is wet against her hand.

“W-what...” I stammer, trying to gauge how long I was entranced. It can’t have been too long – the beam of sunlight that enters the studio through it’s tall, narrow window has only inched across the floor.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright dear. I just had to make a few changes to you. I can’t have one of my dolls hurting herself, now, can I?”

I frown. Hurting myself? Had I...? No, no, that would be silly. Even the thought of it made me recoil instinctively, the fear of a rebuke sharp in my mind for considering the mere possibility.

...Wait.

Oh. Of course. I realize immediately what my Maker meant by her words – I’d had a new rule implanted in me.

Something must have shown in my expression, because my Maker nods softly, tipping her talons beneath my chin and raising my violet eyes to meet her brilliant amber ones.

“Most of my dolls know better than to damage themselves all on their own,” she explains, “but sometimes these things happen. Do you remember why I needed to repair you, dear?”

I start to shake my head, then stop, pausing to examine myself. My right arm is fractured, kept safe in a brace. I experimentally test my fingers, and find them stiff, barely responsive. The mechanisms must be quite damaged. I close my eyes and trace my self-image up from the near-paralyzed arm, up and up, across my chest where the cracks spread and blossom...

I try to imagine what might have caused this sort of damage, but nothing comes.

“...I don’t remember,” I finally admit uncertainly.

My Maker smiles softly, nods. “Good. I’ll tell you, but I didn’t feel it appropriate to leave you with the memory itself. You beat yourself to breaking against a wall, dear. You wailed and wailed and smashed yourself, and then you tried to smash your phylactery. I found you, afterwards, all pulled into yourself, and I took you home to fix you.”

I can hardly believe what she’s saying. I... I tried to destroy myself? Why would I... how could I? A doll should never harm herself.

(Dimly, I remember that that last part is a recent command, a compulsion implanted deep into my soul. It doesn’t matter – I feel it strongly all the same.)

Finally, I find the words to ask my Maker why I had tried to... to kill myself.

She answers with a question of her own, and once again I’m frozen as I realize I don’t know the answer.

“Dear, do you remember why you sold yourself to me? Why you had me make you into a doll?”

How... how could I forget something like that? How could I forget when it had only been a few months? I can vividly recall my life as a human, recall the process of being made into a doll, the blissful feeling of my soul being gently pried from my body and nestled snugly into my phylactery, of my vessel being transfigured from flesh and blood into ceramic and glass and brass, given life by my Maker’s magic...

But when I tried to recall what had driven me to such a permanent decision, I found only a dull ache of longing surrounding a hazy nothingness.

My Maker waits patiently, and under her gaze I feel compelled to try harder to provide a satisfying answer to her question.

Biting my lip, I try to feel out the space around the haze. I remember being... dissatisfied with my life, with who I was, and at how little my attempts to change it seemed to matter. I remember a feeling of elated certainty that this was the way, this was what I had been looking for. I remember... remember...

She must have been very careful in excising the memories she’d asked me to locate, because when I finally find an answer, it’s only in the outline of what’s missing.

The look of pained realization in my eyes proves all the response my Maker requires of me; gently, tenderly, she pulls me to her chest, lets me cry and whimper against her, whispers gentle reassurances. It would be too painful, she tells me, to make you bear those memories. You know everything you need to know about what happened.

I fight it at first, recoil at the idea of being left with a hole in my memory like this. But as she cradles me close and kisses my perfect silver hair and fusses at my broken arm, promises to make me good as new, I realize that she’s right.

Her talons stroke me gently, trailing up and down my spine in a lazy circuit as she hugs me close. Her voice is like a lullaby at this point, drawing out the ache and tension until I feel my springs start to unwind, feel a comfortable weight creep into my vessel as all my strings go limp.

“You’re a good doll, dear... such a good doll. You have a purpose now, alright? Dolls all have a purpose. And you’ll never forget that.”

I nod tiredly, sniffling, aware I’m leaking all over her apron.

She doesn’t seem to mind.

