#which I’m in the middle of revising right now

[headfullof-ideas]

Soft follow-up to my Monumential post. We don’t know much about Lemuria and the Monumentials themselves, aside from the fact that Lemuria sank six thousand years prior to the show, and the Monumentials have been around for at least a little longer than that. Long enough that Lemuria already had more than one device to control them, and effectively enough that it seemed to be a somewhat militant thing. At least that’s what the intention was when the Benthos line tried to usurp Doreus.

But that’s all we know. There’s not much information about how long the Monumentials had been around, or what Lemuria was like in regard to the rest of the world. Which means it’s a whole entire sandbox for us six fans to play with. I’ve already talked about how I also like to imply that the Monumentials aren’t from this world, but I also like to play with Lemuria’s origins, the Nekton and Benthos’s families connection to one another, and all sorts of other stuff. Each AU I have tends to have slightly different origins or functions when it comes to Lemuria and the Monumentials lore, but I’ve built an entire background for the Monumentials and how they’re linked to Lemuria’s history.

I’m writing this because I’ve been revising and editing my Subnautica/The Deep story, and all the above is pretty important to the story itself, aside from a few tweaks to make it fit with the games lore

[onlymingyus]

Your Eyes Only (teaser)

pairing; choi soobin x f!reader x park sunghoon

genre; smut (minor dni), angst, midly toxic, comedy, fluff

summary; Groups projects are the worst, right? But when your group is Soobin and Sunghoon it gets interesting.

content warnings; poly themes, rich kids, university au, jealousy, self-confidence issues, fuck boy!sunghoon, nerd!soobin, alcohol, drug mentioned, mild bullying.  

smut warnings; protected sex, semi-unprotected sex, cum play, fingering, oral (f/m giving and receiving), hand job, cum eating, double penetration, anal sex, anal fingering, very mild mlm, pets names/degrading names, dirty talk, glasses kink, begging.

w/c; 21k and some change [2.1k this teaser]

a/n; thank you to @junkissed for proofreading for me and givng me the courage to write outside of my svt box. i know this is different BUT if you are looking for the svt version it is on my Patreon right now 🤫not saying which members took the place of soobin and sunghoon but.... it's a good good one imo.

this fic will be released 12/16 to read the revised version now subscribe to my patreon and click here

Chewing on the end of your pen, you tap your heel against the leg of the table as you listen to your professor explain the basics of the project that would pass or fail you in his class. You had spent most of your time at university avoiding any course that you knew would involve a group project, but this was one class you couldn’t get out of. 

“You will be randomly paired with a partner for this project.” Glancing around, your professor sighs and looks down the list of names in front of him before pursing his lips. “And one group will have to welcome in a third. You can thank those who dropped the class for the uneven number.” 

It was no secret that there were those in the class who were well acquainted with each other and those who were set up for success in the business field, so the random assignment of partners was already making everyone nervous. You were somewhere in the middle of everyone. You weren’t unknown, and it wasn’t like you didn’t have connections after you graduated, but you were no Park Sunghoon with your life already on a silver platter in front of you. 

Glancing up as your professor starts to move through the classroom, you swallow hard as he starts to call out names, putting together the groups. 

“Lee Yongbok, you will be with Kang Taehyun.” 

Great. Only one pair had been named, and you already felt like you were going to be left with someone who would leave you with 90% of the work. Puffing up your cheeks, you glance around the room before quicking looking down at your desk when you meet the one person’s eyes that you had been trying to avoid, Sunghoon. He looked so smug—like he didn’t give a shit about who he was put with, because it honestly didn’t matter. He knew he wouldn’t fail, and he probably wouldn’t have to do a damn thing. This would all be fine as long as you didn’t get put with—

“Park Sunghoon, you will be with Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Letting out a deep breath, louder than you mean to, you meet your professor's eyes just before he looks down at his clipboard and purses his lips. “I think honestly this might be the perfect group for a third, so I’m going to add Choi Soobin. You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Park?’ 

Of course your professor had only asked Sunghoon if he minded. What if you had an issue with it? Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Soobin glances from the professor at the front of the room towards you and then Sunghoon as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

“It’s whatever. I can make it work.” 

