#story in verse

[ilovedagain]

A story of Damian's place in his family, told in verse.

There's a book in a library in Grandfather's castle, with people's illustrations and yellowed pages. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches spanning generations. And down at the bottom is Damian's name. Mother's face and name are there, a beautiful portrait and sprawling calligraphy. But the space for Father's place is empty. He traces his small fingers over the space where Father ought to be and wonders what the reason could be.

"Am I a bastard?" He asks Mother one day, his mouth and mind running as she runs a comb through her hair.

The comb stops. She meets his eyes in the mirror, facing him in the gilded frame. For a moment, it's as if her portrait from that book has come to life. "Why would you say that?"

"My father is never here. And his name is not in the book—the book of our family tree..."

Mother turns and holds his shoulders with careful hands. There is something in her expression that he can't understand.

"Your father is the greatest man," she says. "And you are his precious son. His name is Bruce Wayne and he lives in Gotham. One day, my love, you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows."

That is the day Damian steals the book and hopes. He hides, takes out a quill, and replicates with careful hands his family tree. It is with a child's hope that he draws sprawling leaves and bountiful apples, deep roots, and entwined branches. And in each apple, he writes a name. Ra's al Ghul. Nyssa Raatko. Mara al Ghul. Dusan al Ghul. Talia al Ghul. Bruce Wayne. And Damian al Ghul Wayne.

From then on, Mother regales him with tales of Bruce Wayne. The king who protects his city like a knight, the man whose love for people burned bright. Damian drinks up the stories he hears from Mother like thirsty roots, and he loved and loved. One day, his mother said, he will meet his father and find the same love.

Like a sprout, Damian grows. His feet are grounded, and his heart burns with sunlight. His hands are tough as tree trunks and calloused like them too. He sheds blood and bleeds from his blades. Then, night fades, dawn breaks, and his promised day comes.

He meets his father at Wayne Manor. He is everything Damian hoped he'll be. Except—

Except—

Damian is nothing his father wants him to be.

There is a family in Wayne Manor and Damian's not part of it. They come from different trees, and yet Father treats them like branches from his own pedigree. And Damian—Damian—is the unwanted one.

It doesn't make sense. It's nurture against nature. With every moment Father dotes on his wards, approves of their choices and hands them responsibilities—

but not to Damian, never, no—

Damian's heart rots. A worm finds its way into his heart and scours. He is spoiled skin streched over an eaten core. Yellowed fruit, left out, and nothing more.

And yet, he loves. He loves Father again and again: when he breaks his bones to save them all, when he admonishes Damian because he cares if his heir knows right from wrong, when he writes detailed notes about his wards and never forgets a word, and when he settles his hand on Damian's head in a rare moment—a warm weight, like feeling sunlight for the first time, and Damian leans into it.

Drunk with sunlight, he opens his sketchbook and draws the day Mother said he was ready to meet his father. It was the coldest night in the desert, with blue-tinted sand and red blood pouring from his victims. The sandstorm that shook his bones was nothing compared to the relief vibrating in his body when he heard those words: "Good work, my son. You are ready to meet your father."

There is a page in Damian's sketchbook from when he was young: a forgotten drawing of his family tree. An al Ghul is not one to concede, so Damian takes the page and tries to understand.

He reconstructs the tree with hope it will reconstruct himself. More branches. More apples. More sons and daughters, even if he has to pause because his hand shakes as he draws. Faces drawn in detail and referenced from a family photo he wasn't in.

He gives each portrait a personality. Richard Grayson is penciled in feather-light strokes, hair wind-blown. Jason Todd is inked again and again, lines darker and thicker each time. Timothy Drake is penned in simple lines and logical symmetry. Cassandra Cain is painted with a thin brush, every curve in her lips and line in her shoulders there for a reason. Alfred Pennyworth is drawn with exquisite detail in the finest fountain pen. Martha and Thomas Wayne are brushed to life with oil paint.

Father adopts new wards, Damian adds more and more. He thinks he understands. Father chose them all, but Damian he did not. There are blood ties that flow in veins, and then there are waters that flow in trees. Water may come from rivers, seas, ponds, and rain. Blood, however, is always the same.

Damian looks at the family tree he made. Father's side is vast and flourshing with new fruit. Mother's side is small and old. It looks like it's not getting enough water. Damian resolves to change that. Al Ghuls live in harmony with creatures spanning the globe and time itself. Surely, surely, he can do the same with his father's family.

He loves again and again: when he cuts through the air beside Father; when Grayson is the first to understand Father, and Drake is their first responder; when Todd swaps his bullets for rubber and Father claps his shoulder; when Damian fights with the blunt edge of his katana, and Father observes the cuts in his victims a second longer.

"Not everything is a fight."

Love feels like a fight. He fights love and it fights back. He holds his tongue with barbed wire and shoulders past names like 'Demon child'. He marks down their birthdays on his calendar because they say it matters. Leaves his heirloom daggers in the back of his closet, feels stripped naked even fully clothed, and tells himself it doesn't matter. He loves, and he remembers those words—"you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows"—and he finds his mother's side of the family on a blacklist, and silent stares are trained on him whenever "Ra's" is uttered as a suspect.

"Did he kill again? Whose blood is that?"

He loves again and again. The inside of his heart is flayed and raw, red lines crisscrossing his love. He loves until it consumes his heart, and then he loves again. When Cain is Father's choice for a partner and Damian is an obligation. When Drake is entrusted with a business empire and Damian is watched out of the corner of their eyes when he holds a kitchen knife. When Grayson is away and Father calls him, Damian is always here and Father seldom speaks to him. When Father suggests books for Todd to read and frowns at the men lying dead in a desert in Damian's sketchbook.