Before long, I’m at peace.

#lushposting #empty spaces

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quinnkdev · 7 months

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QUINN K'S NEW SIGNAL FIRE

A lot has changed, so time for a new pinned post!

I'm Quinn K! I'm a 28 year-old gamedev, writer, pixel artist, et al. from Austria! :] What did I do, and where am I going?

I worked on two games in RPG Maker 2k3: An Outcry and There Swings A Skull: Grim Tidings

I did a bunch of English translations for Mortis Ghost's OFF, under my old username RecDra! (art courtesy of @stereotypea1999)

And now, I'm working on two games in Game Maker Studio 2: BLANKSWORD and [Publicly untitled]!

FIND MY GAMES HERE!

Nice to meetcha! You can find me principally on this website, but also on Patreon (if you want to support me)!

Please reblog so people can find me!

#Quinntrospection #Signal fire #Feel free to reblog!

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nova-amor · 5 months

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𓈒∘☁︎ ◜ 𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ◞

𝐜𝐰 — 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐨𝐜! 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭(?), 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟓.𝟏𝐤

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲 & 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞-𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 😔

There was a faint ringing in your ears, your eyes straining to count the individual fibers threaded into Peter’s pink bathrobe. There were a few stray strings you resisted the urge to pluck. A faint mystery stain or two embedded into the material that you were sure no amount of Shout spray or Tide detergent could get out.

Had he tried a simple solution of vinegar and Oxy-clean to get the stains out? That always seemed to work on your husband’s clothing; you’d have to relay the information to Mary-Jane next time you saw her. You were sure she had a few household tricks of her own to share too; after being married to a Spider-Man for years, you learn a thing or two about maintaining spandex suits and cleaning up wounds post-missions.

Maybe you should write a book. Yeah, definitely— an instructional booklet detailing the little tips and tricks you had picked up through the years of being married to a superhero. Maybe you could gather a few advisory notes from the other spouses who were willing to share.

You could even get the book published; but what would you name it? “How to Take Care of Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.”? “The Art of Being a Hero’s Wife.”? Or, “The Good Wife’s Guide: Embracing Your Role as a Superhero’s Nurse, Guy-in-the-Chair, Home-maker.”?

No, none of those sound right. You’d have to think about this one.

“Hey!” Peter’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, your blinks slow as you registered what had happened. How long had you spaced out?

“Earth to Mrs. O’Hara!” There was something special about Peter, something unique to this particular Peter variant. Maybe it was his crooked smile or his kind eyes. Or, maybe it was his keen ability to recognize when someone was upset and offer them help without really offering it— a skill that the other Peters you had met didn’t quite have.

“You doing okay?”

Shuffling in your office chair, the leather material squeaking in synchronization with your nervous adjustments. Were you okay? You had gotten enough sleep the night before, you had your morning coffee, you had no deadlines or mission reports to file, and you nor your husband were being attacked by villains. So, you are okay— you have no reason not to be. Right?

“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” You reassured Peter, trying your best to not notice the minuscule frown tugging at his lips. You dodged his heavy gaze, glancing over to your black computer monitor. You reached for the mouse, giving the item a slight wiggle to awaken the computer from its state of rest. “You were asking me something, right? A question?”

Peter’s eyes followed your fingers dance across the keyboard, typing in the password to unlock your computer. It was your wedding date. Peter looked back at you, choosing to ignore how you hesitated to press the final numeral key.

“Yeah, you can say no, but would you and Miguel be willing to watch Mayday for a few hours this Sunday?” inquired Peter as he sought out one of the balls at the end of your mini Newton’s cradle. He drew back the metal ball, far enough that once released, the loud smack of the ball knocking against the other pieces drew your attention back to him in annoyance. Peter offered his signature crooked smile, the gesture serving as a good enough apology.