“Perfect, I knew I could count on you.” 

The sound of your professor's voice is almost muffled as he continues to call out names, Hwang Yeji being paired with Ning Yizhuo and Park Jongseong with Julie Han. None of them mattered because you could feel eyes on you and were too nervous to look up and see who they belonged to. 

“That’s everyone. Now, take the rest of the hour to get acquainted and make a plan for your project. Remember, I want a detailed business plan that I would actually want to put money into. This is 75% of your grade. I expect results.” 

Finally looking up, you are relieved to see the room moving into action and no one staring at you. It isn’t until Sunghoon lifts his brows and slides from his chair, picking up his bag, that you feel your heart in your chest. You hadn’t spent much time with him before. He made you nervous—he made almost everyone nervous. 

Sunghoon’s father was the CEO of some multimillion-dollar company, and he didn’t even need to be here, except his father wanted him to prove he could take the reins when the time came. Everyone knew that Sunghoon resented the decision, and while he was a genius—truly brilliant—he barely did any of the work and still managed to pass with flying colors by magic every single time. 

The other side of Sunghoon was the one that you knew just by reputation. You didn’t have time to party. While some got their way here on their parent’s money, you had gotten in on a scholarship and had to keep your GPA where it was or risk your full ride. You heard about the parties every weekend; you had been invited—but you had stuck to your dorm almost every time. Sunghoon, on the other hand, did not. He hosted the parties and kept putting notches in his bedpost from what you had been told through the rumor mill. 

“Dude, shit or get off the pot. Are you sitting on this side of her, or am I?” Sunghoon’s voice made your cheeks heat up as you looked up to watch him and Soobin stand in front of your table. 

Soobin was, as far as you knew, the polar opposite of Sunghoon. He was quiet and reserved—more like you. His family was wealthy, and you knew that he probably didn’t need to be here either, but from what you had gathered, he chose to be here, like he had something to prove. 

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Soobin narrows his eyes at Sunghoon and sighs before sliding into the chair on your left, leaving the right side open for the other man. He had never gotten along with Sunghoon. They had been in almost every single class together since day one, and somehow Sunghoon always was top of the class. It didn’t matter how much work Soobin put into something; Sunghoon’s smug ass was always one step ahead. 

“Hey, Y/N. We, uh—we haven’t talked much. Excited to do the project with—” 

“Oh my god, obvious much?” 

Sinking down into the chair on your right, Sunghoon rests his arm on the back of your chair and looks around you at Soobin, cutting him off. Meanwhile, in the middle, you felt small as the tension built between the two. Clearing your throat, you lean forward to grab your notebook and pen in an attempt to clear the air. 

“I’m excited to do the project with you too, Soobin.” Glancing towards him, you quickly look at Sunghoon, finding that it feels like a mistake as he meets your eyes with a smirk. “And with you too, Sunghoon, you know… of course.” Your mouth feels dry as Sunghoon’s smirk widens into a smile, his eyes moving over your face and dropping to your lips before he nods and furrows his brows in a teasing manner. 

“Oh, I’m sure. You look thrilled, princess.” 

Opening your mouth, you quickly close it as Sunghoon calls you princess, managing to fluster you even further. “I—no, I am. I mean—I just…um.” Shaking your head, you drop your pen onto your notebook and fish your cellphone from your purse as you swallow hard. “We should probably exchange numbers or something. So we can plan a time to meet and work on the project.” 

Nodding, Soobin straightens his back as he furrows his brows, trying to keep his head clear as you struggle so much with your words. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was excited to work on the project with you. You had caught his eye weeks—maybe even months—ago and now he had a reason to talk to you, if he could keep Sunghoon’s claws off of you. 

“Yeah, sure. Uh—” Smiling as you turn towards him, Soobin watches as you put his number into your phone; your thumbs quickly move over the screen before you tilt your head and meet his eyes. 

“What emoji do you want?” Up close, Soobin was even more handsome than you realized. You weren’t stupid; you had looked at him and at Sunghoon before. While Sunghoon was a dangerous sort of sexy that made you both terrified and excited, Soobin made your stomach feel warm and tight when he smiled at you. 

