#lapslock

[unhonest-iago]

Bakugou + saying 'I'm proud of you'

you were having the worst day ever. everything that could go wrong did go wrong. starting with you sleeping through your alarm. then during sparing, you managed to sustain an injury bad enough that Aizawa had to send you off to Recovery Girl. not before scolding you for your subpar performance. after dealing with Recovery Girl's treatment, you just wanted the day to end. to snuggle underneath the covers in your dorm with a movie playing in the background. hoping the sun would cross the horizon quicker.

but Bakugou had noticed how defeated you had looked. with drooped shoulders as you went through the motions, entirely unfocused. an odd sense of worry flooding through him. embolden with instinct to go check on you. if nothing was wrong then no harm, no foul. he would get to spend time with his partner. and if there was a problem, he could threaten to harm whoever was behind it. unable to find you still at Recovery Girl's station, she informed him he could probably find you back at the dorms. as Bakugou stomped across the floorboards, he picked up on the sound of crying. said sound increased as he made his way to your room. 'y/n, open this door before I burn it down!' Bakugou growled as he banged his fist on the door.

you got up to open the door, before returning back to your alcove of a bed. closing the curtain halfway, a stuffed animal clutched close to your chest. 'what's wrong? and don't say nothing, it's been following you around like a dark cloud.' Bakugou removed his shoes before joining you in your bed, sitting on the opposite side with his feet against your side. 'just one of those days where the universe ultimately has it out for me. Not only did I get myself injured, I totally bombed all the tests we had today. Even though I studied my ass off.' Bakugou didn't want your day to end on such a sour note. He had to do something to change that. 'i don't think it was all bad,' you looked at him as if he'd grown a second head, 'yea, you might've stupidly injured yourself. but you still held your own for most of the fight. and you did it sleep deprived.'

this being extremely out of character, you just had to ask. 'what are you trying to say Kacchan?'

'that i'm proud of you.' Bakugou says before spending the rest of the night with you, going against his grandfathered in routine. watching trash tv, purposely talking shit about the contestants to make you laugh. despite previously claiming he'd be caught dead watching it. junk food wrappers collecting on the ground to be picked up later.

[trashland-llamas]

metachrosis

x gn reader / ao3 link 🔗

the thought of Reader who is considered calm and collected to everyone around them. always has their shit together. never seems to stress over anything. a real go with the flow type of person. their coworkers and friends know they can depend on Reader to help out when needed.

picking up the slack when things get hectic or shit seems to hit the fan. yeah, Reader has their rough days but even then, they still seem fine. as cool as a cucumber.

they're all clueless as to why Murdock laughs whenever he hears this. to the blind lawyer, Reader is anything but calm. to him, they're the most anxious person he knows. their frantic heartbeat and short breathing clearly gives them away.

it seems quite contradictory that they chose to work in a law firm. Reader would've had to know how stressful an environment it was before even applying for the job. granted, they never have to go on the stand. having more of a managerial role. they don't have a law degree. yet they still worked the same long hours.

Reader doesn't really think much when it comes to Matt. except that he seems to be too observant for his own good. not that it's a bad trait. but it makes them uneasy. never knowing what random tidbits of information he'll commit to memory. ones that Reader thinks are innocuous.

so they try to be cordial, keep everything related to work. never asking about what he does on his days off. and Matt knows that he makes Reader anxious. more anxious than their other coworkers. and he wants to know why. unfortunately they won't give him the time of day.

that's fine, he'll just find a way in as Daredevil.

[ashtons-lemon-tree]

[reader be of the chronically ill variety]

[poly! skz]

imagine it being an okay day until you finally finish the work you needed to get done and take a very much needed breather. the pain seeping into your joints as you make your way over to one of the guys' rooms. not caring who's as over the years you've known Skz, your stuffies have sprinkled themselves all over the bedrooms. all of them becoming besties with the respective skzoos. Chan finds you first, deciding to just lay on top of you like a weighted blanket. 'You okay?' He hadn't seen you for most of the day, unsure if he needed to mother-hen you. 'Yea, accidentally overdid it.' Chan's psuedo-kiddos gathered shortly one by one afterwards, simply joining in on the cuddle pile.

[wanderosed]

I have a low tolerance for lapslock. I'm not saying I haven't read it but if a post is over a couple of sentences long, I am out from now on.

It creates a run-on effect for my visual impairment that makes reading long posts exhausting. Additionally, the lack of structure messes with dyslexic fonts, as well.

As of today, I'm freeing myself from the burden of reading lapslock. It hurts my brain.