“I don’t know, Pete,” Your cursor hovered over your email box, a recent notification pinging in the corner. It was most likely another email from your therapist— another Peter variant, funny enough. You had skipped out on the last few planned sessions without notice. “You know how much I love Mayday, but I’d have to talk to Miguel first and the house isn’t equipped for a child’s safety. And, I’m not even sure if Miguel can handle being around kids right after the whole… you-know-what situation.”

Peter nodded, “I totally get that, but I already asked a few friends back on my Earth and Jessica and they said no; and, you know I really wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have anyone else to turn to,” Oh, so he was going to play that card. “MJ and I haven’t had a night off from taking care of Mayday in months and I want to surprise MJ with a nice date night this weekend. You’d only be watching Mayday for a few hours, promise, and she’s such a sweet kid—”

Peter was quick to pull his phone out from his pocket, “Like, look at this face,” He shoved his phone screen into your face, showcasing an image of Mayday in a baby’s version of a Spider-Man suit to you. You blinked, the picture of the little girl tugging at your heartstrings— she was a cute kid, a perfect combination of her mother’s features and her father’s personality. “Tell me you wouldn’t want to spend a few hours with this cutie! You’re really gonna say no to that smile?”

You grabbed at Peter’s phone, shamelessly scrolling through the dedicated Mayday photo album that housed thousands of images of his child. You loved her bright green eyes, her rosy cheeks, her toothy grins. You couldn’t deny that the idea of taking care of her wasn’t a good one.

As you passed Peter’s phone back to him, you recognized the look of triumph on his face. “Let me at least talk to Miguel first,” You sighed, the smile on his face stretching into a fat grin. “I’ll let you know by tonight, but I can’t guarantee you that he’ll say yes.”

“Good enough for me!” Peter clapped his hands together. The watch on his wrist began to beep rapidly, a signal that there was a new mission on another Earth.

Peter gave you a sheepish smile as a glitchy orange portal appeared behind him, “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Let me know how it goes; see you later!” And, he was off with a quick wave.

The portal closed slowly behind him, the soft hum of the moving universe filling the empty air until it was gone with a mellow whoosh. You turned back to your monitor screen, slinking back into the cushions of your chair. You processed the question over again, your gaze settling on the background image of your computer screen as you mulled over what had just occurred.

It was an image of you and your husband from a few years ago— your arms laced around each other’s waists, large smiles painted across your faces, the two of you clad in all white.

Even the backdrop was a reflection of what a perfect day it had been— the sky cloudless and heaven’s painted a wondrous range of pink, orange, and purple hues, the lake calm and as still as glass beneath your feet.

You could still remember the smell of the sweet air, feel the faint cool breeze on your skin, taste the lingering flavor of your husband’s lips on yours. It had been your wedding day— you two had planned an elopement and held an intimate ceremony on the white sandy beach of Las Coloradas, and then spent the rest of the following week traveling around the northern coast of the Yucatán for your honeymoon.

You had been so happy, so in love, so full of life. Everything was perfect back then. And, if you could reach through the image and teleport back to that time, you would do so in an instant. Without a single moment’s hesitation.

But, your husband hadn’t invented that technology— yet.

“Miguel?” Your knuckles hovered over the closed door of your husband’s office, your feet glued to the wooden hallway floor. You chewed on the inner flesh of your cheek, contemplating whether or not this was an appropriate time to disturb him. But, you had told Peter you would talk with Miguel tonight— and you would rather be damned than let one of your friends down.

“Miguel, I need to ask you a question; can I open the door?” You pressed your ear to the door, craning to hear if there was any noise on the other side. You weren’t even sure if he was home anyway. You had barely seen him all day, only seeing one another in passing in between meetings and mission debriefs. “Miguel, I swear to God—”

“Entra.” You blinked at the sound of his muffled voice. So, he had been home. And, he hadn’t even acknowledged you.

Not wanting to waste another second, you pried open the office door, immediately being greeted by the sight of your husband lounging in his office chair. Your feet were weighed down by lead, unable to bring yourself to step foot into his sacred space. It had been so long since you had been in such close proximity to your husband, not since that fateful night almost a year ago.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to interrupt you,” Whether it was by divine intervention or a sudden power boost in confidence, you mustered up the strength to step foot into the lion’s den. Your eyes glazed over the office space, taking in the area that Miguel had been frequenting every night for the last year.