“Emoji? Do I need one?” 

Sighing, you give Soobin an exasperated look as you scroll through the emoji’s landing on the smiley face with glasses. “Everyone needs one. You can’t be the only one without one in my phone, Soobin.” 

“Are you gonna pick one out for me, or do I get to pick?” 

Sunghoon’s voice causes chill bumps to erupt along your skin as you press your lips together and turn back in your seat to face the front of the room. “Uh, no, you can pick. I mean, unless you just want me to pick.” 

Grinning at how flustered you seem every single time you talk to him, Sunghoon raises his brow and glances down at your phone as you put his name in and wait for him to tell you his number. “You can call or text anytime.” Leaning his arm back on his own chair, Sunghoon tilts his head as you go back up to his name and start to scroll through the emojis, not commenting on what he had said. “You pick one. I’m curious to see what you’ll choose.” 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you glance to the side at Sunghoon before letting it out in a sharp sigh, trying not to let him get to you. You aren’t sure if it’s just wanting to try to prove something to him or stupidity, but with a small burst of confidence, you purse your lips together and scroll until you find the devil emoji pressing down on it and then save. 

“Wow. Damn, Y/N. That’s kinda hot.” Sliding his phone from his jacket pocket, Sunghoon quickly types your name into his contacts and puts an angel emoji next to your name before turning it towards you for you to put your own number in. “I already have Soobin’s number; I just need yours, Angel.” 

Leaning his head back, Soobin tries not to show how annoyed he is at Sunghoon’s blatant flirting with you after he had tried to embarrass him from the get-go. Instead, he waits for you to finish putting your number into Sunghoon’s phone and for you to turn to him expectantly. He could almost see how flustered you were, and while Soobin wished that he was the cause, he wasn’t that dense. “Here you go.” 

Quickly putting your number into Soobin’s phone, you meet his eyes as you scroll through the emojis one last time before picking the girl with glasses as your emoji and saving it in his phone. “Cool. Uh, did you guys wanna go ahead and set up a time and place to get started on the project? I kinda have a few ideas for some business proposals, but of course we should all have some so we can decide together.” 

You were so cute as you tried to stay on task. No matter how much Sunghoon tried to tease you, and no matter how flustered he made you, you still found your way back to the task at hand. You were persistent; he had to hand it to you. 

“I’m good anytime—well, not anytime. I have plans this weekend. So anytime before Friday night.” 

Rolling his eyes, Soobin lets out a loud sigh and leans towards the table to rest his forearms on the top. Of course Sunghoon would have plans and make the rest of the group work around them. Furrowing his brows at Soobin’s outburst, Sunghoon shifts in his chair and lifts his hand from the table like a question. 

“Problem?” 

“I mean, yeah. Literally told, this is basically our entire grade and you’d rather get trashed—” 

The tension is once again getting thick. You sit up straight and clear your throat, trying to stop the argument before it starts. You had been concerned about this group for other reasons, and now you were starting to realize you were going to be spending your time trying to keep Sunghoon and Soobin from killing each other for the few weeks it would take to complete the project and present it. 

“We don’t have to meet this weekend. How about Thursday? No one has to cancel plans right now. We are just getting started.” Glancing from one man to the other, you look for sympathy as a slight pout forms on your lips. “Please don’t argue. I just want to get a good grade on this. I really need it. I just need you guys to help me pick something out, and I’ll research. I don’t need much.” 

Taking a breath and pursing his lips, Sunghoon lets his eyes stay on Soobin for a moment longer—a look of contempt evident before he shifts his gaze to you, and it softens slightly. “It’s a date. Your place or mine?” 

READ THE FULL REVISED VERSION OF THE FIC NOW ON PATREON

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.

[muniimyg]

NAKED // KNJ

note to self: take baths alone from now on

+

in which nam joon takes any and every opportunity to see you naked

pairing: boyfriend nam joon + oc 

au/genre:

(new) established relationship

non-idol au

fluff, crack, and smut

warnings:

explicit langauge and behaviour ...

cockwarming & riding,, some titty grabbing & basic ass position changes

THEY SAY ILY FOR THE FIRST TIME :D

note: originally posted on @/meowachi ,, revised !!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns

The water is colder than you expected. 