And, no, I never liked the poetry of e.e. cummings

[moonsunarchive]

heartstrings

Author: moonboymin

Rating: explicit

Setting: college/university

Wordcount: 42,656

Summary:

jimin allows himself this self-indulgence. the worst, most lovesick parts of himself, that feel exhausted, feel worn and harrowed with carrying it all the time— he indulges them, feeds them. slides his hand into jungkook’s hair and brushes a thumb across his forehead, stares. it’s ugly, what he feels. ugly, ugly. the greed. of wanting more, of calling their friendship not enough. of pushing them to more. of asking, first, because he couldn’t bear it— taking more and more from jungkook. and still, still. not enough. (or; jungkook is in jimin's heart. jimin is not in jungkook's. now what?)

Comment: this fic truly shoves its hands into your chest and squeezes your heart. rarely have i seen writing this effectively packed with emotion, so much so that you feel it all over your body. i love every single fic of this author, but this is one of my most beloved and most often reread, because i love jimin pov in these kinds of stories. the trust between them is staggering, jungkook is so sweet you could die. just absolute love.

[ink-beneath-her-fingernails]

throw these children on the pyre (they will light your funeral fire)

read it on ao3   |   masterlist

Fandom: Avatar: the Last Airbender

TW: canon-typical references to zuko & ozai's agni kai, the whole situation with the 41st division is also heavily discussed, but overall there's nothing super graphic, and no actual character death. please let me know if there are any other warnings that should be added.

Wordcount: 1,030

Originally published: June 9th, 2023

Summary: maybe, if things weren't the way they were, it's something the rich fuckers in charge might've actually seen coming.

but then, if things weren't the way they were, the agni kai wouldn't have happened. if things weren't the way they were, the whole plan wouldn't have been introduced in the first place, and it certainly wouldn't have fallen solely to a thirteen year old boy to decry it.

so maybe, really, this was always going to happen.

(or: that first agni kai has far reaching consequences.)

Notes: n/a

Transfer Notes: this was initially written in my phone notes, and wasn’t really meant to turn into anything, which is why it’s in lapslock. this work is also the first one i’ve locked on ao3, and i will likely be locking all others in the future to avoid ai scraping. don’t quite have the same qualms about posting it here bc for some reason i feel like it would be a bad idea for anyone trying to train writing or chat ais by scraping fucking tumblr.

maybe, if things weren't the way they were, it's something the rich fuckers in charge might've actually seen coming.

but then, if things weren't the way they were, the agni kai wouldn't have happened. if things weren't the way they were, the whole plan wouldn't have been introduced in the first place, and it certainly wouldn't have fallen solely to a thirteen year old boy to decry it.

so maybe, really, this was always going to happen.

you see, here is something that is expected: news takes time to travel.

here is what is not: official orders mean half a dozen extra layers of bureaucracy for every new pair of eyes that pass over them, mean waiting on desks in piles for hours or days.

and rumors? well, rumors take far less time to spread than troop movements.

it goes like this: one soldier gets a letter.

she thinks that her siblings have a real sick sense of humor that's only rotted further since her leaving.

but then two more soldiers get letters.

funny, that the same silly, horrid rumor reached them as her, when their families are all so far apart. but hey, rumors travel fast, and the war is many-legged.

except it's not just one, or two. then it's three, five, a dozen, forty-two, the nephew of a serving maid in the imperial palace, the daughter of a guard in the heart of a caldera, too much, too many, and suddenly—suddenly, thinking this is just a baseless rumor is getting harder and harder. suddenly, people are talking. messages from family members are being compared, from friends, from old co-workers and classmates they thought didn't give half a damn about them, from every far corner of their nation and then some—the mainland, the outer islands, the colonies, the front, even.

because suddenly, half the squadron is getting more letters in the span of a single week than they have in their entire lives, nonetheless their three and a half months since joining up or being conscripted.

and with every letter the tension grows thicker, the silence heavier, morale lower.

every piece of parchment, every shaky character in dark ink pleads the same thing in so many shades, dripping like molasses in their throats, blood down their chins, latching into their very bones no matter how hard they try to shake them, listen. listen. please, dear agni, listen. fight. run. anything. goodbye. i love you. please live. you're not meant to leave alive. he burned for you. it wasn't enough. you need to go. stay alive stay alive stay alive please stay alive.

the orders that will put their division into the jaws of death with no remorse are still buried in a pile of parchment somewhere with others just like it, weighted down with a cup of tea spiked with something sharper, prospective deaths paid no mind in exchange for more important things.

what else is not expected, then?

well, that young soldiers will not take their own kill orders laying down so lightly.

that half of them didn't choose to be here in the first place. that being a fresh face might mean bright-eyed idealism, but it also means that they haven't made solid connections here yet, haven't fully settled into this routine like they'll live it for years, haven't grown numb to what they'll eventually be asked to do, or started thinking about things like military career paths.