"Don't draw these things, Damian. Violence is not to be glorified."

He loves. And he loves. He loves and stays awake nights wondering why his family's love is a forbidden fruit. He deeply yearns but he's not allowed it. He reaches towards it and it reaches opposite. He kills little parts of himself to have it and it can easily live without him.

"Who did he kill this time?"

There is a page in a sketchbook in Damian's closet. With people's illustrations and fraying edges. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches sprouting apples. And down at the bottom, is Damian's name. On his mother's decaying branches. The poisoned apples.

[melodyseestrees]

The 7th five star book

Me (Moth) by Amber McBride

A story in verse is one that is hard to love, as so much goes unspoken. We don't actually know who the characters are-- in favor of knowing what the core of them is. I lacked the cultural touchstones to get some of the poems individually, but taken alongside the others, they still were able to get me to relate to the emotions going on.

Sometimes, you are holding on to something so tightly that the only choice is to learn how to let go.

[technically-human]

*Reverses your Christmas*

A gift from @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are to all of you :) we really wanted the boys to get along for once, and what better occasion than Christmas? anything to make the Edwins happy!

[weirdlookindog]

Edward Gorey (1925-2000) - The Doubtful Guest, 1957

[chocodile]

Worldbuilding time! Let's talk about vehicular travel in modern day Amaranthine, using the snowmobiles from this recent comic as a jumping off point.

"Prowler" - Ironfrost patrol snowmobile - (year of manufacture: 1912)

These half-track all terrain vehicles are used by Ironfrost soldiers to travel long distances over the tundra. Originally adapted from older, four-wheeled automobiles, the half-track Prowler design became increasingly standardized over the years as eternal winter continued to creep southward. They are capable of operating in a wide variety of terrain conditions and are fairly modular. Common mods include removable skis, hardtop and softtop roofs, gun mounts, and towing attachments.

Like all vehicles, Prowlers are steam-powered. The external combustion engine runs on kerosene. In snowy conditions, feedwater can be obtained automatically through a scraper port on the underside of the vehicle, though manual feeding is required in muddy or dry conditions.

Though not as fast, reliable, or efficient as trains, their agile nature have made them an essential part of life in the far north… and, increasingly, in the middle country as well. The Rising Dawn have stolen several Prowlers for their own usage.

"Aspire" - Classic automobile (year of manufacture: 1890)

Four-wheeled vehicles are an unusual sight in the modern day. Ironfrost-made cars were in vogue among the southern rim upper class for many years, but the worsening climate has made them more and more niche as road conditions outside of major cities deteriorate. The majority of higher horsepower automobiles were converted directly into half tracks, while older, lower-end vehicles were generally scrapped for parts.

The Aspire was the last four-wheeled vehicle widely available to the public. Advertised as a stylish, powerful, modern vehicle for the elite on the go, it boasted a sleek, classy aesthetic, a removable softtop roof, and a powerful steam engine with a large kerosene tank suitable for travel between cities. Preorders were advertised to southern rim wealthy in local papers. However, a series of unusually bad winters soon after its debut scared off buyers, shutting down production early and ultimately spelling doom for the entire four-wheeled automobile industry.

One of those Aspire preorders went to Baroness Jocosa North. Though she has since passed away, her son, Theopolis North, still maintains the now wildly impractical car in near mint condition. It is almost never seen outside of its garage.

"'Icebreaker' Class E 250" - Northern cross-country train (year of manufacture: 1903)

The majority of modern-day overland travel is accomplished via train. Massive long-distance rail lines, laid before the world became quite so cold, connect the remaining cities, allowing (relatively) safe travel and trade across vast expanses of tundra.

Southerly locomotives typically operate with only a basic wedge plow attachment. However, trains that run further north must be fitted with gigantic rotary snowplows. These complex machines require significant maintenance. Though they can and will chew up most things that get in the train's way, encounters with particularly large and bony beasts have been known to jam them.

Ironfrost's line terminates in a massive, sprawling rail yard where Icebreakers are fitted and maintained. Those who have visited it tell of a dark, dreary wasteland of twisted scrap metal and ice where coal dust and smoke have turned both the sky and ground black. All northern trains must pass through that place eventually.

"Chariot of the Dawn" - One-of-a-kind luxury automobile (year of manufacture: 1920)

The only place where four-wheeled automobiles still thrive is the City of the Sun. The eternal summers and paved roads are well-suited to cars and trolleys, though they are, of course, still something of a luxury good. Licenses for ownership and operation are ultimately controlled by the church, with His Radiance having the final say. (His most devout followers, of course, tend to get preferential treatment here.)

The City of the Sun manufactures its own vehicles, adapted from Ironfrost designs in a sort of divergent evolution. Freed from the road and weather concerns of the outside world, their automobiles favor sleek, swoopy body shapes, ornamental trim, low-slung bodies with limited ground clearance, and pastel paintjobs. Additionally, the engines are far less powerful and far more finicky, requiring regular maintenance.

His Radiance himself owns several custom automobiles, all of which are egregiously bedazzled to a degree that would look grotesque to anyone who wasn't used to it. Some are open-top, allowing his loyal followers an audience with his beautiful face and glittering halo, while others feature tinted windows. You know, in case he wants subtlety.

[osfi-am]

So um that new spiderverse short?

