#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.

[canisalbus]

What if I told you that RoobrickMarine went and wrote an entire novella starring my 16th century dog couple? It's very canon-adjacent, well researched and thoughtfully put together, has inspired me a ton during these past months and it's now publicly available at AO3. I highly recommend it.

✦ Separation ✦

[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.

[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.

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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.”

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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

[therightrighthand]

Just one of those missions. y'know?

Tales of Traitors << Start I << Previous I Next >>

[valtsv]

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

[yellowocaballero]

Miguel is Fine, Actually (Being Spider-Man's Just Toxic As Hell)

Before I watched ATSV I said that I would defend my man Miguel O'Hara's actions no matter what, because he's always valid and I support women's wrongs. I was joking, and I did not actually expect to start defending him on Tumblr.edu. But I'm seeing a lot of commentary that's super reductive, so I do want to bring up another perspective on his character.

Miguel wasn't acting against the spirit of Spider-Man, or what being Spider-Man means. Miguel isn't meant to represent the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miles is the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miguel represents Spider-Man taken to its extreme.

Think about Miguel's actions from his perspective. If you were a hero who genuinely, legitimately, 100%, no doubt about it, believed that somebody is going to make a selfish decision that will destroy an entire universe and put the entire multiverse at severe risk - if you had an over-burdened sense of responsibility and believed in doing the right thing no matter what - you would also chase down the kid and put him in baby jail to try and prevent it. He believed that he was saving the multiverse, and that Miles was putting it in danger for selfish reasons. Which is completely unforgivable to him, because selfishness is what he hates the most. And then he goes completely out of pocket and starts beefing with a 15yo lmfaooo he's such a dick.

But why did Miguel believe that? Why did he believe that Miles choosing himself and his own happiness over the well-being of others was the worst possible thing? Why did he believe that tragedy was inevitable in their lives, and that without tragedy Spider-Man can't exist?

Because he's Spider-Man.

Peter Parker was once a fifteen year old who chose his own happiness over protecting others. It was the greatest regret of his life and he never forgave himself. Peter's ethos means that he will put himself last every time, and that he will sacrifice anything and everything in his life - his relationships, his health, his future - to protecting and helping others. Peter dropped out of college because it interfered with Spider-Man. He destroyed his own future for Spider-Man. He ruins friendships and romantic relationships because Spider-Man was more important. If Peter ever tries to protect himself and his own happiness, then he's a bad person.

That is intrinsic to Peter. Peter would not be Peter without it. A story that is not defined by Peter's unhappiness is not a Spider-Man story. If Peter doesn't make himself miserable, then he's just not Peter.

That is a Spider-Man story: that not only is tragedy inevitable, that if you don't allow yourself to be defined by your tragedy then you're a bad person. If you don't suffer, then you're a bad person. If you ever put anything above Spider-Man, then you're killing Uncle Ben all over again. Miguel isn't the only one that believes this - as we saw, every Spider-Man buys into what he's saying. There's no Spider-Man without these beliefs.

Miguel attempted to find his own happiness, and he was punished in the most extreme way. He got Uncle Ben'd x10000. He tried to be happy, and it literally destroyed his entire universe. It's the Spider-narrative taken to the extreme. Of course Miguel believes all of this. Of course he believes this so firmly. He's Spider-Man. That's his story. And the one time Miguel tried to fight against that story, he was punished. And like any Spider-Man, he'll slavishly obey that narrative no matter the evil it creates and perpetuates. Because if he doesn't, the narrative will punish him. The narrative will always punish him. It's a Spider-Man story.

I don't think the universal constant between Spider-Mans, the thing that makes them Spider-Man, is tragedy. I think it's the fact that they never forgive themselves. And Miguel is what that viewpoint creates. He doesn't believe this things because he's an awful, mean person. He believes them because he's a hero. He's a good person who hates himself.

Across the Spider-verse isn't really a Spider-Man story. It's a story about Spider-Man stories. Miguel's right: if this was a Spider-Man story, then Miles acting selfishly really would destroy the universe. But Miles' story isn't interested in punishing him. It pushes back against Peter's narrative that unhappiness is inevitable and that you have to suffer to be a good person. It says that sometimes we do the right thing from love and not fear, and that Peter's way of thinking is ultimately super toxic and unhappy. ITSV was about Miles deciding that he didn't need to be Peter Parker, that all he needed to be was Miles, and ATSV is about how being Peter Parker isn't such a good thing. Miguel shows that. Whatever toxic and unhealthy beliefs he holds - they're the exact same beliefs that any Spider-Man holds. He's a dick, but I don't think he's any more awful a person than Peter is.