that, perhaps, loyalty isn't so much bought with three squares a day, a hard cot, and a barely-livable pay every two weeks to send home to people they might never see again, as it is earned, through things like actions, like sacrifice, like trying to put a stopper on the blood before it's spilled.

that people are far less stupid than those in charge often account for, and even with minimal training, a newbie division of hundreds and thousands outweighs the two dozen officers trying to keep them in line thrice over with far more room to spare. that, when motivated, people are willing to push back. sometimes, they're even willing to do so together.

their marching orders are only twelve days away by courier and three by hawk when the entire 41st division makes a very, very vocal decision to resign.

maybe jeong jeong made a name for himself, being the first to desert.

but there's power in numbers. and suddenly, there's a whole lot of kids who are very, very motivated to make sure a bunch of greenlings just like them (and their friends and their families) don't get put on the pyre next.

this is war, of course. sacrifices have to be made. after nine decades and counting, every one of them knows that. but—nine decades and counting is an awful lot of time, to learn the difference between going to battle with even the faintest hope of survival and going in with your death warrant already signed; between dying for a broader, greater purpose, and dying for something that could've been achieved any number of other ways; between what's necessary and wasteful.

(they'll fight a war, sure. just not the one their nation had really been counting on.)

and, well, if the rookies aren't safe—who is, really?

the 41st is far from the last to leave their posts. in the span of only a single month, ozai accomplishes what no other firelord has for the past six hundred and forty nine years: he begins turning his own army against himself, en masse.

half a world away, a spirit and those of one thousand and one people it's inhabited lay perpetually active as they have been for the past several decades, inside the body of a little boy, inside the warm embrace of his animal guide, inside the freezing prison of the glacier they're entombed in, inside the dark, lethal waters of the south pole, and together, they wait, for the spark that will light the fire that will split the glacier that will bring balance. it will be waiting for years yet.

on the shores of the earth kingdom, on the creeping slopes of the fire nation, a revolution starts now.

[duhdumb89]

i mute accounts that write in lapslock because i don't like getting excited for shit that i can't read

[dead-city-warm-sun]

maybe one day you'll float up,

past those who ask you to care,

and it'll hurt a little less.

but when you hover like a symbol,

and people face you as a spectacle,

you'll want to go past their windows.

so you'll become a myth,

and you'll be whispered about in time,

yet the whispers are like wind.

and as they gently push you into another frame,

you'll begin to float higher,

trying to escape the molding hands.

and maybe one day you'll float up,

past all who will ever perceive you,

and fully float away.

[alphareyes]

alternate meeting AU where Tommy’s a motorcycle guy. he’s got a 1998 harley-davidson road king that he’s put a lot of money, cursing & sweat into and it runs as smooth as butter.

Tommy who decides to pack up his life for a couple of months and travel cross country on his bike. he sees the sights, stays in some shitty motels and meets all kinds of people all along the way from california to maine.

Tommy who stops in loveland, ohio for a quick break on his way back to california and stumbles into a diner off the nearest exit for something to eat and meets the prettiest guy he’s ever laid eyes on who’s asking him “what can i get for you, sir?”

and Tommy’s out of it, not only from driving for the past 15 or so hours on a couple hours of sleep, but because he’s hungry and this guy is too gorgeous and Tommy’s sure he has the absolute worst case of helmet hair right now. just his luck.

Evan. his name tag said ‘Evan’.

“sir?”

and Tommy’s snapping back to reality, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“sorry, i’m just a little out of it.”

a small laugh. sweet and light. Tommy thinks he might just throw up butterflies.

“i saw you pull in on your bike. long drive?”

“you could say that.”

that smile. Evan’s smile. it was like feeling the warmth of the sunlight across your skin on a cold day.

“coffee. you need coffee. there’s a fresh pot brewing right now.”

“i’d love that.”

“great. maybe you can decide on what you want to eat while i’m gone?”

“sure.”

“okay.”

Evan stood there for a second, holding Tommy’s gaze before clicking his pen and turning on his heel, walking towards the kitchen.

it’s then that Tommy decides maybe he could stay awhile. he’s sure he remembered seeing a sign for a hotel just along the exit ramp. and besides, maybe there was something worth staying for in loveland, ohio.

.