[belliesy]

HELPING HAND. miguel o’hara x reader

TAGS. afab!reader, virginity loss, overstimulation, squirting, cunnilingus, fingering, handjob, riding, soft to rough, belly bulges, breeding, size difference, friends to lovers, pwp

SYNOPSIS. you and miguel have been friends for a couple of months now and when you bring up how embarrassed you are of still being a virgin, miguel is very eager to help you with your problem // not proofread

Miguel has you lying on your back, legs propped up and spread as he gives you soft kisses. Down your neck, on your shoulders, and down your stomach. He lifts his head up, “are you sure your okay with this, princesa?” You nod and Miguel continues kissing down, over your clothed cunt. The wet stain grows larger from the little amount of friction and the excitement of seeing a man much larger than you on his knees and being so delicate with you. Miguel taps your leg, signaling you to lift up your hips and you do. He slides the damp panties down your legs and tosses them to the side.

He places a kiss across your pussy before spreading your legs more and starts sucking on your clit. The sudden pleasure makes you moan loudly, putting your hand over your mouth and grinding your hips into him. Miguel releases it with a pop and drags his tongue up and down. Your shuddering from the feeling and your other hand reaches down to grab his hair. Miguel slowly starts to nudge his tongue into you while one of his free hands rub your swollen clit. Miguel flicks his tongue in a way that has you screaming, you remove your hand from your mouth and use both hands to push more into his mouth. Your babbling incoherent sentences and bucking your hips into him. Miguel can feel how close you are and quickly switches his tongue and fingers, his fingers move in ways that have your legs shaking, hitting your g-spot and making you feel so full by only two fingers. He switches between flicking and sucking on your sensitive clit, your fluttering around him and Miguel moans into your cunt. “Mm, god yes, Miguel!” You cry, moaning and panting, your legs wrap around his head, trapping his head. Miguel continues his pace and feels you come undone below him. Your whining and moaning about how good it feels as you cum allover Miguels fingers.

Miguel removes his fingers slowly, and places a kiss to your clit and watches as your cum drips down onto the bed below you. Your legs slowly relax and settle onto the bed, the sudden realization of what just happens hits you and you cover your face. “What? Embarrassed?” Miguel teases as he stands up in-front of you. You playfully and lightly kick his leg, “what di you think?” You mumble into his hands. Your both silent for a moment, “but, if your fine with it, can we keep going?” You ask, moving your hands down to look him in the eyes. He smirks at you and grabs your hips lifting you up all while putting himself on the bed.

The position has you in his lap while he’s laying on his back, he grabs the hem of his boxers and you lift your hips up off of him. He pulls them down enough so his dick can come out. You settle back down onto his lap and his cock stands in-front of you, almost reaching your belly button. You gasp at the size and Miguel laughs lowly, he places his hand on your hips. You gulp and put your hand around his cock, your thumb on the tip. You rub the precum around it and slowly begin twisting your hand around his dick, up and down. Miguel is lowly moaning at the feeling, it gets you more excited and you move more faster. Getting the precum all over it, making it almost glossy. You continue for a little longer before Miguel grabs your hand. “I can’t wait anymore,” he moans out, he’s looking at you almost like he’s begging you to ride him, to just put him inside of you.

You release your hand and lift your hips up more and pushing them forward, his tip lines up with your hole and you both whimper at the contact. You slowly, push down, the thickness and length cause a little panic. You hope that both of your cum from before would make this less painful. Miguel places his hands on your hips, “your doing so good, pretty girl.” Miguel praises. “Mm, I don’t think im even an inch in, Miguel” you whimper. “Hush, and let me be nice” Miguel responds, you giggle and lean your head down to his forehead. You both stare into each others eyes and Miguel kisses you. It’s short and sweet and makes your face go hot, you pull away feeling embarrassed again and continue lowering yourself down, pushing through the thickness and slight stinging pain. Miguels hands rub your hips, “feel so good already, baby.” Miguel keeps on praising you through it, making you wetter. Sooner or layer you finally bottom out, your panting and out of breathe, you both stay still for a minute. While you adjust to the new feeling, Miguel is trying not to buck into you. You feel so good around him, so wet and warm.

“Fuck, I don’t think I ever wanna get out of you.” He moans when you slowly push up. “You feel so good, Miguel, making me feel so full..” You moan out. Your hips make a even and slow pace, bouncing up and down on Miguel. Your head is thrown back and your clawing at Miguels chest and sides. Miguel is fixated on the slight bulge in your stomach, his gaze switches between the bulge and your pleasure written face. You look so pretty when you feel good, it drives him crazy. Your whimpering and moaning out and build the pace up. Moving your hips in a angle that makes you lose more of your mind, to lost into it your pace isn’t as steady, switching between bouncing and grinding. Miguel sits under you moaning and grunting, feeling so good from you. He’s obsessed by how your hips role onto his dick, how your moaning his name, whimpering about how he makes you feel so good. He feels almost proud of how his dick is making you feel so good, making you go dumb. Your hips suddenly start jerking more fast then before, your head is thrown back even more and the moans are louder than ever. He watches as your hips slowly stop and as you squirt all over his lower stomach and dick.

“Oh, fuck.” Miguel watches you captivated at your expressions. You lift your head up and lean over him panting. “You looked so pretty, cariño,” Miguel mumbles, grazing his knuckles against your cheek, “wish I could have taken a photo of it.” He teases, you both laugh put of breathe.

You lay down on Miguels chest, him still in you. You relax, but suddenly feel Miguels hands on your hips again. His hips buck up into you from below you, you gasp and lift your head up and stare at each other while moaning. “What? Forget that I have to cum too?” He teases before kissing you roughly. Its sloppy and drool drips down but you couldn’t care less when Miguel is pounding into you from below. You moan into the kiss, his thrusts reaching so deep into you. “Hah, fuck pretty girl, I’m gonna cum soon.” Miguel moans, you bury your head into his neck and let him pound into you like a doll. It feels so good, your already so close again. The overstimulation has you praying it stops soon but at the same time its the best feeling ever. Miguel moans loudly, it sounds so so pretty and makes you squeeze tight around him.