TL;DR: Miguel isn't a bad person, he just has Spider-Man brainrot.

[wordsinhaled]

it was really only a matter of time until edwardian payneland happened and what if i channeled maurice about it. just a little

-

Charles is the son of the groundskeeper at St. Hilarion's School for Boys while Edwin is a pupil there. And he can't help but notice Edwin—how he’s nearly always alone, or else being harangued by the cruel older boys who call themselves his peers.

Charles privately thinks they hardly seem equal to him in poise or grace or manner. They are boisterous, brash, crass, violent, all overlaid with a veneer of false propriety, but Charles can see the cracks in it. He knows that sort by how they are inside, and they cannot be like Edwin at all. No, Edwin Paine's got a sad, drawn sort of look about him that Charles can't help recognizing. This lonely boy who feels somehow kindred in a way he can't put a finger on, but is pulled to him all the same, though by rights he'd do better to keep his distance.

Edwin often sits by the lake by himself, to read, or to do his assignments in the shade of the trees. Picturesque as a painting, he is. One day Charles dares to approach him, though he knows the risk in it—prepared to be rebuffed, rebuked for his untoward attention to someone he is meant to ignore; but the boy does not turn him away.

And so they become friends. Tentative, and then less and less so.

Together they explore the school's sprawling grounds, all of whose surprising hiding-places Charles Rowland knows by heart, having wandered them himself for years and made them his own refuge. The woods become theirs; the shore by the lake theirs; the shade of the trees theirs. The attic, where no one comes to look for them in the dead of night, also theirs.

And then one day Charles notices a group of boys surrounding Edwin. The usual cadre, and they're posturing, their voices loud in the autumn air. They’ve ripped Edwin's penny magazine from his grip and are tearing pages out of it, scattering them to be plucked up by the wind. Charles can do nothing else but step in. He shouts at them to back off, puts himself between them and Edwin, and gets himself thrashed for his trouble—but they, at least, finally leave Edwin alone.

Edwin, for his part, cannot believe Charles would be so reckless for his sake. Charles has not yet mentioned to him that he is used to this sort of treatment, and sees worse at home. They sit together in the boathouse by the lake, cross-legged, close enough for Edwin to dab carefully at Charles’ split lip and bleeding knuckles.

“You should not have done that for me,” he chides, though it carries no heat. “What will happen now?” He thinks word is sure to get back to the school, and there will be a scandal. Those boys, who so vocally despise Edwin, will hardly be quiet in their outrage, their humiliation. Charles’ father might be relieved of his post, and then Charles’ family will have to leave St. Hilarion’s. That is how these things go.

And what was it all for? For Edwin? How could it have been worth it?

“Doesn’t matter, does it?" Charles is saying, when Edwin surfaces from his troubled thoughts. "Couldn’t let them treat you like that. They had you five to one. And that, just ‘cause you’re different. I know how it is.” Charles’ eyelashes are very long, and the light turns his eyes a warm, deep amber as he talks fiercely, insistently, in defense of Edwin.

It’s terribly forward, Edwin thinks. And, despite every misgiving, he welcomes it. No one has ever fought for Edwin before. No one has ever spoken about him with such conviction.

Then Charles seems to lapse into pensiveness. “You didn’t have to…” he says softly. "All this." He gestures, with the free hand Edwin isn’t busy wrapping up, at the little bottle of antiseptic, the scissors, the roll of bandages and the cloths, all spread out on the floorboards between them.

“Of course I did,” Edwin says.

Really, he had not given it much consideration. He had had only the presence of mind to memorize the sight of Charles kneeling in the dew-damp grass, angry gaze still spitting fire at the backs of Edwin’s retreating bullies. He’d had blood in his bared teeth, and the briefest flash of desire had seared through Edwin—to kiss him. Merely in thanks, perhaps, but still, to kiss him.

He would know the warmth of Charles’ mouth. Fleeting, forbidden, it would sear itself into his mind for ever.

