#Sacrifice in Cyberpunk

[captaingimpy]

Cyberpunk: Edgerunners Review — welcome to the soul of Night city

Forgive me, I am on a cyberpunk kick right now, both the genre and the property itself. I’ve been watching a lot of movies in and around that, I hope you guys enjoy this and don’t mind my temporary madness. I’m currently playing my way through cyberpunk 2077 and whenever I finish it, I’m probably gonna talk about that at some point too.  Studio Trigger’s Cyberpunk: Edgerunners is more than…

[cyb0rgv4mp1re]

There may be no happy endings in night city, but there’s happy endings in my word app, even if they don’t make sense!!!

[mail-me-a-snail]

v, v, v, and...v!?!? wanted to draw vance with some other v's for a while now so !

first pic is @swearingcactus 's little v, my beloved little alien enjoyer !!!

second is (left to right from vance) @dearly--bel0ved 's vicky, valerie, and veronica!!! the four v's are at it again :3

[theelf-art]

Pro tip guys. Gazing upon the Sefirot and ascending to Keter to understand the fundamental nature of your reality will result in the loss of you arm and leg and also technically birth control implant. Anyways shoutout to my medtech Dr. Cinn who just went from Dr. House to Edward Elric in one session.

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

while i do think Kerry can be emotionally distant and closed off at times, especially when he feels slighted or hurt, i don’t see the new ending as evidence of that. He tries to listen to V and keeps getting interrupted, but he’s also in the middle of a tour (notoriously crazy busy at his fame level) and had also been (albeit accidentally) ghosted by V for two entire fucking years. And yet, he laughs with excitement hearing V is back, asks if he needs any monetary support, says he’ll see him right after the tour in four months. Is he busy? Yes. V would have known this getting into a relationship with Kerry. Musical artists have crazy tour times and then slower times off-tour. V himself was booked and busy himself with his job. Kerry literally seems like the ONLY one of the love interests in that ending where a chance at reigniting the relationship is even possible! I actually really like that ending because it shows him as he is: a vain, successful rockerboy who is a touch vapid and short attention spanned but honestly really caring and giving to those who he holds dear. While, you know— being a grown adult invested in his career with responsibilities and obligations he has beyond what was, though life changing, a few week romantic fling that, again, ghosted him for two entire calendar years.

[izercharo]

screw it. All 6 cades be upon ye!

also they are all chronologically ordered from top left being the first to bottom right being the last i guess this kinda counts as lore for Cade?

[another-corpo-rat]

Possibility

i love when an in-game gig gives me an idea that lets Vic be awful and fuck with a friends oc in tandem.

Wisteria belongs to the dear @wistereia 💕 i can't wait to write more of these two being lil shits together and to each other

Summary: Wisteria has a choice to make and there's a few factors not making it easy, Victoria's input certainly isn't helping Premise based on Gig: Talent Academy

It’s an effort to smile, like pulling lead with a fraying thread but – Wisteria manages it, manages something that appears genuine enough even if it certainly doesn’t feel it. An odd way to lie, one that she hasn’t quite mastered just yet. She expects Victoria will so graciously offer to help her sharpen that particular skill now that she’s noted it to be lacking.

But it works, and the little boy with cyberware too dense for his body and still not enough for the weight his parents are pressing on his shoulders smiles so brightly it makes her chest ache. Pearly whites on full display as his lips split with such a genuine joy, his eyes – still organic, but for how long? – almost wet with tears twinkle under the white overhead lights. Delighted and trusting.

Naïve, a venomous voice hisses, and she can’t distinguish if it’s her mother’s or Victoria’s for how they overlap. A harmony of both.

“Right kiddo, you run along so I can get that meeting set up okay?” Her muscles ache with the smile now and they falter minutely at his responding ‘okay!’ Still, she keeps it up until the door mutes the distinct light patter of the boy’s steps. The breath she releases when it drops is exhausted, unrelieved.

“Well,” Victoria croons over their line, “that was certainly a…very you approach.”

“What, were you expecting me to zero the kid?” She had meant it to be an extreme, an unthinkable thing – but her throat dries at the thought. What was unthinkable to her was likely little more than a day that ends with a y for the other.  

“No, but it perhaps would have been kinder.”

“I doubt that.” Wisteria says softly as she jacks into the terminal, both letting the silence settle and stew. And maybe this is another lesson, or another one of Victoria’s bullshit tactics, the silence sits heavy for her, settles onto her shoulders little by little as each second ticks by and the download bar crawls forward.