His hips keep pounding into you as he cum’s inside of you, filling you so full and making you feel so good. You cum again and scream into his neck. Pussy fluttering around him, his thrust become sloppy and slow until finally his hips lay down flat on the bed again. Your both panting and overstimulated. Miguel leads your face to his and he cradles your face as he kisses you slowly, he mutters something between the kiss. “Good job, pretty girl, that was so good.” Miguel says.

Your face grows warm again and you sit up and move out of him. He sits up after you and grabs you, carrying you to the bathroom bridal style while still giving you kisses on your cheeks, lips, and forehead. Showering you in praise while making sure he takes care of both of your bodies after what had happened.

[little-tulips]

After crabs the second most talked about animal in the silt verses is birds: Carpenter and Faulkner traveling under the disguise of birdwachers, the name of their river, Mason's childhood story, Faulkner thinking of his followers as birds, even just Faulkner's name, etc. In a naturalist way, it makes sense, rivers provide homes to many bird species, birds are very important to the biosphere of a river. And in a textual way, seens they are associated with the Wacher in the Wings birds could represent symbolically the narrative, the story that the characters are performing, that they have crafted and locked themselfs in or that other have crafted and caged them in, and that will seize them and slow them whole, just like birds will with their prey. I wonder if, giving that a faulkner is the job title of someone who keeps and trains falcons, Faulkner's name is meant to represent that fact that he is the character who is most preoccupied with trying to tame his narrative, to make the story take the shape he wants.

[zeroraiser]

Miguel, freaking out at Miles: THERE’S ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE ONE SPIDER-MAN IN EVERY UNIVERSE!!! 😡 😡 😡 😡 😡 Insomniac Spider-Man, in the background, staying quiet to protect HIS universe’s Miles:

[kur0m1sblog]

If you are okay with writing this, do you think you can write a Miguel x F!Reader (whose a Spider) oneshot where Miguel finds out the reader is pregnant due to his hearing, and the reader reveals she kept it a secret because she didn’t know how to tell him.

Not Meant To Hear Yet.

summary: Miguel had came back from a meeting with the spider-society and overheard you panicking in you’re shared bathroom. He continued to overheard something he wasn’t meant to hear yet…

characters: Miguel O’Hara. Jessica Drew.

warnings: crying. reader having a panic attack. angst. implied smut. little love confession.

genre: angst. romance. fluff.

reader: fem! spider-woman! reader

REQUEST ARE OPEN!

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

This was not what you wanted to happen, you didn’t want a to have a child this young. You were 24, your boyfriend of 4 years, 27. And a couple months ago, you’d found out you were pregnant. At first you didn’t believe it, until all the test you took all came back positive. You didn’t want this, well you did want a child, just not this early..

And how were you going to tell Miguel this, you were sure he wouldn’t take the news good. You’d thought at the time you were for sure on the birth control..

He was at a ‘meeting’ with some members from the spider-society while you decided on staying home. After he left you did your normal routine, house chores, out chores. Miguel always insisted that you didn’t have to do that whenever you stayed home, he didn’t want you to be worked up and more tired then you normally should.

After your ‘chores’, you rush to your shared bedroom that was up the stairs. Dialing your phone, you call Jessica. She answers in a calm tone, while you answer in a worried tone. “Hey are you okay? What is it you need help with? You seem worried..” She said, a version of her showing up infront of you, she was on her motorcycle on a street in her universe.

You clack your nail repeatedly on the counter repeatedly, deciding to tell her what happened once she’d stop at a light. “Okay don’t get to excited or anything since your riding your motorcycle, but.. I’m pregnant..” You say waiting for her response and reaction.

As Jessica sat at the light, she started asking you a dozens of questions, “Do you know the gender yet?”, “Top 5 names if it’s a girl or boy?”, “Does Miguel even know yet?” You didn’t say anything after that question. Just from a minute of silence, she knew you hadn’t. “You haven’t told him have you..?”

Miguel had teleported into the house, he took his costume off and replaced them with comfortable clothing he’d left from the previous night before on the couch, while doing so, he heard you talking to someone. He figured it was important so he shrugged it off and started taking the ingredients out for dinner you were going to be cooking on this bittersweet night. “I just don’t know how to tell him that there’s a baby on the way.” He paused his movements. Had you just said what you said was truly real. It seemed seemed specious, but it wasn’t. It was true, real. “I don’t know how he’ll take the news, I want him to be happy about it and all but, what if he’s not, what if he’s angry about it..” That made him feel egregious and compunctioned. You thought he wouldn’t react well or good to the news..? He frowned and sat on the couch, still ‘eavesdropping’, but not on purpose of course.

After the conversation you had with Jessica, you pranced down the stairs to see Miguel on the couch, you froze halfway on the stairs panicking, you hoped he didn’t hear that whole conversation with her, and that he’d just gotten home. You continued your way down the stairs, he looked up to see you. God, he thought you looked so seraphic. “Hello Mi Rey, how was your day?” You say as you walk up to him and give him a sweet kiss onto of his forehead, after you ran your hands through his hair and smiled sweetly at him.

It took him a second or more to respond to your daily question, “It was good baby, do you feel okay right now? Your red..” He says. He knew what he was doing, he already knew what happened now.