Of course, he had done no such thing; for he could not. Instead, he’d done the only thing he could do—bent low towards Charles, and squeezed his shoulder once, as if to say, Wait here for me. I will come back to you.

And as he'd turned on his heel and gone off in the direction of the infirmary, leaving Charles there with dusk encroaching, Edwin had hoped Charles understood his gesture for the indelible promise it was.

[aregebidan]

The Silt Verses, Chapter 45: Of Love, And Gods’ Defeat // The Silt Verses, Chapter 20: And Rend Us Both To Dust Below

ID in alt

[hobie-enthusiast]

— cw; making out, suggestive themes, implications of death

thinking about hobie brown who would impulsively get a new matching piercing with you after a night out in the city. he brings you to a friend of his who does his piercings, someone he trusts. he tells them to do whatever they want, as long as the two of you match. he offers his hand to you to squeeze when you’re being pierced, and after, he’s absolutely obsessed with how you both look.

thinking about hobie brown who’s protective of the things he loves, especially you. He doesn’t trust many people, especially those he doesn’t know. it's little gestures, like pulling you close to him by the arm or waist or walking on the side on the street the road is. he couldn't imagine something happening to you, he has a strong urge to always keep you safe. that's probably why spider-man always happens to show up when you get into some trouble alone.

thinking about hobie brown who drops several hints he’s spider-man. he doesn’t like lying to you, and even though he isn’t, it feels like he is. so he waits for you to ask or put the pieces together. if you never do, he doesn’t outright tell you. he would never want you to think he’s doing it to impress you or be famous. not that you would think that. but if you do, he’s honest and even offers to let you be his partner-in-crime, its perfect.

thinking about hobie brown who always wants to hear about your interests. even if it’s something he doesn’t know or understand the excitement over. he wants to hear every detail you know. he wants to know and understand where your excitement comes from and what you love about it. he will just sit there with such a love struck grin, eyes never leaving you or your lips moving so passionately.

thinking about hobie brown who lives for post-show make out sessions. after his band plays he always takes you to the back of the venue, holding you close to him as he kisses you like there's no tomorrow. he's addicted to you; the way your hot bodies press together, the way your lips feel on his, the way he can make you unravel from his hands settling on your waist. it's like a drug he's never going to get enough of, especially when his leg slots so perfectly between your thighs to rile you up. after he's always a panting mess, eyes lidded as he laughs, yet the laugh is a low chuckle from the way you practically drag him home.

thinking about hobie brown who would not hesitate to interrupt a canon event to save your life. whether it's in his dimension or some other variation of his, he doesn't care. the second he notices your life in danger, he's saving you. he can handle a heavy and hard scolding from miguel. hell he can ever handle being kicked from the spider-society for good. but nothing comes above saving your life, and he is a firm believer in that.

thinking about hobie brown who is obsessed with the way you play with his hair. his favourite way to fall asleep is in your lap, your hands tangled in his wicks, treating them and him like the most precious thing in the world. it's like some sort of spell you put on him, and he will never get enough of it. you start scratching his scalp or weaving your fingers through his hair? he's asleep in minutes. he's very protective of his hair and who can touch it, so letting someone he loves see him so vulnerable is always enough to relax him and coax him into getting proper sleep.

truly just thinking about hobie brown.

[incessantlark]

Lyrics from 'Uneasy Hearts Weigh the Most' by Dance Gavin Dance

[melandrops]

thinking about how one of hayward's first lines of the show is "everyone wants a personal relationship with a god, but none of us are equipped to actually deal with that." how he only ever prayed out of routine, how he never devoted himself properly to any god, and even the cloak was just a bad attempt and making himself feel less alone. how he wished that he could have a real partner with him on his cases but all he has is a god. how he couldn't even try to make himself believe that worshipping a god would save him. and then how he found his purpose serving alongside and loving a woman who bore a godchild beneath her skin. how he birthed a god with this woman and he threw his whole self into The Cause. but it was never about the god it was always about the cause and about the person he loves. and he said that if he had to put his faith in anyone he would put it in paige. and then he died refusing to offer a prayer to a god and whispering to the gods that he was going to die on his own terms. he would never bend the knee for a god, but he would call it a gift to sacrifice his life for just a chance that paige will be safe. thinking about how he died and the only faith he ever had was in the woman he loved

[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."