His office was exactly like you had last seen it: the walls painted a rich, deep shade of taupe and lined with certificates and bookshelves; the couch you two had purchased was still tucked into a far corner with an accompanying side table decorated with an old framed photo of you; his desk centered in the room, littered with papers and computer monitors.

Your gaze finally settled on Miguel. Under any other circumstance, you would have playfully complimented his choice in attire— his signature Spider-Man suit replaced with a loose white t-shirt and Spider-Cat pajama pants you had jokingly purchased him years ago. You couldn’t resist finding him a bit cute in that moment; regardless of the tension between you two, you’d do anything to run your fingers through his shaggy hair and plant a kiss or two on the tops of his cheeks.

You couldn’t resist missing your husband.

“Are you going to just stand there and stare?” Miguel’s voice derailed your train of thought, yanking you back into reality. The reality where your husband couldn’t stand to be around you. “Or, are you going to tell me whatever it is you wanted to ask?”

You fought the urge to flinch, the coldness of Miguel’s tone stinging you. “Peter wanted to know if we could watch Mayday this weekend,” You came out quickly, wanting to get this moment done sooner rather than later. The longer you were in his private space, the more hurt you’d end up getting. “I told him I’d talk to you about it first since I wasn’t sure how’d you feel about it. I promised that I’d give him an answer tonight.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow, “Babysit Mayday? You want to watch a baby?”

“Well, yeah,” You answered, slightly taken aback by his question. Everyone knew how much you adored Mayday— you had been glued to Mary-Jane’s side through the entirety of her pregnancy, even being one of the first people allowed into the room after Mayday’s birth. Since Mayday’s arrival, you had been there for the Parker family through every major event in Mayday’s life and they had always welcomed you with open arms in return. Especially after the situation with Miguel.

“You know better than anyone how much I love Mayday,” You added. “And, Peter and MJ have always been good friends to me— to us. The least I— The least we could do is watch Mayday for a few hours for them.”

“When?” Miguel averted his gaze from you, focusing in on one of his many computer screens. You didn’t even have to ask, your gut already knowing exactly what he was looking at. It was a picture of her.

“This weekend. I’ll have to talk and get more details from Peter first and then I’ll be able to tell you what the plan is,” You fiddled with the edge of your shirt, attempting to direct your attention to anything other than your husband’s activities. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Miguel’s eyebrows furrowed, his jaw hardening as he turned his attention back to you. “Yeah, I’m fine with it. Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked sharply.

You nodded, “I’m just asking,” You took a deep breath. “I just know that being around Mayday or any child has been tough for you since… the incident. And, I just want to make sure you’ll be comfortable with it.”

“I said I’m fine with it. And, if that’s all,” Miguel’s mental and emotional walls shot back up, closing you off and preventing you from being able to reach him any further. God, you’d do anything to catch just a glimpse of what was going through his mind.

“Remember to close the door on your way out.”

The rest of your evening was spent tucked in between your bed sheets with a glass of wine and a book. You tried to ignore the gaping hole in your heart, drowning your sorrows away with an expensive bottle of Bordeaux and a fantasy novel you had been recommended by one of your friends.

Yet, you couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the space next to you. It lacked Miguel’s familiarity and warmth, the mattress cold and devoid of any fragment of his presence. You couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept in the same bed as you, the nights having blurred together as you had spent the majority of them in tears.

“LYLA!” You called out to Miguel’s A.I. assistant, her small figure appearing on Miguel’s nightstand. You set your book down on once used to Miguel’s pillow, downing the rest of your wine before devoting your attention to the A.I. being.

“LYLA, what’s Miguel been up to?” You questioned, the small figure glitching in and out for a brief moment before appearing closer beside you. “I know Miguel put up a privacy shield to prevent me from knowing what he’s been doing; but, is there any way you can give me a hint into his life?”