You look in his eyes, look down and chuckle. “Yes dear I’m fine, I’m going to start dinner now.” Kissing his cheek, you walk to the kitchen to see he put what you needed out. “Aww, thanks for putting everything out, thank my hombre guapo. Would you like to help me with dinner tonight?” You say peaking your head out of the kitchen into the living room.

He stands up and walks over to you, “Only if that means we can play music?” He says as his large hands wrap around the small of your back and butt. Whenever he meant “play music”, he meant while the food was cooking and the both of you had time to waste to dance around in the kitchen and plant gentle kisses on one another.

You look to the side and frown for a second, debating your words of choice. “Miguel?” You say looking up at him.

After you just saying his name, he got quite worried. “What is it mi amor?” He said looking deep into your eyes.

“Whatever happens, I just hope you know I love you, so so much.. Your the best thing that’s ever happened to me..” You say, feeling different waves of emotions coming over you.

He was surprised. He thought that something bad was going to happen, but surprisingly it wasn’t anything bad. You were having one of your moments where you just wanted to say that you loved him. “God I love you too y/n..” He says shoving you into his broad chest.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

After making dinner the both of you sat down at the table, across from eachother. It was quiet, that weirded you out a little, he was always the one to start a conversation at the table..

You clear your throat and look up at him, “Soooo, did anything interesting happen with them today?” You say, taking another sip of your soup. Your mind was racing with random question and things you had to finish after eating.

He looked up, didn’t say anything, until a couple moments later. “Nope not really.. But there is something I’d like to talk about with you.” He said in a significant tone, as he pushed his soup bowl to the side, with his glass of water.

You took note of this, his tone was never like this unless there was something wrong or serious we needed to talk about. “Okay…” You drag out as you do the same gesture as him, pushing your glass and bowl out of the way.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant..?” He asked. His shoulders were tense, as he stood properly in his chair.

Oh god, he knows..? But how, that shouldn’t have been unless he heard me upstairs, is that why he was so tense when I came down the stairs.. “Look Miguel, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to break the news to you.” You felt a sense of compunction rush over you. “I didn’t know how you would react, or how you felt about having a child.. I just..” You didn’t finish anything, tears ran down your cheeks, as you didn’t look at him but at the cleared area in front of you on the table.

You didn’t see him, but he got up and started walking towards you. He wrapped his strong and well-knitted arms around you, you cried and cried in his chest. You felt horrible, you were gasping for air at this point from crying.

He let go of you and took your flushed face in his hands. “Look Hermosa, I’m not angry, I’m just a little sad that you’d think I’d feel that way. I’m happy that you are okay?” Staring at you, he waited for you to nod. When you did he gave you a kiss, picked you up, and carried you to the bedroom where the both of you would go to sleep. And clean up the both of you made from cooking tomorrow. “Goodnight, Mi Amor.”

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

notes: Thank you so much for requesting, I truly hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a great morning/afternoon/night!

June 4, 2023

9:30am

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 4 - Courting (Part 1)

Autumn Embers Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Alcohol Consumption, discussion of infertility, omegaverse relationship dynamics

Note: I've added this story to AO3, but at this time I'm still formatting the series.

Before you can even enter the restaurant, Sergeant MacTavish is there to open the door for you.

“Evenin’,” he says with a wink. “Ye look nice.”

“Thank you. So do you,” you answer. And he does. You only have a moment to admire the fit of his collared shirt and dark denim before he’s gesturing you in ahead of him. A hostess, a beta, greets you with a meek glance at the alpha behind your left shoulder, before leading you through the front room and out onto the patio. Garden might be a better description, with greenery separating large tables from one another, muffling sound and scent. At least, you assume it will later. The only occupied table is the round one off to one side, which the hostess gestures you to with a practiced smile.

As you walk up, Captain John Price stands to greet you. His face is gentler than you remember. The sleeves of his heather green henley are pushed up to expose strong forearms as he approaches. He surprises you by offering his wrist before you can offer yours, then tosses propriety out the window by kissing the joint of your thumb. Before you can do more than draw a quick breath, he's leading you to the seat Sergeant Garrick has pulled out for you, apparently to the left of the Lieutenant, between him and the Captain himself. Sergeant MacTavish takes his seat to the Captain’s other side, leaving Sergeant Garrick between him and Lieutenant Riley.

"You are absolutely stunning," the Captain says, settling into his seat. "Been a trial keeping my distance, keeping the boys in line. Been a long time since we've seen a civilian dress a man down as thoroughly as you did."

It’s hard to resist the urge to fidget. Chrissy and Jack had spent hours with you, deciding on this outfit. The red-orange jumpsuit is a bit daring - a beautiful color that compliments your skin tone but bold, a bit too alpha for some tastes. Combined with the heels that have you at a height with Sergeat MacTavish, you’re breaking the first two rules of dating as an omega. You aren’t sure your delicate earrings and bangles do much to counter the effect, but it seems the alphas of the 141 don’t mind.

You are a little distracted from examining the others by the realization that the Captain smells warm, like whiskey and vanilla. Your mind flashes back to the cake in a way that makes your stomach swoop. So it's a little startling when one of the wait staff places a menu in front of you, along with a glass of water and a cocktail.

"Whiskey Sour," Sergeant John MacTavish burrs, "drink of choice, aye?"

That makes you pause. "What makes you say that?"

"'s what ye were drinkin' at the pub," he answers. His eyes are so blue, it's dazzling. "Could smell it. Orange 'n bitters, whiskey and smoke. 'ad ye on the back of my tongue all night."

"Soap," the Captain says, no inflection. "Let her look at the menu."

"Aye," he says, settling back in his chair with a wink to you. Sergeant Kyle Garrick calls your attention.