It’ll be fine.

They’ll actually get to be kids, get to run around and laugh and play sports because it’s fun, not because it’ll line someone else’s pockets. Not their parents and not some corp. It’s better for him, him and every other kid here—

“He’ll be fine.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Something’s off in Victoria’s voice, a softness that borders on caring and she can’t tell if it’s supposed to be mocking or not. It sharpens the ache in her chest, has her press her lips together and nails clawing into the expensive wood of the desk.

“Just…let me get this over with.”

“Very well. Contact me when you’re done.” The call ends, the download bar finishes.

And the door to the office slides open, a two-bit corpo of a woman walking in with the still-beaming little boy at her heel. She can’t draw the smile again.

[meltingangelsmods]

💀 Casca's Brand of Sacrifice 💀

- Berserk -

💀 Tattoo Mod for Both Vs 💀

Hey chooms! Catching up with my Tumblr posts. Here's a tattoo mod I did; a request from a while back when I did Guts' brand of sacrifice during Halloween Month.

This is Casca's version, and I did two versions for Both Vs:

- Red Ink.

(Close to Canon's bloody scar)

- Black Ink.

Nexus Link (Casca): Casca's Brand for Both Vs

Nexus Link (Guts): Guts' Brand for Both Vs

[juststayquiete]

So if V chooses to keep her body, Johnny says to her to never stop fighting, but if V gives him her body he DOES stop fighting and leaves NC fr HMMMMMM

[paisleycowboys]

I will be disappointed if phantom liberty gives us an actual happy ending. Dire consequences or nothing!!

[jaymber]

Helloooo, y'all!

Redownloaded the app, since I finished the dlc.

Thoughts on Phantom Liberty?

Con: fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou. CDProject, could you stop whitewashing my V for 5 seconds ?!

Pro: My ending is so much better than the DLC's. I'm so petty about it I'm in a writing mood again 😌

[luvwich]

- black steel [silverv ficlets] —

. day 6: sacrifice .

The Lord said to Cain, "Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must master it." Genesis 4:6 She can feel him watching her now. Waiting for her to choose between his war and her life.

on ao3 ->

[vole-mon-amour]

After everything that has happened to Johnny, his body autonomy is such a huge and interesting topic for me. It should be WAY more present in the game.

In Phantom Liberty, they barely touched the surface of his military trauma and other traumatic events throughout his life, let alone Johnny losing his human arm and getting a prosthetic that sent him over the edge with cyberpsychosis and a messed up, traumatized psyche (as if it wasn't bad enough before that).

Cyberpunk 2077 is already such a great game, but it could have been an absolute masterpiece if they let us get through to Johnny and his trauma. V tells him he's a softie and Johnny replies with a "fuck you"—because how many people have been kind to him before that, really? How many people tried to genuinely understand him, especially since he pushed them away over and over again?

The game should have allowed the player to push through his "fuck you" that is actually a defensive mechanism, his awkwardness at being seen and exposed to those human feelings. The game should have allowed the player to help Johnny, to "Don't bullshit me, Johnny, I'm here for you whether you like it or not. Don't want me? Let's go talk to Kerry. Rogue is also an option, y'know?" (And judging by the way Johnny acts during a date with Rogue, and by him telling Rogue about V's death, Johnny still trusts Rogue enough and is, to a point, ready to be vulnerable and truthful with her.)

I mean, I'm sure Johnny and Kerry had many heart-to-heart conversations, but Johnny still built up a wall and pushed people away, even Kerry (his best friend, mind you).

And after the war? Drugs, alcohol, anything to drown the pain. The way he used sex to manipulate and to cope while he was also disassociating? I mean, he already has an arm he hates, that is still a foreign object, why not use his body, too?

You've heard this from me before and you'll hear this again: Johnny Silverhand deserved better. The Temperance ending remains the best canonical ending for me—he gets that second chance at life, to heal, to live. Even though he has to live in V's body, has to get used to it and that there's no V anymore, that the body fully belongs to him now. There's another question of body autonomy because Johnny's consciousness/the Relic overwrote itself on V's psyche, so technically he stole the body and killed V without meaning to. But then again, it was V's choice to give Johnny the body. It was V's choice to tell Johnny, "Don't fuck this up. Heal. Live for me to the fullest."

And so he tries, with his immense guilt and grief. He genuinely tries, otherwise V's sacrifice was for nothing. Otherwise it was only a waste.