[nowimabeliever]

caught out

(for @sugarcanehoes- a congrats-on-the-block fic for you!!)

aka parkzer reads dougzer porn, jacks off about it, and then doug finds out ;)

it's not that late at night, really, but it's definitely after parkzer's usual bedtime. and he's tired. he got up early, went to bed late, and yet. he can't sleep.

he's tossed and turned over and over again, the light of the streetlight down on the street barely inching its way through the blinds and yet it sears his retinas. he throws an arm over his eyes, then rolls over again to grab his phone.

maybe if he distracts himself, he can trick himself into sleeping accidentally.

so he pulls up the tumblr app and logs in. it's not an app he uses very often- usually, on the rare occasions he searches for himself, he uses his computer- but it's a distraction.

the first thing he does, every time he logs in, is search for his own name. he's showed up more frequently in the last year or so, in various pieces of art, most often with doug.

which makes perfect sense. doug is far more popular than he is. doug is how most people know of him.

but tonight, the first thing he sees in his search is a post marked "mature content: sexual themes".

he blinks. people are sexualizing...him? might as well see what this is all about, then. he taps "view post" and an ask box pops up, with one anonymous sentence within. I'm here to talk about bottom Doug with you, no punctuation or context or anything.

interesting. there's nothing related to him, but he has an idea what this ask is about. he should scroll past. he shouldn't hit "keep reading". he should block the blogger and move on-

he hits "keep reading".

oh. so that's how he's involved in this scenario. he should have known. he should definitely scroll past this, look at the fanart of him in dog ears and disco elysium instead.

and yet. he reads past the first few lines, and he's hooked. the author has somehow managed to perfectly capture how doug would ask for gay sex (despite how unrealistic the premise is) and later, how he would react during it.

he can feel a warmth spreading through his chest, intensifying in his groin region and face.

fictional-parkzer is currently preparing fictional-doug, fingering him open, when real-parkzer notices that he's half-hard.

he's not even gay. what the fuck.

but... continuing to read, picturing the way doug reacts to him in his head, it's only sending the blood in his body further from his brain. almost unconsciously, his hand trails down his body to touch himself lightly, over his sweatpants.

he bites his lip against a gasp as he reads himself fuck into doug, his hand pulling down his sweats and boxer briefs down just enough to expose his cock. he doesn't even bother to reach for his lubricant, buried in the nightstand drawer next to his bed, just using the precum that's practically spurting from the head of his cock to moisten his movements.

it's not going to take much like this for him to come, running his thumb over the head of his cock and down the frenulum. now that he thinks about it, it's been a while since he's treated jerking off as more than just a basal need to fulfill.

the writing in front of him pulled him out of that rut so fully that he can't help but ride the waves, hand tightening around his cock as he strokes himself closer to the edge.

he reads further, muffling another embarrassing noise as fictional-parkzer and fictional-doug chase their own orgasms.

as fictional-doug comes, fictional-parkzer stroking him to his orgasm, real-parkzer squeezes his eyes shut as his own peak overtakes him.

his hand slows to a stop, a last bead of semen oozing out of the head of his cock.

fuck.

not only does he now have to change his shirt (and wash it so it doesn't stain), but he just jerked off thinking about fucking his best friend.

the shame hits the pit of his stomach like a bowling ball into quicksand- hitting fast and then slowly sinking deeper and deeper into every facet of his being.

he wakes his phone back up and hits the block button fast, but as soon as the blog disappears from his screen, he switches to his notes app and writes down the name of the blog, then locks the note.