"We tried to pick a nice variety for lunch yesterday. Did you like it?"

Johnny's words make you very aware of your own scent receptors at the back of your throat, which in turn reminds you of the cake, again. Yesterday, you would have blushed and looked away, but Chrissy's reminder rings in your head. "They're an all alpha pack, you can't back down."

You hold Sergeant MacTavish's eyes for a long moment before turning to the other sergeant. He looks cozy and inviting in his knit vest and gray shirt. "Lunch was delightful, thank you. Still at my place of work, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. I really appreciated the coffee."

His eyes sparkle as he smiles. "I can't promise not to do something dumb in the future, but we'll always apologize."

You arch an eyebrow. "We?"

You had assumed the Captain or Lieutenant would be the one in charge, but Sergeant Garrick is speaking for all of them. His open body language makes you take in the rest of the table out of habit. But no, everyone is relaxed, breathing easy. And they're all checking in with the Captain, subtle glances and flashes of bare wrist in his direction. And he had said he was keeping them in line. So the Captain does lead, but he's not in competition with the others.

It's confirmed for you when the Captain picks up his own drink and answers. "We. Any of us offend, we're all responsible."

"I suppose I should expect an apology for the bar, then?"

It's Lieutenant Riley who answers. His outfit, when you look at him, is dark, understated - a black cardigan over a dark, soft looking shirt. "No' liars." When you give him an inquisitive look over the rim of your glass, he continues. "Ain’t sorry for that. We'll only apologize when we mean to."

You decide to take it as a challenge. "And if I want one?"

"Good luck getting Johnny to regret it," the Lieutenant snorts. "But you're no' as delicate as all that." ‘

You narrow your eyes. "I could be."

"You're not. 'ard eye contact like this?" He must smile under his surgical mask, eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Maybe a bit soft, when you want t' be. Beautiful. Sweet, if we behave ourselves. But not delicate."

"Simon," the Captain intones, amusement in his voice. "Didn't I just say to let her look at the menu?"

"I'll get to it, Captain," you answer, holding the Lieutenant's stare. You feel a little flush, to hear him call you beautiful and soft and sweet after yesterday, but you're not going to roll for him.

"No need for rank. Just John's fine," the Captain answers. "We're at your leisure."

The Lieutenant's - Simon's - eyes don't leave yours. His chin tips up as yours tucks a little bit toward your chest. He'd probably done the same yesterday to Brandon, an easy acknowledgment that he's not threatened. But unlike yesterday, he's so relaxed that the gesture is welcoming instead of insulting. He won't guard his throat, not because you're not a threat but because you're welcome to his neck.

He breaks eye contact first, looking past you to Sergeant... to Johnny. The collar of his shirt is just low enough for you to see his collarbones, and you can't help a quick glance. The edge of a scar teases you, but you're not going to be so rude as to stare. So you look at his face and watch him deliberately not watch you.

He's so easily given you the win that you feel a bit wrong-footed. You eyes flick to John, then Johnny (Soap?), and finally Kyle. Each of them tilts their right wrist your way, no fuss at all.

A moment later, the scent of a nervous omega drifts over to you. When you look up, a server is fidgeting next to a hedge behind Kyle’s shoulder. He can’t be older than twenty and he’s eyeing Johnny like he’s a wild dog. The alpha isn’t actually doing anything, but he does smell distinctly interested, warm and a little spicy, even across the table.

You meet the boy’s eyes and gesture him over. He hesitates, just a moment, before skirting wide around the next table and avoiding standing behind Simon entirely.

He leans in and lowers his voice, “Can I get you another drink, ma’am? Is this one a bit warm?”

The question surprises you, but it shouldn’t. These are military alphas. A fight between all of them could be dangerous for you. And even if they’re in sync, you’re still a lone omega. If you were close to your heat, it would be easy for them to trigger it. It’s only natural for another omega to check in. You’ll have to leave a note and a bit of an extra tip, for their troubles.

You catch the Lieutenant out of the corner of your eye, shifting his weight away from the two of you. He’s got excellent control of his scent, so you can’t tell if he understands what’s been asked, if he’s offended by the implications. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do any of the others.

“The drink is perfect, actually,” you assure him. “I was wondering if you had a recommendation. Everything looks good.”

He looks a bit torn, but eventually asks. “Something a bit light?”

“No,” you chuckle. “I’m not worrying about anything like that tonight.”

“Okay,” he says, and he smells skeptical, but less imminently anxious. “Well, we have a few sandwiches. But the salmon en croute is also very good?”

“That does sound good. Can you give us a moment to look at the menu?” You let a little bit of a churr creep into your voice, hope the alphas around you won’t read too much into it. “Can we also get some bread for the table? No rush, you’re looking a little warm, yourself.”

The boy’s scent goes a bit hot and embarrassed, but he doesn’t question you. He looks up at the captain for a brief moment before scurrying off. When you face the rest of the table again, Kyle’s eyebrows are up.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you say with a little smile. “Just a bit peckish.”

“You gave him an out,” John corrects. “He was nervous about being around so many alphas at once.”

You shrug one shoulder with a little quirk of the lips. If that’s what he wants to believe, you won’t correct him. On your other side, Simon rumbles some disagreement, but doesn’t say anything else.

John examines your face for a long moment. It takes you a little bit by surprise when he says, "You've a lot of little tests for us."

You decide to be honest. "I've found inviting alphas to show me what kind of alphas they are and what kind of omega they expect to be an easy way of figuring out if we're compatible."

Kyle makes an amused sound. "How do we measure?"

"Haven't run yet," you allow.

"See," Simon says, eyes on his own menu. "Not delicate."