Of course, in my head V is alive. Johnny gets his body back, his rehab, his healing—because's Johnny's actual body is so tired, is so used to every kind of poison, he NEEDS time to heal. It's going to be a process. It's going to take years. But it's important for him to get help.

But that's not canon. Canon is that Johnny is suffering all the fucking time, lying to himself that he's good, and then during events of Phantom Liberty and any kind of heart-to-heart with V it overwhelms him to the point of him holding back tears.

"I was totally ok with that, until now."

Yeah. Sure you were, darling.

Anyway. Body autonomy for Johnny Silverhand 2k25.

[meltingangelsmods]

🌹💀 Halloween 2023 💀🌹

{ Day 19 }

Brand of Sacrifice

{ Neck + Hand Tattoos }

- Berserk -

Hey folks! I've been forgetting to post on here, so I'm catching up. Day 19 of my big Spooky Month project was some Brand of Sacrifice tattoos from Berserk.

I did Guts' brand, and then a bonus 'Griffith' one. Casca's brand has been requested, and will be happening soon!

There is 2 tattoos, both with 2 colour variations.

The tattoos are available for Both Vs, with these bodies:

- VTK body.

- Gymfiend body.

- Hyst bodies.

- KS UV bodies.

Nexus Link: There's no paradise for you to escape to...

[californiannostalgia]

Things I noticed on my Pacific Rim rewatch:

1. Raleigh had his left arm ripped off while he was piloting the left hemisphere, then had his right arm and leg shredded while he was piloting the right hemisphere. Holy fuck he has been through it. His resilience and battle focus is enough to be recognized by Pentecost, whose solo Tokyo battle was three hours long.

2. Implied that Hercules Hansen was one of the OGs, like Cherno Alpha. Wonder what happened to his copilot before he began drifting with his son. Wonder what happened to the Jaeger he piloted before Striker Eureka.

3. Pentecost says he carries nothing into the drift, but that just means he knows how to match with anyone, right? Wonder what that final drift was like in Chuck Hansen's head.

4. Tendo Choi is in command of the bridge when neither Pentecost nor Herc Hansen is present. I forgot that he reverts to Cantonese in stress situations, love these details.

5. I enjoy the bilinguals of this film. Also really interesting choice to focus on the western rim of the Pacific Ocean: Australians, Japanese, Chinese, Russians, and a badass Marshal who strikes deals with the black market and literally anyone else who will fund the Jaeger program. We get to have industrial apocalypse, alien thriller, and cyberpunk in one film. (Side question: are the Americas' coastlines devastated?)

6. Mako's expressions are so. Agh. Her face shows what she's feeling with unshielded honesty (she feels so much, like Raleigh) but she carries herself like Pentecost: deliberate, controlled. Very much his student (daughter).

7. Newt and Hermann are obsessed with their scientific theories being right, even if it means the possible doom of humankind. Iconic Academics. Also they must be important enough to have helicopters on call, since they run out of one to get to the bridge in time for the final fight.

8. Final goodbyes between Stacker Pentecost and Mako Mori.

9. Mako and Raleigh are two of many orphans who had no intention of surviving the war that took their families. Raleigh's last sacrifice was simultaneously the most selfless and selfish thing to do. Good for him to have survived, Mako would've found it hard to forgive him.

10. "Stop the clock."

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐍𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k (short and not-so sweet🥲)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, heavy angst (no comfort), arguing, grief, hallucinations, birth complications. Italic writing indicates a flashback scene

𝐀/𝐍: Hey <3 missed me? If you follow me, you’ll know how much I’m fixating over Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. I’m still not over that ending with this song playing 😢 so I’m in an angsty mood rn

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Grief-stricken, Miguel struggles to escape the past as the lines blur between reality and haunting memories.

Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unhinged— like everything was held together but a fraying thread, moments from snapping.

His hands trembled by his sides as he stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the whole room.

The calm, peaceful night shattered instantly. Your head snapped up at the sudden noise, startled, your eyes widened as you looked at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed, barely holding back the explosive frustration boiling beneath the surface.

You blinked, taken back by the intensity in his tone, but you stayed firm. “Like what? Aren’t you going to apologise?”

Miguel scoffed in disgust, a harsh sound that seemed to cut through your resolve momentarily. Apologise? Why should he be the one to apologise?

Out of everyone, at least you should have seen his side of things, to hear him out. But now, even his own wife seemed to be against him.