Your body reacts with goosebumps to which you let out a shiver. Maybe you took too much time getting everything ready that you missed this bath water’s prime temperature… Guess you didn’t girl-math this right. 

Oh well. 

There’s always next time, right?

Thankfully, his bare body holding yours makes it easier to adjust. He nuzzles his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, not missing the chance to hold your breasts for a moment. You scold him as if it’s second nature and he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your neck as an apology. 

Then, you take this moment in. Honestly, setting up music was a good idea. Along with the scented candles, the bubbles in your bath, the bath lavender bath bomb, and the bath salts—all such amazing details. Everything would’ve been perfect if only Nam Joon wasn’t complaining every five seconds. 

“I hate baths.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“The bath salts went up my ass—”

Finally, you shush him.

“Please,” he cries, “can we fuck?”

Rolling your eyes, you raise your hand and flick him with your fingers. He purses his lips and shuts his eyes in response. Nam Joon sighs, feeling defeated for the nth time tonight. Prior to this bath, he had suggested shower sex. To which, you argued you’d be too afraid to try since you’re as clumsy as they come… And he himself… Well, it was nice of him to ask.

It’s not like you didn’t want to have sex tonight… No, of course, you do. Your handsome and beefy boyfriend was naked, holding you.. Who wouldn’t be turned on? You just feel like being annoying. You want to push him as far as you can. You want to see how good he stays. How well self-disciplined he is. 

So, you sink into his body again, taking another deep breath in. 

Let’s try this again.

Relax.

You want to relax. 

That’s all you want to do.

It doesn’t last. A few giggles escape your lips as he begins to place small kisses on your shoulder all the way to the sides of your face. 

“Nam Joon…” you attempt to sound annoyed.

In his low voice, he hums; “Yes, my love?”

“You’re not making me feel relaxed!” Suddenly, you squirm as he bites your shoulder playfully. “I want to—stop that! I just want to relax, Joonie! You said you wanted to join me. You insisted.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, only half meaning his apology. No, he wasn’t sorry. He was a man, after all. What idiot would turn down being naked in a tub of water with you? Fucking losers, that’s who. 

He squishes your body closer to him. “So... is this what you do?” 

You nod.

“Is this all that you do? This is so boring. You don’t even have those ducks to play with or like a toy boat that moves—”

“Nam Joon,” you warn, groaning at how talkative he’s becoming. “You can leave. I wouldn’t mind watching you ass walk away right now.” 

He laughs in response, getting the hint. You want to relax. He wants to be with you. This was the middle ground.

“Sorry,” he means it this time. “I’m just bored.. Like, I pictured this to be more… Sexy? Aren’t you supposed to seduce me?” Nam Joon wiggles his eyebrows at you. To that, you offer him and confused look.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ve been seducing you this entire time..” you gaslight.

He lowers his gaze. “You’ve been ignoring me since the minute we settled in the tub.”

“Aren’t you turned on?”

“No.”

You smile at him warmly, yet your tone is cold. “My love, if that’s the case… Then why do I feel your dick poking in between my legs right now?” 

He gulps.

“It’s hard.”

“I thought you said it’s boring.”

Nam Joon whines, “___, my dick is hard. I’m bored. Please sit on it.”

You gasp. 

Although, you can’t say you aren’t surprised. You’ve been together for less than a year yet he has never missed a chance to suggest such acts. Most days, you’d give in and it would be a good time. But today… You figure it would be much more fun to be a tease. This mood is sponsored by your incoming period. Regardless if it’s PMS or all your stress from work; it didn’t really matter. You just knew you weren't in the mood for super wet, slippery, hot sex in cold bath water. Imagine all the water that would be splashed on the floor! You’d be the one left to clean all of it up. Nam Joon would probably slip and hurt himself if you ordered him to do the cleaning duties.

“Okay,” you tease. “I’ll sit on your dick.”

He cheers. 

“But I won’t move.”

“W-what?” Nam Joon blinks. 

