#verses for the dead

[technically-human]

Part two of the reverse verse is here! The reverse boys meet the original boys. They're not really getting along as well as I had hoped...

Again, this was a commission for @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and they asked for angst/funny vibes... I think it's mostly just angst though. Oh, well...

Part one

[deadlypoetacademia]

Is it normal to be happy and sad and hurting and healing and mad and guilty and jealous and calm, all at the same time?

[willthespy]

HUYS WHY DID THIS DK WELL I HATE IT GET IT OFF MY TOP POSTS THE RVIEVDLBEBDH

a birthday gift from a certain god…

[enesl]

lows are not bad they show you how far and high you have to climb

[cosmicalls]

kinda thinking about neil's gunshot and how we don't hear it. totally silent. it reminds of the "if a tree falls in the woods" question. neil dying alone in the middle of his father's study.

and it's such a loud weapon, too, which makes it seem all the more intentional that it was cut out. in his last moments he went out with a bang, but nearly no one hears it.

even before the night of the play: his friends and keating independently told him to just talk, and perhaps he'll get what he wants — but he knows that's impossible. no one else truly understood. they didn't really hear him.

just like rebelling against his father to be in the play: did it matter if he was found out anyway? he knew when he was caught that it was over no matter what. does his death mean anything if the only one to hear the shot was the very same man who controlled every aspect of his life?

if neil falls and no one is around to hear the gunshot, did he contribute a verse?

[j0celynh0rr0r]

Daughter of Satan.

[pandadrake]

Get fridged, idiots. (affectionate)

Don’t mind me, just thinking of character parallels.

[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.

[livwritesstuff]

tw: somewhat flippant conversation about death

Steve returns from a long run one Saturday afternoon to a loud kind of pandemonium in the kitchen.

Hazel is crying, which in and of itself isn’t exactly odd, and Moe and Robbie seem to be trying to tandem-argue between themselves and soothe their younger sister.

Steve looks at Eddie for any kind of clarity. Unfortunately, Eddie seems just as baffled as Steve feels.

“What the hell is going on?” he finally asks.

“Well,” Robbie starts, “Hazel realized that she’s gonna be the last one of us to die.”

Sweet Jesus, Steve thought, because why don’t they get upset about normal shit like shoes or whatever?

“And she’s sad because she’ll go to all our funerals and none of us will be at hers,” Robbie finishes.

Yep, Steve hates that. He hates that so much.

“Hey, I had a solution,” Moe argues, “All three of us can just die at the same time. That’s fair, right?”

Hazel manages a nod.

“Nope,” Steve shook his head, “We’re not talking about this. Let’s move on please.”

For a few blissful moments, the kitchen is quiet aside from Hazel’s occasional sniffles.

When the silence stretches a little too long, Robbie opens her mouth.

“So which one of you is gonna die first and skip out on all the funerals?” she asks, because she’s an instigating monster just like Eddie.

“That’s so rude,” Moe comments as she slings an arm over Hazel’s shoulders and swipes at her tears with the pad of her thumb. She waits a beat and then she adds, “Bet it’ll be Dad.”

“Hey!” Ed protested, sounding like he was actually offended, “Why me?”

“Pop’s, like, way healthier than you.”

“Says who?”

“Says Pop goes on runs and you were all winded getting the mail.”

[valtsv]

hold on. i think i've just successfully articulated why VAL's power doesn't work when she tries to use it on herself. it's not that she doesn't necessarily believe her own delusions, that's irrelevant (since we've already had it demonstrated to us that it doesn't matter what you believe, if the last word says otherwise). it's that she's made herself and been made into something that cannot be changed. VAL's sainthood is a trauma response (which isn't to excuse all the mass murder and torture and other petty war crimes; trauma responses are not inherently admissible on the basis that they're rooted in trauma, and while traumatised people are not inherently dangerous, some trauma responses are objectively harmful). it's rooted in her desire to become something that "cannot be bound", to become something that can make it so that if her mother the world says that she cannot be loved, and that nothing she ever does will make her good enough to deserve kindness, then she can simply rewrite the reality that governs it so that it has no choice but to cede to her demands. however, in doing so, she severs herself from being able to be transformed by those changes herself - because then how would she know that they had changed? she remains fixed in place, and must endure whatever consequences her actions have for her. her body suffers under the strain of holding its form while the rest of the world twists and warps around her. she has made herself a vessel for that desire to be unable to ever be hurt or made helpless again, and in doing so defined herself by it, and made herself utterly helpless to and tormented by her own inertia. she can never move on from the pain that drove her to that point, and so she must carry it in a body not built to bear its weight.

[technically-human]

Welcome to the reverse verse! This is part 1 of 2 of a commission for @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and I can't wait to tell you all about it, because I'm incapable of being normal and chill about these concepts, so I ran with it.

Charles Rowland was born in 1900, his mum was from India and moved to the UK after marrying Charles' dad, a soldier who was not... very loving. Charles' heritage gave him some problems, but none as bad as that one time in 1916 when he was sacrificed to a demon and spent the next 7 decades in Hell. He doesn't like to talk about it, except when it can get him what he wants. He was always an angry boy, or so he thought, but after his time spent in Hell, it became so much worse. He's explosive and unpredictable, and so he mostly avoids conflict. He doesn't need to fight anyone, as his charming personality and sweet smile (plus a few smart calculations) always seem to be enough to convince people to give him what he asks for. And when the fight is inevitable... well, he has Edwin for that!

Edwin Payne grew up very sheltered, in a deeply religious home, and he is proud of that. Don't try to argue with him, because he surely has a Bible verse that will help him win (and if not, he is not above using his croquet mallet now that he has someone to keep safe). Unfortunately for him, he realized at a quite young age that he felt attraction towards other boys. Even worse, somehow other people could tell as well, including those peers that ended up killing him for it (the rumour spread throughout school was that he had died due to AIDS, and most people just accepted it). He never acted on those unnatural urges of his, but when he met this ghost who had just escaped Hell... he decided not to risk eternal damnation, and to stay here with Charles, instead. Edwin has no interest in the supernatural or in magic, and sort of looks down on them, but luckily his friend's got that covered.

[deadlypoetacademia]

Death doesn't scare me but you know what does, those, 'what if's' and 'maybe's'

[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

[thekhaninglass]

If you told me last week I’d be Happy at Carpenter’s death scene I would’ve asked what the hell are you talking about? Carpenter? Carpenter my favourite character of all time? That Carpenter?

But I am so happy with her ending, because just before Tainsley fired something wondrous happened.

She forgot, and so she remembered.

For a time, especially if it’s early on, it can feel like your trauma defines you. That it makes up so much of who you are, that it’s almost like it is all you are.

And the best thing to deal with that (other than EMDR, therapy and meds) is time. One day you will wake up and it will not be all you are. One day those wounds will have scarred over and, though it is still part of you, you will forget enough to remember that you’re a person and not just a horror story.

Before she died Carpenter forgot. She forgot enough of her trauma that she forgot her Nana’s dying words. The words of the faith of the Trawler-man who she believed took her brother because of her faith’s collapse. She is no longer defined by her loss. She has recovered enough that those memories no longer feel like a fresh wound.

Before she died she remembered who she was. Ours is a world of miracles.

[v4guelyv4mpiric]

loving them unironically

[deermouth]

I think this might've been the scariest moment in all of tsv for me tbh. Extreme tension, trying to outrun the things you know will burrow into you and make you love them, you think you've made it, relief, and then—one split second of your dead father: his voice, his cadence, saying nothing but what he would have called you. Ultimate jumpscare. I would have also crashed my car.