You huff a little laugh before turning your own eyes down. You do love salmon…

Before you know it, the server returns with a basket of torn bread and another server, a beta, in tow. You do end up ordering the salmon, and you take note when the others order similarly heavy dishes. They each check with you for a preference. The cut and temperature of a steak, potatoes or mixed vegetables for the table. What kind of cheese on a burger. You draw the line at picking a bottle of wine. “I have a drink,” you point out, lifting the glass in a half toast.

“The champaign rosé” John decides, with a nod to the second waiter. Both servers look to you. You shrug back at them and sip your whiskey.

Your original waiter shuffles inside, leaving the beta to hover just out of sight.

“So!” Johnny grins at you and leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “What’s an omega such as yerself looking for in a pack?”

Kyle groans and puts his face in one hand. “Jesus, Soap.”

“I have my pack,” you answer, leaning back in your own seat to throw your own gauntlet. “Family I’ve chosen amongst my friends. And I’ve never found them lacking enough to seek anything more formal.”

“Oh, aye? They the ones who’ve helped you get all prettied up, this evenin’? C’n smell the wee blonde one on ye.”

Before the Captain can growl a correction, you point your glass at him. “Are you this rude on purpose, or is it just a natural talent?”

“Six ‘f one, half dozen the other,” the man answers easily, chin tipped up. “Wantae see that hint of fang you flashed fer us. That real, or just a bit of show for the base?”

“That wasn’t for you,” you scoff.

“For Laswell then?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is she interested?”

“Oh aye, she loves a curvy thing with a bit o’ sharp edge.”

“Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “Enough.”

“Nae,” the Sergeant drawls. “She’s ‘ere, with us. If she wants something like that twat Brandon c’n offer, she’d have ‘im wrapped around those delicate fingers. She likes an alpha with a little bite.”

“Presumptuous,” you sniff.

“Yer the one drinkin’ the whiskey.” Johnny’s grin flashes his canines.

Fuck, you think, narrowing your eyes at him over the rim of the glass. You thought you’d only had a few sips, but now that he’s called attention to it, you feel just a bit warm. You lean forward to pluck a piece of bread from the basket, turning your attention to Kyle instead.

“And what about you? Do you think my temper’s just for show?” You ignore Johnny’s pleased rumble as you take another sip of your drink. It’s… significantly emptier than you realized.

“Oh, I don’t know about show.”

Kyle’s smile is sly, chin tilting down as he leans forward. Your own chin comes down, lips tight and ready to flash fang when his hand comes toward you. But he’s just reaching across Simon for the bread basket. You realize a split second too late that you’ve fallen for his little trick, answering your own question.

Before you can recover, Kyle turns his eyes to the Captain. “Tav’s right, though, sir. She’d not be here if she minded us being a bit forward.”

“I think you’ll find I do mind,” you protest.

He tears a piece of bread off as he looks back at you, his own brow arching. “How was the cake, then?”

A flash of heat twists through your belly and up your spine. You can’t help but bark a little laugh. “You’re just as bad as Johnny!”

“No one’s as bad as Soap,” John grumbles, taking some bread and passing the basket away from you. He tears off a piece and dips it into the plate of oil and spices before offering it to you.

Gods above, they really don’t do anything by halves. You consider directing him to place it on the bread plate. The whiskey tells you to lean in and eat straight from his hand. You split the difference by plucking the morsel from his fingers and popping it in your mouth.

You hold John’s gaze as you wash it down with the last of the whiskey. “And what is your pack looking for in an omega?”

“Not easily offended, apparently,” he says with a chuckle. “But if you’re insisting on honesty…”

“I am.”

“Well, then, we weren’t looking for an omega,” he says, easily. “The task force demands a lot. Not much time for dating.”

That’s not a surprise. A lot of military alphas stay in one place the majority of the time, but you know the 141 is deployed all over the world on short notice.

The belief that omegas need more stability than other designations is pseudo-scientific bullshit. Those popular myths were debunked in the ‘50s, after the wars shook up so many communities and packs. But the instability of military service still makes developing a pack difficult.

Your quasi-pack with Mel, Jack, and Chrissy is not particularly sensitive to disruption. None of you are strangers to late nights and unexpected interruptions to your schedules. Chrissy in particular can sometimes take off for a couple of weeks at a time, on a tour. Mel travels for rugby games, with Jack trailing along behind. But you aren’t relying on each other to pay bills or plan a family together. And none of you are going across the world to get shot at.

You arch an eyebrow. “So what does that mean for this potential courtship?”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” John says easily. “Obviously, we can’t offer something strictly traditional. We’re quite happy to know you’ve got your Quasi. But we’re also a bit…”

“Possessive,” Simon supplies on your other side.

“Protective,” Kyle protests. “We’re not gonna keep you from your friends. But if you want a family-”

Dammit. You’d hoped to at least have your food in front of you before broaching this topic. “I can’t have kids.”

John doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t and want to, or can’t and wouldn’t?” He smooths the potential edges of the question by offering another piece of bread, soft, with just a bit of crust. When you reach to take it from his hand, he doesn’t let go, just lets you guide him until the bread is at your mouth.

He lets go just before you part your lips, his wrist brushing yours. It’s dizzying, reminds you that while Johnny is the most overt, John is the one they all follow. You’d bet money that he’s the one behind the cake, ultimately.

You almost forget the question. “Um. Oh. I, um, I don’t really want children of my own. I’m not opposed to them, on principle. Jack and Mel are considering. Chrissy’s not a fan of babies, but I’d be happy nursing-”

Simon purrs so hard behind you it makes you jump, and you realize that drinking on an empty stomach has completely suppressed your filter. When you turn, the lieutenants pupils are blown, but his scent is very deliberately neutral.