just for himself. so he never runs into that person with the minecraft villager profile picture again.

~~~

a couple months later, he's particularly bored and horny again. typically, getting himself off is something he limits to the shower in the morning or bed in the evening, mostly for convenience's sake. (he doesn't want to admit how many times he's thought about doug doing the same.)

but it's the middle of the afternoon, and he's still thinking about the piece of writing he found on tumblr. where he had sex with doug, satisfying what turned out to be mutual desire and lust.

so he closes his door and opens tumblr on his computer, navigating to the part of his settings where he can see his blocked blogs, and he unblocks that one writer.

just so he can see what they’re up to.

he scrolls past post after post of random thoughts and “re-blogs” before realizing they actually have a tag for writing that he clicks on.

oh, this is perfect. sure, some of the posts are merely links to an outside website he can't view (apparently, one can restrict works on the fanfiction website, and he has no interest in creating an account there) but there are plenty of others with this author's exceedingly horny prose in the post itself.

there's a post talking about the bunny suit again, another with a free-use fantasy in place with doug, but the one that he goes back to is the one he originally saw.

he reacts the same way, flushing and getting hard with the now-familiar mental image of doug panting and writhing beneath his hands.

he slips his own hand under the waistband of his pants and boxers to touch himself, lightly skimming his fingertips over his length. a tiny, shuddering sigh escapes his lips as he scans the words on the screen, his mental image only growing sharper.

and then his door bursts open.

damn doug for always interrupting everything. damn himself for not reacting fast enough, for freezing with his hand barely pulled out of his pants and the tab still open on his browser.

"oh, hey, parkzer," doug says, somehow not even realizing what the hell he just walked in on.

parkzer sends a silent thank you to whatever deity is watching right now.

"what do you want, douglas?" parkzer asks, willing his voice to stay steady.

"can't a guy just come check out what his bro is doing?" doug asks.

"i am not your bro," parkzer says, his typical dry snark slipping out despite himself.

"whatever," doug says. "what are you reading?"

"n-nothing much," parkzer stammers. what a horrible lie- those two words are going to get doug to look more than anything else. he should have said "work" or "contract law" or honestly, even "gay pornography". at least with that last one, doug wouldn't have believed him at all.

doug walks fully into his room to take a closer look at his screen. parkzer can tell when he realizes what he's reading when he breathes in sharply, disguising his shock with a laugh.

“i can’t believe this dude thinks I’d be a bottom,” doug scoffs. “c’mon, parkzer, where do you find this shit?”

parkzer flushes. “well, i- i-“

doug looks down, and parkzer can tell the instant he realizes what's going on. despite it all, parkzer's still hard. and in these pants, it's obvious.

he looks up at doug. he looks perfectly normal, except-

except his pupils are blown wide. except the barest flush is obvious on his cheeks. except the crotch of his sweatpants looks…a little fuller. parkzer swallows.

“oh, you like that?” doug asks. it’s not a question, but parkzer nods anyway.

doug spins parkzer's chair around, stepping even closer. at this point, he's practically looming over parkzer, who has to be honest: maybe he is a little bit gay.

"and here i thought seducing you would be hard," doug says.

parkzer bites his lip. "you were going to seduce me?"

"not anymore," doug says. "i don't think you need any more convincing that you're mine." he punctuates his statement by reaching over and hitting alt-f4 on parkzer's keyboard.

"you really think you're a top, then?" parkzer asks.

doug puts one knee up on parkzer's chair, pinning his shoulder down with the opposite hand. "nope," he says, grinning as parkzer flushes again, pulse quickening obviously under the thin skin of his throat.

"i know it."

[sidneycarter]

love the idea that post The Situation thomas is just increasingly obtuse when it comes to jimmy's feelings.

so when one day mrs hughes mentions in passing at how much easier it is to handle james now he's settled down, thomas is incredibly confused. and a little bit heartbroken too of course.

it gets even stranger when on valentine's day alfred sulkily asks jimmy how many cards he's sent that year and jimmy merely shrugs and smirks. mrs patmore chastises them for gossiping and announces that surely, jimmy's only got one to be sending.

then one night, most of the staff are enjoying a rare night off in the pub. as usual, a host of pretty girls surround jimmy, and one particularly brave one asks jimmy if he's got any plans on one of his half days. jimmy throws her a cheeky wink and says "sorry, darling, but i'm spoken for."

thomas starts feeling really rather hurt. he's known all along that this would happen eventually - that jimmy would eventually move on and find a nice village lass, but it still stings to hear it. somehow, it hurts even more knowing that clearly jimmy has fallen for someone but he hasn't even told thomas.

thomas puts on a brave face and elbows daisy in the side. "d'ya hear that? jimmy's kept that quiet 'asn't he?"

daisy looks at him with a frown and cocks her head to the side. "well, not really--" but before she can say anything else she's swept up into the rowdy conversation of the table.

a few weeks later, thomas and jimmy are alone in the servants hall, with thomas reading the paper in his rocking chair and jimmy tapping out melodies on the piano. the tune he's playing is sweet and gentle, and thomas finds himself swaying his head along. as the song draws to a close, a gentle round of applause sounds from the doorway.

baxter stands smiling. "let me call you sweetheart is one of my favourites. it was beautiful, jimmy."