LYLA tapped her chin with her forefinger, taking a seat on the edge of your book. She crossed one leg over another, “I guess it wouldn’t go against my programming if I told you what he hasn’t been doing.”

You smiled at that. Regardless of whom LYLA was programmed to follow, Miguel had also created her to be independent enough to formulate her thoughts and opinions— a feature you were sure he regretted now and again.

“No, no, it wouldn’t.”

With a flick of her wrist, LYLA displayed a series of images above her— recorded moments of her spent with your husband. The images revolved in a slow scroll, displaying various situations where Miguel had ordered LYLA to project holographic images of the girl that captured his heart a year ago.

“LYLA, this needs to stop,” You whispered to the A.I. figure, flicking through the images and short video clips. Many of them were recreated memories of Miguel spending time with the girl, the sight of his wide smile infecting your heart like a disease.

The most recent image, dated just a few days ago, was of Miguel spending time with a programmed holograph of the girl. He appeared happy, smiling at the figure and laughing at something she had said. Yet, you knew your husband well enough to recognize how the light never met his eyes, those crimson eyes stormy and filled with an unmistakable sadness.

You sighed, sinking back into your pillows. Bringing your hands up to your face, you gripped onto your face, allowing the rush of emotions to wash over you like a tidal wave dragging you out to see. After a moment, you finally let out a deep breath, peeking back down to LYLA.

She seemed just as upset, toying with the edges of the small case on her phone. “It’s getting worse,” She relayed to you, her lips pursed as she moved closer to you. She then glitched to appear atop your shoulder, the faint ghost of her presence lingering by her cheek. She was trying to comfort you, and she couldn’t even touch you. “When he isn’t on missions, he’s cooped up in his office— rewatching the videos he made with her, utilizing the holograph systems to recreate her. But, it isn’t enough for him. I think he’s planning to look to other universes to find her.”

You blinked, craning your neck to the side to get a proper look at LYLA. “He can’t do that, LYLA,” You snapped at her, your tone a bit harsher than you had intended. You were quick to offer an apology, which she returned with a small smile. “It’s just— He knows the dangers of interacting with another version of her. He could destroy her world again, he’d lose her again. It’d destroy him all over again.”

“I know, but you know how Miguel is,” LYLA turned her gaze away from you, looking towards the framed image of you and Miguel on your nightstand. The photo had been taken right before your engagement, before you learned of his identity as Nueva York’s Spider-Man. Before he discovered the multiverse. “Once he gets an idea in his head, it’s hard to get him to not pursue it. He’s so stubborn that way.”

You nodded, the weight of defeat heavy on your shoulders.

“Yeah, I know,” You breathed out. “It’s one of the reasons why I married him.”

“And, here’s her backpack,” Mayday giggled in your arms, her big emerald eyes beaming at you with a toothy grin on her face. She toyed with the strings of your hoodie, wrapping the strings around her chubby fingers before tugging on them. “I packed a ton of diapers and toys and snacks and a change of clothes if she needs them and,”

You turned your attention to Peter, offering him a reassuring smile. “Peter, I think she’s good,” Mayday cooed in agreement. “You’re just going to be gone for a few hours, you didn’t need to pack the entirety of her life away for just a handful of hours.”

“I know, but,” Peter sighed, his shoulders sagging. He reached out to poke Mayday’s rosy cheek, earning an amused giggle in return. He smiled at that. “I’m just nervous, it’s the first time me and MJ are going to be away from her. And, anything can happen. And, I just really want tonight to go well and—”

“Dude,” You interrupted him, cradling Mayday close to your chest with one hand while the other found a place on Peter’s shoulder. You gave it a light squeeze, offering him an empathic smile. “Tonight’s going to go perfectly, Peter, so stop stressing so much. Plus, Mayday is going to have the time of her life with Tía [y/n] and Tío Miguel. Right, mi pequeña araña?” You raised Mayday to your lips, planting a soft kiss on her squishy cheek. Her toothy grin grew impossibly wider, basking in the warmth of your affection.