“Aren’t you supposed to stand by me?” His voice grew harsher, every word carrying resentment. But, you didn’t flinch this time.

“You’ve been pushing everyone away, you’ve been distant. And now you’re getting angry at me for trying to help,” There it was. the gentle, yet unwavering, voice you always used on him— a soothing balm that always calmed the jagged edge of his nerves.

You always managed to reach past the storm inside him. If it were a different night, any other fight, he might’ve collapsed into your arms and tucked himself between the dip of your neck.

But tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt like it was slipping out of his control. Most people had the luxury of worrying about their own corner of the world, their own issues.

But not him. For Miguel, there was no peace, no relief. The weight of entire realities hung on his shoulders, a responsibility so immense it threatened to suffocate him daily.

“I’m not getting angry,” he bit out, but the words came out hollow. If he grinded his teeth any longer, they would turn into powder any moment.

“Then what’s with the tone? Why are you speaking to me like this, Miguel?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rose from the bed, crossing the room in quick, heavy steps. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists.

His grip was tight, almost too tight, but he couldn’t stop himself. His frustration, his fear, all bled into his hands. He held onto you as though you were the only anchor in the world that stayed intact while his world crumbled around him.

“You have no idea what I’m going through right now,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

He saw the momentary surprise on your face at the sudden grip. But you quickly masked it with something more determined.

You wouldn’t let him pull you under him. “Then tell me. Explain it to me.”

“You don’t have to be the one to make all the sacrifices…” The ice was slowly starting to crack, the anger beginning to unravel into something more fragile. “You’ll never understand.”

There was no way you could understand. You weren’t a Spider-Person, you didn’t know what it was like to live like this— isolated, constantly fighting, knowing every small mistake, every canon that’s disrupted could mean one step closer to losing everything.

He could never be the husband you deserve…

~

Miguel pulled you closer in bed, his arms securely around you as the quiet of the night settled in between you both. The soft rustles of sheets was the only sound in the room that filled the silence.

“Jess seems to be adjusting well,” you murmured, tracing idle patterns on his biceps. “With her new baby, I mean.”

Miguel instantly knew you were referring to Jessica Drew, the Spider-Woman who was part of his inner circle at the Society.

Jess had always been a natural leader, diligent and reliable, so it was no surprise that she’d embrace motherhood with the same effortless grace.

But it was a pain in the ass finding someone to cover her duties during the last stages of her pregnancy, albeit he had never once doubted her ability as a mother.

“Yeah, she’s adjusting pretty well,” he said, voice low with the weight of the day tugging at his exhaustion. He let out a slight weary yawn before he continued. “She’s a natural.”

“She makes it look so easy,” you remarked, fingers still dancing lightly over his arms.

Miguel only nodded in agreement, too tired to fully engage. Your eyes fluttered close. Your touch over his arm was enough to lull him to sleep, sending shivers up his spine. But your next words kept him from slipping away completely.

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like…having a little baby depending on you. Watching them grow, helping them find their way in the world.”

He sighed softly, even with his tiredness, his mind drifted along with your thoughts. The idea of having a child, raising someone who would depend on him, shaping their future.

Being responsible to teach them what’s right and wrong and how to be respectful. It wasn’t new to him. He had thought about it before, though only fleetingly, given how much he already had on his plate.

He let out a soft hum at the thought. “I imagine it’s a lot of work.”

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked, your voice soft, as if testing the waters.

He hesitated for a bit before he answered. “Every now and then…”

“A family? You thought of having a family?” He could hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even hope, in your tone.

“Yeah I have thought about that plenty of times,” he admitted, his eyes heavy with sleep but the conversation kept him tethering to the moment.

You fell silent, and for a while, the quiet between the two of you was comfortable again. But Miguel was oblivious to your racing mind.

He thought that might be the end of it, that you would both drift off to sleep. But after a pause, you spoke again, this time more tentatively.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Your question had a hint of insecurity to it, enough to stir him awake. Miguel opened his eyes and lifted his head, turning to fully look at you.

“Of course you would,” he said, trying to sound as convincing as he could. He gave you a reassuring smile. “You’d be an incredible mother. I have no doubt.”

“I really want a baby…” you blurted out, as if your hints weren’t obvious.

“Yeah…maybe someday, when things aren’t so complicated,” Miguel leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Someday…” you echoed.

Hope was always dangerous. Miguel learned that the hard way. It was like building a sandcastle too close to the ocean— no matter how much time or care you put into it, the tide will come and wash it away.