You shrug, pushing yourself up on his lap. When you find his length, you quickly guide it inside of you. No warning, not even a little rub in between. Nam Joon gulps the second he feels his cock inside of you. Unlike the water, you’re so warm. He hisses, feeling his dick begin to throb inside your tight walls. 

“M-mean,” he hisses. “You’re so mean.”

Ignoring him, you sink yourself even deeper. Now, he’s fully inside you and you’re completely sitting on him. You feel his tip and how far he is inside you.. It makes your body feel tingles and you honestly contemplate if you should just give in.

He feels so good. 

… And you hate to admit it but you overestimated yourself.

You’re having a hard time too. 

Yet, you stick it through. You have to! Rare are the moments you get where Nam Joon loses complete control.

“You asked me to sit on your dick. Sure, I’ll sit on your dick… But I’m not moving. I’m not going reverse cowgirl style. I’m not going doggy. I’m not fucking you.”

“So you’re just going to cockwarm me?” he asks, feeling betrayed. “But you love riding me!”

You glare at him. “No, I don’t. It’s tiring. It’s boring.” 

Nam Joon’s eyebrows furrow together. He tries his best to focus on your words and not how perfect you are inside of him. He’s stressed as fuck but he needs to prove to you that he can get through this… He has a feeling that winning you over will get him the reward he’s been after. 

“Then why do you do it?” 

This is news to him too. You always looked like you enjoyed riding him. Honestly, you probably ride him more than you two do in any other position. Also, why would he question it? You never really complained until now. It’s one of the things he liked so much about you.. It’s like, you just knew him. 

“You love it and I love you—”

Your eyes widen.

Did you really just say that? All this time, you were worried about slipping… Who knew it wasn’t about your body but rather your words? 

You two haven’t said it to each other yet. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. In this position too? In a fucking cold ass bath? It should’ve been more romantic! Plus, he should’ve said it first! You had it all planned out.. You were going to get it out of him before you could say it first. 

As you open your mouth to deny, take back, or spit out an excuse, his words make your world stop. 

“I love you too.”

Your breath hitches. “W-what?”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.. For the past like… Six months but I couldn’t find the right moment. I figured one day, you’d just get it out of me yourself.” Nam Joon looks awfully shy to you right now. It makes your heart flutter. 

“I thought the same,” you confess. “I wanted you to say it first.”

“Okay,” Nam Joon chuckles, “Then I said it first.”

Your heart begins to pound louder and faster. God, was he always this good with words? In all honesty, Nam Joon has no problem being the first to yield or confess.. He just needed time. Right now, he knew it well. You’re the right person at the right time. He’s so grateful.

“I wanted it to be more romantic.”

Instantly, he dips his head and kisses you slowly. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “A slow kiss. Romantic, right? Better?”

You shake your head. 

“You have to hold my hand when you say it,” you whine. “It only makes sense that way.”

“Then, you have to look at me,” he negotiates. “You can’t be looking the other way when I say it.”

“Fine.”

You shift, pulling his dick out for a second. You adjust yourself, opening your legs and facing him. Now, your breasts were completely in front of him. He takes slow deep breaths as you put him inside you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head. 

God, you’re so sexy.

With or without clothes, Nam Joon thinks you’re the sexiest human to ever exist. It wasn’t because your body was perfect; it was all because of the way you carried your confidence. It was that exact something he sensed and fell into an intense trance over. Moments like these play over and over in his head when he’s away from you. Moments where he feels so close to you. Physically, this was it. There is nothing more he could ask for. 

You: naked and on top of him. 

But more than that, what makes moments like these so special is the fact that he feels like he knows your soul. Bare, imperfect and so loving. It was sexy to have someone like you. It was something he had never experienced before with past loves. This was a first for him. A first real, sexy, and beautiful love. It was more than your body—it always has been. Regardless, who is he to not try? At the end of the day, he has needs. 

“Say it.” 

He laughs as he intertwines your fingers together. He raises them above the water to show you. Bringing your hands to his lips, he looks up at you and kisses your knuckles. 

“I love you, ___.”

You pout. 

He kisses your wrist and then pulls you closer to him. He kisses your breast, your collarbone, your shoulder, your cheeks, and the corner of your lip. “I’ve loved you for a while now. I’m sorry it took a cold bath to get it out of me.”