jimmy blushes prettily and stands, closing the piano lid. "thank you, mrs baxter. good night."

after he's gone from the room, baxter enters to fill herself a glass of water. she smiles fondly at thomas. "he's so smitten you know. head over heels." she rolls her eyes affectionately.

it takes months until thomas finally figures out the truth of what's going on. well, to say he figures it out is somewhat generous.

he's in the servants hall again, this time feeling a little despondent with a cup of tea. jimmy had gone to the pictures with alfred of all people, their friendship seemingly improved since jimmy's given up on chasing ivy's skirt. thomas is resolutely not waiting up to make sure jimmy gets home safe. anna is the only other person still up, and she sits opposite thomas stitching one of lady mary's hemlines in companionable silence.

thomas dwells on his own thoughts for a while, until anna rests her sewing on the table and fixes him with a worried look. "are you quite alright, mr barrow?"

"hm? oh, yes anna, i'm very well thank you." he takes a sip of his tea to hide his moue.

anna looks unconvinced. "thomas," she says seriously, "is it-- have you and jimmy had a falling out?"

that genuinely surprises thomas. for all his worry and sadness over jimmy's as yet unknown love interest, they'd never fallen out. "no, no, of course not. he's just busy, that's all, which is to be expected now he's, you know," thomas waves his cup vaguely in the air, "courting the mystery lady."

anna chokes on a laugh. "the mystery lady?"

"yes. he's-- he's courting someone, isn't he? everyone keeps saying that he's... or suggesting that he's taken with someone." Thomas adds somewhat bitterly, "seems quite serious if you ask me. not that he's told me anything about it of course."

anna stops giggling and looks at him oddly. "thomas you-- you can't mean--"

"-- do you know who she is, anna?" thomas interrupts a little desperately. he's becoming tired of it all and he just wants to know-- how bad it is, for how long he's going to have to tend to his broken heart.

"thomas. thomas, jimmy's sweetheart is-- well, it's you."

"me?" thomas has a brief, sickening memory of his feelings before, and how miss o'brien toyed with them so badly. but he knows in his gut, that anna would never, and could never do that. he knows she's being honest, as confusing and terrifying as the statement may be.

"yes." anna smiles. "he's like a little puppy when he's with you. surely you've noticed? he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. he wants to do everything you do, and it seems like every other conversation is all about what you've been telling him this week. he only ever plays love songs on the piano when you're in the room. he laughs at all your jokes and he's not even glanced in the direction of a girl since last year." anna shakes her head. "i thought you knew and were just letting him get used to it."

"no i didn't -- i didn't know, i thought," thomas can feel himself blushing, "i don't know what i thought."

anna stands with a stifled yawn. "you make each other very happy. if you really didn't know, i think you ought to talk to him. good night, mr barrow."

"good night anna. and thank you."

thomas is left in the still and quiet of the room, watching the steam spiral up from his cup. a private and hopeful smile spreads across his face. yes, he thinks, nodding his head, perhaps we should talk.

[bewitchingbloom]

same ghosts in a new home

I've been trying to find some writing prompts to turn to when I want to write but don't know what, and when these prompts passed by my dash earlier I knew I found the list to pull from. I used a random number generator to pick which prompt to write. Up first we have:

same ghosts in a new home (961 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Rating: T for implied sexual activity (nothing graphic)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran/Woljif

Other notes: Second Person POV

In some of the books you’d read in the past, you’d run into descriptions of the lingering effects of an argument. You’d always dismissed them as poetic hogwash. But now, as you stand in the middle of the sitting room of our new home, you could swear there was an echo, the last vestiges of heated words and raised voices falling back through time to haunt you. 

Truthfully, you're not sure what you said to set Woljif off, or why I was upset with your refusal to apologize. We knew what you were like by now, and you thought you were being nice. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, you know how your words can land more like poisoned barbs than playful jabs. This fight might not be entirely your fault, but you're not completely innocent in it either. 

With a sigh, you turn towards the liquor cabinet, situated right next to the stairway you once sat in waiting for us to join you in. You remember the soft words and the heated embraces, reminders that your melancholy was as ephemeral as it was unfounded. Even now, the memory brings a small smile to your lips. “You will never pale into insignificance.” “You're stuck with us, Your Excellency.” 

To the hells with it. Abandoning your original trajectory, you turn towards the door. Judging by the light filtering in through the window, you have a couple hours yet before the sun goes down. Perhaps you have a plan, perhaps you just want some fresh air. Either way, you’re out of the house before you even realize it. 

****

Now, as for you, Woljif, you had stormed out of the house into the backyard. It was still mostly an overgrown ruin, a choking tangle of weeds and debris that I intend to one day transform into a garden bursting with life. The only thing of note was the small part of the Sellen River that flowed through it, a sliver of pure, bubbling water that you once spent an evening frolicking in with Daeran and I. The memories are pleasant, and the guilt that pervades you at their arrival is entirely unwelcome. 