He wanted to give you everything you dreamed of— a family, a future— but everytime he tried to be optimistic, the fear crept back in, looming over him like a dark shadow.

Yet laying next to you, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, he found himself daring to hope again. You made him believe there was something more, something worth risking for.

How long was he going to run away from the possibility of happiness? He had been playing defence for so long— saving the world.

But what if this was the one thing worth letting his guard down. The one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

~

“You think I don’t understand? I’m here trying to support you, and you’re lashing out—”

“Every second of my life has been about sacrifices. I don’t get to choose what I want anymore, everytime I try it’s ripped away from me.” His voice was teetering with rage.

“Miguel…” you said softly. Your voice was a plea, but he didn’t hear you. He was far too gone.

“I’m here saving the world, holding the whole multiverse together.” He seethed, teeth still grinding. “I’m always the one who has to give something up. Always. When does it end?”

“Miguel,” you repeated, louder this time, but your voice still didn’t reach him.

“I’ve given up everything. My life isn’t mine anymore.” His voice cracked, raw with heated emotions. “It’s nothing but an endless loop of fixing someone else’s messes and losing! I’m losing everything, and now I’m starting to lose this…lose us.”

“Miguel!” you shouted, finally snapping him out of his heated trance, like a lifeline yanking him back to the present. His head jerked up to look back at you, but something felt off.

You seemed…fainter, like you weren’t even here. But he brushed it off, to rationalise it— maybe he was just exhausted and his mind was not fully in the moment. He blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision and bring you back to focus.

“You need to move on,” you stated, your voice fading in the air.

His frustration flared hotter. “What?” He scoffed at you. “Move on? From what? I can’t just walk away from all of this. You know that. I’ve already given up almost everything—”

“You’re just making this harder for yourself. You need to let go.”

He blinked again, harder this time, as you flickered slightly. What the hell were you saying? Why were you talking in riddles when he was clearly upset?

“What do you mean ‘let go’? I won’t just—” his words caught in his throat as the realisation hit him like a sucker punch.

He was talking to no one.

The memory-your death— the empty space where you should have been— rushed back with crushing force.

Miguel was dimly aware of the emptiness around him, and the fact that he was talking to the ghost is his own making.

His chest heaved. His pulse thudded in his ear.

His mind was a mess of memories and emotions all tangled together in a knot, and he couldn’t find his way out.

“I can’t…I don’t want to let go of you…you’re all I have left.” his voice cracked, the anger from earlier now dissolving into pure desperation.

The room felt colder now, your foam was barely visible. The outline of you was shimmering like a fragile illusion, on the brink of vanishing. “I know Miguel.” you whispered. “But you’re losing yourself, too.”

He reached out, gripping tighter onto your wrist, but all he felt was air where your soft skin should have been beneath his touch.

His eyes fixated on the spot where he believed you were to be, squinting his eyes in a desperate attempt to see you again.

“Miguel…you have to let go.” he heard you say.

“No, I don’t want to.”

He tried to grip tighter, trying to anchor himself to you, but your image was becoming more insubstantial with each passing second. He could only hear your voice in his head now.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He confessed. The pain and loss that had been twisting in his gut finally rose, bringing a flood of tears to his eyes. He tried to fight them back, but it was a losing battle.

Damn his eyes burned.

“You’re everywhere in my thoughts, in my dreams…and…” his words trailed off, his breath hitched as he fought back against the breakdown.

He couldn’t scrape off the thoughts of you in his mind, no matter how much he tried to keep himself occupied, to keep his mind busy.

You were always there and he didn’t know how to navigate through all of this.

“Miguel…” he heard you call his name again, but he didn’t want to listen to it, he didn’t want to face the reality that it wasn’t real.

“Don’t…” he choked, a futile effort of holding back his sobs that wanted to tear themselves out of his chest. “Don’t…say that. Please. I can’t…”

A helpless strangled sound escaped from the back of his throat. The pain was suffocating him, and he could barely breathe. No amount of pleading would bring you back.

“You’re…not really here,” he said to nobody, as if reminding himself, breaking his heart all over again. “You’re dead…I’m just deluding myself, imagining you're here with me.”

His hands finally dropped to his sides, fingers twitching helplessly as he stood in the deafening silence.

“Please,” he begged, his voice a quiet plea in the empty room. “Tell me I’m going to be okay…tell me you’re here for me…that you won’t let go.”