“Now, don’t you have a date to catch?” You teased, referring to the time on his watch. Peter cursed, summoning a portal back to his universe.

“Call me, text me, email me, I don’t care. If you or Mayday need something, please don’t hesitate to reach out.” Peter pressed a kiss to Mayday’s forehead, his faint stubble tickling her forehead. He then turned to take a step into the portal, pausing for a moment to look back at you and his daughter. “Oh, and another thing—”

“Peter B. Parker, leave my universe right now!” You playfully ordered, extending your pointer finger in the direction of the swirling vortex.

Peter shook his head with a smile, “Yeah yeah, I’m leaving. Love you both!”

And, with a hushed whoosh, the portal vanished— leaving you alone with just Mayday by your side.

“Well,” You tucked your hands under Mayday’s armpits, propping her up into an upright position. “What do you want to do now, May?”

Mayday could only offer you a babbled answer in return.

The next few hours passed in a blur, your time occupied by Mayday and her little shenanigans. You didn’t realize just how difficult it was to manage a Spider-kid; at her current age, she was already starting to shoot organic webs from her wrists and crawl all over the walls like her father.

You spent the majority of your afternoon chasing after her and prying her off the kitchen cabinets, doing your best to entertain her with normal activities like watching kid shows and playing with toys. But, Mayday wasn’t a normal child that could be entertained with such feeble methods.

“Maydayyy,” You whined as Mayday crawled around the living room ceiling. You weren’t even sure how she had managed to get up there in the first place, you had looked away from her for a single second to grab the TV remote and somehow she had ended up swinging back and forth on your chandelier. “Mayday Parker! Don’t make me call your dad!”

“What’s going on?” Miguel’s voice interrupted the moment, capturing both your attention and Mayday’s. The toddler shot a web at Miguel, swinging herself into his arms.

“Mayday’s been off the walls,” You sighed, plopping down to sit on the edge of your coffee table. “I forgot how draining it can be to babysit.”

Miguel adjusted the toddler in his arms, breathing out a soft whistle. His eyes glazed over the current state of the living room— toys littering the floor, the TV playing an episode of some child’s show called Bluey, and a few spilled snacks embedded into the carpet.

“You take a break,” Miguel shrugged, looking back at you. His face was devoid of any expression, yet his eyes were brewing a storm you couldn’t quite decipher. “I’ll take it from here.”

“But, Miguel,” You wanted to put up a protest. You were perfectly capable of watching Mayday. You had been doing so the entirety of the afternoon before he arrived.

Miguel shook his head, craddling Mayday in his strong arms. “It’s alright, [y/n],” Mayday reached up to toy with one of the buttons on Miguel’s shirt. You couldn’t but notice how form-fitting Miguel’s polo shirt was, your eyes raking over the sight of the sleeves straining around his thick biceps. “If you want to help, just get dinner started or something. I’ll take care of Mayday.” He assured you.

Without another word, you left for the kitchen— your heart sinking further into the black hole forming in your chest. You were supposed to be watching Mayday together, taking care of her together. Yet, per usual, Miguel had taken complete control of the situation and shut you out.

As you rummaged through the kitchen in search of ingredients to begin the dinner process, a flood of emotions washed over you. The memories of the last time Miguel had tried to control you coming back.

It had been after she died. When Miguel’s emotions were still high and unpredictable. For a month after her death, Miguel had lashed out at everyone and everything— micromanaging the entirety of the Spider society down to the finest details. Like everyone else, you had been forced to endure Miguel’s terrible attitude with an empathetic face— yet, unlike everyone else who was able to escape Miguel’s short-temper and mood swings after work, you had deal with it at home as well.

One particular evening though, after weeks of walking around on eggshells with your husband around, you had finally snapped at Miguel. The words still rang clear in your head as you recalled them, as if you had witnessed the moment through a third-perspective rather than as yourself.