With an aggravated sigh, you pull one of your daggers out of its holster. Even now it’s a habit to make sure you’re armed. Maybe there will come a day when you don’t feel the need, and when it comes, that’s how you’ll know you’ve truly lost your edge. With a frown, you toss the knife at a nearby stump. It sticks with a loud thud, not unlike the sound the door made when you slammed it come out here. 

Your edge…that’s what this about. Just two years ago you were still running with the Family and scrabbling to get by day to day. Now, here you are, married to two of the most prestigious people in the country and the beginnings of a home to call your own. This is something you should be happy about, and you are! But there is a part of you that feels like you’re betraying everything you’d ever known, stabbing the boy you once were in the back for the first shred of kindness and love that had been shown to you. 

You pull the dagger free, all the anger in your veins dying as the blade comes loose from the wood. Daeran didn’t mean anything by it, but the quip had been phrased just right, careless in the way only someone who’d never faced such hardship could be. Now you know that the wounds of your past still stung.

Taking a deep breath, you flop onto the stump, staring out into the sunlit water. Just a few more minutes, then you’ll be ready to go back inside. Whether it’ll be to make amends or fan the flames again, you’re not sure. But judging by the loose grip you have on your dagger, you are so much more tired of holding grudges than you realized. 

****

At least, I want to believe these are the thoughts that ran through both of your heads. Earlier, when Daeran’s comment landed poorly and led to the most explosive fight I’d seen you two have since the Crusade, I’d felt perfectly useless. All of us still carry the ghosts of our past, and we’d spent so long trying to bury mine that I’d forgotten that you two still had yours to deal with. Words cannot describe how inadequate I felt as a partner in that moment.

Now, the three of us are lying on the floor of the living room, my shortcomings only still plaguing my own mind. You two had made up hours ago, and we carried on our evening in the way newlyweds are wont to do. But as you two drifted off to sleep, I found myself lying awake, haunted by my own, brand new ghost - the one borne of fear that one day I’d lose both of you. I’d been so wrapped up in the tangible ways that could happen, I didn’t realize all the other ways it could happen. 

The two of you lie on either side of me, your hands clasped below my breasts as your breathing evens out. The floor is far from comfortable, and the throw pillows from the couch aren’t much better, but just being here with you two…it doesn’t make it more comfortable, but there’s no other place I’d rather be. The crackling fire wants to lull me to sleep, and I know I should rouse you two before morning comes and the housemaid finds the three of us lying here naked. But for the moment, I am just savoring this moment, and thinking of ways we can help our ghosts to play nicely together in our new home.

[trashland-llamas]

The Missile is Eepy

Sleeping positions; Team 141 x GN! Reader

Price; while not very cuddly himself, he loves when y/n uses him as a teddy bear. wrapping their legs around his hips, arms wrapped around his torso with their head nuzzled into his neck. Price is a rather light sleeper so he usually picks up on y/n having a nightmare, jostling them awake as he sits up. 'shh, shh, it's okay. no one, not even the boogeyman can get you while I'm here.' whispering sweet nothings until they fall back asleep.

Simon; is the type to glue himself to y/n's back, following them as they shift around the bed. always needing a part of him to be touching them. he almost pushes them fully off the bed when he does this. 'Si, move over you big oaf.' not even awake, he halfway complies, giving up some of the blanket he had stolen. quickest way to console him is to flip around to where he's the little spoon, looping their fingers with his. placing a few kisses along his bare shoulder, tracing the few scars he has with their free hand.

Johnny; he tends to go to bed hours later than y/n, trying not to be too loud laughing at the sight. y/n's sprawled in the middle of the bed in a starfish position, limbs all stretched out. he doesn't even try to move them, simply crawling in between their legs, placing his head on their stomach. Laying a few raspberries along their skin from where their shirt had rode up. 'Johnny?'

'Yea, I'm here.' Accent thick with exhaustion. His eye fluttering shut as their hand reaches down to ruffle his hair.

Gaz; falls asleep on the couch more than he does in their shared bed. y/n ends up falling asleep while waiting for him at the opposite end. their legs draped over his lap while he plays at his games. when he does remember to go to bed, he'll end up carrying them. In bed, he uses y/n like a weighted blanket, very much in a 'please squash me' type of vibes. reassuring them that they're not too heavy.

[ashtons-lemon-tree]

[clarification; wisp isn't meant to be the reader's name in this, tis a pet name]

'what's wrong, wisp?' felix dropped his stuff when he heard y/n crying. 'i don't know, nothing bad has happened.' yet it didn't stop the tears from falling. meeting felix's concerned gaze as he wiped his thumbs under their eyes. 'sometimes you just need a good cry.' helping them crawl onto his lap. felix had a small inkling it might be from how touch starved they are. something a good hug could fix. on the offhand, it was a valid excuse for him to be touchy-feely with them. 'i guess...missed you.'

'yea? no one to keep you warm at night?' a teasing tone accompanying his words. he was down bad with how much he missed them. looking through his photo reel full of old dates before sleeping. double checking he had sent his goodnight text. 'no one hogging the covers sure was nice.' staying in a familiar silence, y/n took in felix's comforting scent. he would typically tickle them for their answer but didn't want to risk a bad reaction.