And that’s when your other server arrives with the appetizers.

Kyle’s demeanor changes. You hadn’t realized the weight of his attention until he turned a bright smile on the other omega. Johnny makes a comment about how he’s “starving, really, Kyle’s been hogging the bread.” They volley back and forth so quickly and easily that both servers are gone before you realize that everyone’s scents are locked down, not just Simon’s.

And you knew, you knew that they were special forces, but you’re not used to watching others consciously make themselves less obvious, less threatening. You can smell them, but they smell so neutral that if you couldn’t see them, you’d severely underestimate the threat that they pose. It makes you eye your whiskey glass, too late, with a newfound wariness.

You get distracted when you look at Simon, your first unobstructed view of his face as he chooses a piece of bread for himself. He lets you look, lets you take in the scars on left side of his mouth that are too clean to be anything but intentional. The notch in his upper lip means you can see his canine and one perimolar. He doesn’t stop eating when he notices you observing him, and you find yourself a bit charmed by how tidy he is.

“Gaz had a a whole plan for what to talk aboot,” Johnny says, startling you into looking back across the table at him. He pops a stuffed cherry tomato in his mouth as he says, “Ah threw everyone off.”

“On purpose,” Kyle mutters.

“A little,” Johnny admits with a shrug and a wink. “Never been great at small talk.”

“Thinks ‘e knows better,” Simon rumbles. “Sees the objective and ‘as to take the most direct route.”

“Objective is the wrong word,” Kyle is quick to jump in. “We’re used to looking at the world thought that lens-“

“We just like ye, is all,” Johnny jumps in to assure you.

They’re nervous, you realize. You’re nervous, all of your carefully planned talking points thrown to the wind. It’s time for a tried-and-true conversation saver. Hopefully these alphas like sports.

“Who do you think is making it to the cup this year?”

Kyle jumps on the subject change, obviously - and charmingly - relieved. “Well obviously, it’s going to be Man United and The Blues going head to head in the finals.”

“Manchester City and Arsenal.” Johnny scoffs.

“Don’t start that shite,” Simon grumbles.

The sports talk gets you through the appetizers. You have only the barest knowledge of sports from your time in school and Mel’s rugby league, but you’re very practiced in making vaguely skeptical noises at key moments to keep the conversation going. Johnny and Kyle are much more careful than your alpha coworkers not to imply that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Simon gets a bit smug when you scrunch your nose at one of Kyle’s points. John gives you an amused look, once he figures out what you’re doing, but doesn’t say anything.

The food helps you to feel a bit more in control of yourself, so while three of the alphas argue, you try to organize your thoughts. You’d attended this dinner with the expectation that you would be hearing out a list of demands and expectations. Alphas dictate, omegas yield.

But now they’ve left so much up to you. You’d expected them to balk, to demand answers about an omega claiming to be barren. Instead, John had offered a thoughtful question about your desires. Simon’s enthusiastic show of approval had reminded you that a lot of military As aren’t involved in family planning discussions. That something as mundane as nursing might be exciting, not a matter of course, a concession to your expected role as nest-stay.

It’s refreshing, and it throws you off. Other alphas might expect you to quit your job if the courtship is favorable. Would the 141? The four of them together certainly make more than enough money to support an omega between them. Would you be expected to move in with Price? With all of them?

By the time the main course comes out, you’re flustered all over again with unanswered questions. You’re kind of grateful when the glass of rosé is poured for you, but you do make sure to ask for more water for the table.

In a move you probably could have predicted, John prevents you from serving yourself. He and Simon take turns choosing and presenting the best bits of the sides you ordered for the table. You humor them, analyzing the veggies for blemishes, and, seeing none, allow them to be put on your plate.

What you don’t expect is to be offered all of their entrees for similar inspection. When you give them your baffled approval, they all give little purrs. For all that Lieutenant Riley promised that this evening wouldn’t be formal, they’re treating you like a distingué, like your position is guaranteed and respected above even the Captain.

It’s a pleasant surprise. As you take a bite of your salmon, you feel optimistic for the rest of the evening.

[fulcrums501st]

“there wasn’t enough plot for a 3rd season”

then save the end of the world threat bullshit for spin-offs. cut it. keep the second season cohesive and grounded so it can actually flesh out the story and themes and characters its first season was trying to explore. don’t shove in your end of the world threat bullshit to derail your previously grounded story when you obviously don’t have time for that. keep the foundational, grounded, character driven nature of arcane and save end of world threats for big crossover series/spinoffs

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[mysterywriter2187]

One of the most underappreciated rewatch details in Across The Spider-Verse is that Gwen's opening narration hits completely differently once you know what's actually coming.

"His name is Miles Morales… and he's not the only one."

[valtsv]

"Can you guess what it stood for, Mum? [...] It stood for valuable."

[circussbeetle]

Thinking about how Hotch almost certainly has The best monologues in the entire show. From “my team? Let me tell you about my team.” To “When im home, it’s like im in this silent panic” to “at your core, you’re a coward” to “sometimes the day just… ends” Hotch has some of the most moving monologues in the entire series and i think its so interesting when you think about how quiet he is normally, he’s so reserved and usually his sentences are clipped and direct, more like orders than monologues, and yet on the other side he has an almost theatric delivery to his monologues that makes it so captivating to listen to, makes you hang on every word. He’s so eloquent and concise, every word he says is so intentionally chosen, and it really lands when you’re watching the show. His monologues will always be the ones that stick out to me the most as some of the best line deliveries in the entire series