“She wasn’t even your daughter!” You yelled at your husband, hot tears brimming at the edges of your eyes. Your skin scorching hot, frustration pulsing through you so hard and fast that your hands shook by your sides. After one too many times of your husband lashing out on you, it was time he got dealt the same cards. “You didn’t even want a kid up until you met her.”

“That’s not true.” Miguel bit back, rolling his scarlet red eyes. He was seated at the dining room table, the table acting as a great divider between you two. “I wanted kids— I want kids. But, you waited until the last second to tell me you didn’t want any. And, I wanted you so much, I was willing to put aside the idea of having kids so I could be with you. I sacrificed my dream to be with you.”

“I did not wait until the second, Miguel, I made it clear from the beginning that I didn’t want kids.” You retorted, curling your lip down in disgust. Choosing to ignore his usage of past tense in referral to you, you continued to push through— you needed Miguel to open up. This was the furthest he had done so since her death. “I told you before our engagement, I didn’t want kids. And, you said were okay with it. And, you were okay with is up until a couple of months when you met her. And, now because she’s dead, you want to use my womb as a factory and recreate her? That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re going to change your mind.” Miguel leaned back into his chair. “You’re going to change your mind in five, ten years and its going to be too late. And, you’re going to regret not having kids.”

You tilted your head back, closing your eyes. You were mentally exhausted, “I’m not going to change my mind. And, I’m not going to regret having kids.” You sighed. “Because I choose me. And, you choose me too when you decided to marry me even after I told you I didn’t want kids. And, if you’re having regrets about our marriage, I need to know now.”

Miguel stayed silent. A heavy pause lingering in the air between you.

“You regret our marriage?”

Your hands were wrinkled and covered in soap, the rushing water from the faucet filling the still air. The house was cold and quiet once again since Peter had just picked Mayday up a few moments prior. You had spent the past few minutes after their departure holed up in the kitchen, washing the dishes and pans you had used for dinner.

“Do you need help?” You turned your head in Miguel’s direction, his towering frame hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

You shrugged your shoulders, holding a dripping plate out to him. Miguel was quick to take the item from your hands, grabbing a nearby kitchen towel to dry it off before placing it in the dish rack. You two stood there in heavy silence, your bodies moving in tandem with the assembly line you had formed.

“Miguel,” You broke the silence, Miguel’s hands stilling at the sound of your voice. You continued to wash the dishes, piling them on the side of the sink for him to dry. “What if we had a baby?”

Miguel blinked, taken aback. “¿Un bebé? ¿Desde cuándo querías un bebé?” He inquired, resuming his task of drying the dishes.

“Since I found you out you were re-creating Gabriella with holographs,” You stated, twisting the handle of the faucet to turn the water off. You reached for another kitchen towel to dry your hands off.

“How do you—?”

“LYLA.”

Miguel nodded, finishing the final dish and setting it into a slot along the dish rack to air dry. “[Y/n], I,” Miguel paused, pondering over what words he should say next. He was tongue-tied, unsure of how to go about the situation. “I just miss her so much and,”

“And, I never let you use me to re-create her. So you with the next best alternative,” You stated, clenching the edges of the kitchen counter. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. It’d hurt too much. “And, if re-creating your daughter is going to make you love me again, be healthy and better again— so fucking be it.”

“[Y/n]...”

“Miguel, you want Gabriella back and I’m telling you I’m willing to give her to you.” You sucked in a deep breath, trying to maintain the steadiness in your voice. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“That isn’t what I want.” He answered.

“Don’t lie to me right now, Miguel,” You hissed. “You've been pushing me away, shutting me out for a year now. Ever since she died, you haven’t been the same and I’m offering you the chance to see her again.”

“Stop,” Miguel snapped at you, the sharp edge of his canines gleaming under the kitchen lights. “We had a good day. Why are you trying to ruin it by bringing this up?”