'have you eaten, wisp?' y/n lifted their head from his collarbone. asking as they heard their stomach growling. 'no.' felix picked them up, carrying them towards the kitchen. 'well, let's fix that. make some food then put on a show or movie and then more cuddles.' placing them on the counter, humming as he worked.

[urlocallesbiab]

Francis Cardenas, "The boy", as a trope personified:

So, a lot of us have noticed that DGHDA's holistics function as fiction tropes in-universe, bending the expectations of normalcy and reason of those around them for the benefit of "the narrative"/the universe and fate itself. They're more than just tropes applied — they're tropes incarnate, made real and tangible within the confines of the story, interacting with it on a somewhat metatextual level. We've got:

Dirk Gently as "main character syndrome"

Bart Curlish as "plot armor"

The Rowdy 3 as "deus ex machina van"

Mona Wilder as "swiss army weapon"

So, what does Francis stand for, with his god-like powers of bringing dreams and fantasies to life?

I think he's "the inciting incident".

Look at it:

He's the center of the Cardenas case (none of the deaths and disappearances would've happened if he didn't have his powers).

He's the reason the dimension of Wendimoor and its people exist at all.

He's the first ever project of Blackbook, the predecessor of Blackwing; in a way, he's the reason Blackwing exists.

And, as @goatyoat helpfully pointed out, Friedkin moving him was, chronologically speaking, the inciting incident of season 2 itself!

So, there you have it, QED *bows*

[sarcophagid]

deep sigh. post nathaniel headcanons

sure thing, tumblr user @sarcophagid.

serious hc:

Key to my specific Nathaniel interpretation is that I think he's a faker (everyone who I've talked to abt Nathaniel has heard this a million times I'm so sorry. Here's repeat one million and one). I explained it in a previous post but the gist is: it makes the most sense if the Norwells were fanning the flames of preexisting superstition to maintain/gain sociopolitical power, rather than acting out of genuine belief in witches. I don't think Nathaniel believing in god or smth is out of the question but a large fraction of what he says is probably a lie.

Personality-wise I think Nathaniel tries to be as balanced as possible, he's capable of a certain degree of charisma and false trustworthiness. There's a specific outward image he has to project (smth smth masks. hilarity!). But at the same time, it's not perfect. I don't think he's immune to aggravation, and given he decided of his own volition to capture Ithaqua's mother, he might jump the gun when faced with an opportunity. I think he also has a sense of superiority or like, extraordinary uniqueness. He sees others for their position in fixed places, often hierarchical places. There's a clear divide in people who are subordinate to him and people he is subordinate to, and there's no one else on the same rung of the ladder as him (unless..? story for another day). Adds a bit of irony to having a secret identical twin.

I like the idea of Nathaniel being a character focused on structure and rules, because Ithaqua as a character is very instinct and emotion driven. Nathaniel lives in a relatively rigid and strict society, most of his life is governed for him, and in a sense he still doesn't have much actual control in the bigger picture despite how much power his status grants him. I severely doubt he was forced to persecute people (he's smiling in the Night Watch trailer he very much likes being there), but I don't think Nathaniel is motivated by inherent natural born sadism (this is a key part of Nathaniel and Ithaqua's characterization to me but that's another story for another day). Although, it's likely he derives enjoyment from the feeling of power and control. He may not believe what he does is "good" (he knows what the work he does is. And the ringleaders of these types of operations usually don't believe their own words) but he does truly believe it's "necessary" for the continued stability of the plateau. This isn't to excuse him, it's just the explanation I see as most likely.

He practices mortification of the flesh - this is a belief that the body's earthly desires are inherently sinful and must be 'deadened' through various rituals, such as fasting, abstinence, and the infamous self-flagellation. ^ I thought this detail fit thematically with Ithaqua's character. Ithaqua seems to have a philosophy about being figuratively 'dead' or 'alive' associated with one's humanity, being born 'dead' and returning to life and humanity with his mother. But when his mother loses her humanity he too abandons humanity, citing that 'the living will no longer come near her'. I thought it would be an interesting to add a similar philosophy about wanting to be deadened and free from human shackles, but in a very different way ^ But as aforementioned I think Nathaniel's kind of a fraud. I don't have a solid line drawn on how much he really believes the doctrine but aside from genuine belief, I think it's also possible that pain and harm give him a sense of certainty and control over an otherwise immutable physiology. (I'm not sure if if I'm articulating this the way I want to TOT, I might expand later)

less serious hc:

Between the two, Nathaniel is a bit pastier and scrawnier. Sorry but Ithaqua's running around touching grass, meanwhile Nathaniel's holed up in the basement doing you-know-what. They still look remarkably alike, but Nathaniel's... ever so washed out.

I think he knows a bit of ecclesiastical latin (ugh). I think he would've liked learning abt language structures etc in general (this is bullshit i just like etymology and all my faves do too)

Me and my mutual were talking abt this but access to spicy food aside, he'd be sensitive to spicy food (He is white.) but that wouldn't stop him from eating it he'd just be dying

On the topic of food Nathaniel is capable of many culinary mysteries like turning everything into grey mush. And oil fire.

I think he's scared of bugs & snakes. He worries about being spied on also 🤔