The silence felt suffocating, his chest tight as he searched the shadows for any traces of you. He felt like he was losing his mind, spiralling into madness without your voice and your words to pull him back from the edge.

Just one more time. He needed to hear you once more, to feel the comfort of your sweet reassurance.

But the silence persisted. Your figure was gone. He wiped his face roughly, swallowing hard against the crushing emptiness.

He had been trying to keep strong for so long, to keep everything contained. But at that moment, his exhaustion was catching up to him.

The weight of his loneliness and despair was too much to bear, squeezing the chest until the last bit of air was out of his body.

But the sound of a baby crying cut through the moment, drawing Miguel abruptly back to reality. His body went rigid as the sound wrenched something in his heart. It was the sound of your baby crying in the middle of the night.

Miguel hesitated for a moment, stuck between staying in the room— hoping the universe will be merciful enough to show the image of his wife again even if it was just a hallucination— or leaving to take care of the baby.

The weight of the responsibility and his fatherly instincts outweighs the former, and he let out a ragged breath.

He turned back to the wall.

“I have to—” he started, but the words faltered as he saw nothing. There was no one here to reassure him. No one here to answer.

The room was still empty. He wanted to stay in the room, and savour the remnants of the illusions in his head. The bittersweet bliss of your presence.

But the sound of the baby crying grew more persistent, calling for her father’s comfort. He stepped back reluctantly letting go of the hallucinations.

With a heavy heart and heavy footsteps, Miguel slowly made his way into the nursery, where your one-year-old daughter was crying, her arms reaching up, desperate to be held.

He still remembered the day you woke him up when you felt your first contraction. Your expression was a mixture of excitement and nervousness— a fragile joy clinging to the edge of fear. Miguel kept his grip on your hand, reminding you to breathe.

As the contractions intensified, he watched helplessly as your face twisted in pain. It aches him to see you suffer while he could do nothing but offer words of reassurance, as the nurse had told him.

Still, you held onto his hand, like it was the only thing keeping you tethering through the agony.

Finally, the moment came when you were ready to push the baby out. He'd never felt you grip his hand so hard, even with his broad strength. It felt like an eternity before Miguel saw you baby girl for the first time.

Miguel would never forget the look in your eyes when you saw her. He’d never seen your face light up like that.

But the joy was only fleeting. Little did he know at the time that the happiest moment wasn’t going to last. He hadn’t picked it up at first— the subtle changes in your breathing, and the way your hand went slack in his.

You were just tired, he thought. Just exhausted from hours of labour. But your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your face clouded with confusion. He’ll never get over how you looked back at him, your face slowly growing to a panic.

The doctors rushed in, everything happening so fast. They told him to step back, but Miguel refused to leave. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as your body grew limp, a doctor frantically trying to resuscitate you.

It took several staff members to pull him out of the room, the baby still clutched in his arms. Hours later, a doctor returned, their sullen expression enough for Miguel to know what was coming.

Pulmonary embolism. That’s what they said. A blood clot had traveled to your lungs, cutting off your breathing— cutting off your life. The words blurred, his mind tuning out everything except for the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

No…that was the baby in his arms. As if she sensed the moment you slipped away. Her mother, once threaded to her by an umbilical cord, was now gone.

Miguel gently lifted her from the crib, holding her close against his chest. She quietened slightly, her cries turning into soft ragged hiccups.

Tiny fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him as if she knew he was all she had left. Through the haze of grief, he could’ve sworn he saw you standing there— your figure, ethereal, stroking the baby’s hair away from her face with a tender smile.

A loving motherly look in your eyes. Could she feel it too? He shook his head, dispelling the vision, and continued to cradle your daughter.

She was so small, so fragile. And now, he was all she had. He was her father, her protector, her everything.

It’s okay mija. I’ve got you

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @nina-from-317 @stargirl-mayaa @ch3rry-bl1ss @monarchberrysblog @francesca-the-1st

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild @watertribeissuperior @kavimoo @ruled-by-regulus @lazyjellyfish300

@red-crystalize @devotion @riameriash @scaryplanetdestroyer

Here’s something to lighten the mood from that ending, since you lot are all here. I’ve made two….magazine inspired posters that I was planning to use for my ao3 work.

You can find the work here. A collection of ALL my Miguel one shots in one. And because I’m extra, I made a custom work skin with it and a Miguel playlist.

Title inspired by There’s Blood in my Hair. I wanted it to have the same jarring feel

Ayrus xoxo