“Ruin it?” You placed a hand over your heart, a faux gasp of disbelief leaving your lips. “I’m ruining your day?”

“You’re not, I just…” Miguel slinked back from you. “I think we’d better off talking about this later.”

“But when is later good for you, Miguel? When I asked you about her universe, you always said you’d tell me later. When you would leave to go see her, not returning for hours or even days, my questions about where you were or how long you would be there were met with an “I’ll tell you later.” When Gabriella died, I asked you how you said ‘later.’ When our counselor asked how you were feeling, and what you were doing to cope, you said that you needed time to grieve now and let me in later. Later has been months, Miguel,” You exhaled shakily, wiping your rebel tears away with the back of your hand.

You looked up to Miguel, your heart aching at the sight of his frown. “I can’t wait any later, Miguel, I can’t. I’ve been trying to wait on you, I’ve given you space, I’ve given you time to grieve, I’ve given you everything that I have and try to be. Except for one thing. A baby. If giving you a baby will make you love me again, so be it. Let’s not wait for later. Let’s do it right now. Let’s have a baby.”

Miguel hesitated to answer, unsure how to proceed through such murky waters.

“You almost left me for Gabriella because I wouldn’t give you a child. You almost died when she died. And, I’ve stayed by your side through this entire time, supporting you, giving you space,” You reached out to grab at Miguel’s shirt, the fabric wrinkling by your grip. “The last thing I can offer you is to have a baby because I just want to make you happy again. I just want my husband back.”

Miguel’s arms wrapped around your body, holding you close with a tight embrace. You breathed in his scent, the familiar aromas of patchouli and cedar seeping into every fiber of your being, calming your mind and breaths. You relaxed into him; his arms had always been your sanctuary.

“I hate it when you cry, amorcito,” Miguel pressed his nose to the crown of your head, burying his face into your hair. He breathed in your scent, his muscles tensing all around you. It was as if he was scared you were going to disappear from his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” His voice wavered. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like this. I never meant to do this to you— I just didn’t know what to do, what to feel.”

“Miguel,” His name left your lips like a whispered prayer. You craned your neck back to peer up at him, his glossy ruby eyes meeting you.

“Let me speak, mi alma, it’s my turn.” The walls around Miguel’s heart and mind came crashing down, his face contorting into an expression of pain and sorrow. You reached up to cradle the underside of his ear, your thumb passing gently over his jawline in long, soothing strokes.

“I owe you so many apologies. I’ve been such a terrible husband, such a terrible person. Instead of pushing you away, I should have held you closer;” Miguel announced. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “I never meant to make you feel unwanted or unloved. I love you so much, amorcito. Más que nada en el universo.”

“I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to give up any aspect of your life for me. I know having kids isn’t something you want, and I’m so sorry I made you feel that the only way I’d stay with you is by having a baby,” Miguel continued. “ I became so obsessed with the feeling of being unconditionally loved, unconditionally wanted, that I forgot that I already had someone in my life who already did so. You’re the only important thing in my life. You’re the only one I love and care for. And I promise to never take you for granted, I promise to do better for you.”

Miguel’s promise was spoken through a few whimpers, his eyes brimming with tears. You continued to stroke Miguel’s cheek, reaching up to him by the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Miguel chased after the loving sensation, dipping his head to capture your lips in a passionate kiss.

He whimpered against your lips, the kiss salty and sloppy from your tears mixing. The pain in your heart slowly seeped away, being replaced by the intense rush of love you still held for him.

“Miguel,” The sound of his name elicited another tremble from him, his tears slowing. You kissed his cheeks, kissing away his tears and grief. “Te quiero también.”

Miguel clung to you harder, your head returning to its restful spot on his chest. You two stood there for a lifetime, holding onto the torn fabrics of your marriage.

There was still so much for you two to discuss, so many thoughts and emotions to reveal. Yet, at least, you were able to acknowledge the mistakes in your relationship and take the first leap to rebuilding your marriage. And, this time, you’d be able to do it together.

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