“Should’ve taken a bath together sooner.”

He laughs into your kiss. “Too bad the bath salts aren’t making me feel too sexy right now,” he confesses his uncomfortability. This is his last attempt. “Unless…”

“Spit it out,” you say, unamused.

“It’s just—”

“We’re not fucking in this bath of cold water, Joon. Give it up!” you laugh as you cup his cheeks together. You squish his lips with your thumb and index, making kissy faces at him. “No more fucking around.”

His suggestive eyes suddenly soften. “Fucking? ___, I wanted to make love… Since, you know.. I love you.”

Three times.

He said, “I love you,” three times now.

And perhaps, you’re not built for this hard-to-get lifestyle when the love of your life says such dreamy things. Of course, you’d give in. As they all say; the third time’s a charm. 

You burst into laughter, unable to hold yourself back. Desperately, you kiss him for what feels like forever, and as much as you resist; you end up riding him. 

The second you move yourself up and down, Nam Joon’s eyes widen and he smiles into the kiss. He can’t believe he won you over. 

“Fucking finally… Or should I say… Finally fucking?” Nam Joon chides, liking his word play more than he should.

Nerd alert.

You grunt, “s-shut up.” 

As you two continue to make out, you begin to move your hips as you slowly but surely begin to bounce on his hard cock. It feels so good to finally do this. As you move at a faster pace, the water begins to splash and for a second, you turn your head to make sure it isn’t going to flood the floor. But Nam Joon places his hand on your chin and the top of your neck, guiding you to look at him. 

“Don’t look away,” he hisses. “It’s just water. Focus on me.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheeks. 

For stability, you place your hands on his chest. You feel his heart and how fast it’s racing. His skin has little goosebumps due to the cold water, but you can also see sweat from his forehead lightly layer on top of his perfect skin. His eyebrows are knitted together, as he gathers all his mental strength not to cum yet. At one point, you see his lips make an ‘o’. Why was he trying so hard to last? 

“Just cum,” you assure him. “It’s fine.”

He shakes his head, refusing to give in this early. “It’s your fucking boobs,” Nam Joon blames. “Mmhff—s-shit. What the hell. Fuck it.” 

Without warning, he places his hands on your waist and lifts you up. Nam Joon gently, yet firmly, turns you over. Your chin rests just over the rim of the tub, along with your arms. Your back is arched as he backs your ass up to his dick. He takes his fingers and plays with your clit for a bit. You moan, unable to fathom just how fucking sexy this all is. You feel yourself coming close. Before you know it, he sticks himself back in and begins to pump. Nam Joon pumps himself at a steady pace. At first, they were short and fast strokes that made the water spill over and you moan louder than usual. As you reach your peak and so does he; his strokes transition to long and deep ones. 

After a few more pumps, he lets himself go and cups your breasts with his hands. You don’t feel his cum inside of you as your walls still tingle, but you know it’s inside. Regardless of the water, you just know he creamed you messy as usual. 

As you two catch your breath, he kisses your neck once again. 

“For round two…” Nam Joon teases, “I’m thinking shower sex. Thoughts?”

“Haha,” you play along. “No.”

Nam Joon pouts, giving you puppy eyes. “... But I love you.” 

You can’t help but melt.

Oh, you’re so fucked.

You know for a fact he’ll be using this line for a while… And it’ll work. He’ll get you every time. But it’s okay! You love him too. You want him too. You need him too.

Besides, you’ll be charging him the water bill.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling.  So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle. 

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good. 

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes. 

What’s worth Salvaging:  While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special. 

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm. 

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and  work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs.  Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills. 

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers:  They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make.  Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something. 

Artsource

[obeythebutler]

Hey, I'm glad to see you back!

I'd like to request "having a water balloon fight in their own backyard" with Leviathan, or "both waking up in the middle of the night and going on an adventure to find the perfect snack" with Belphegor please.

Whichever one you find the easiest to write. ^_^

Humans primarily sleep at night.

To recharge for the day ahead, ensure that new memories are consolidated in the brain and to rest and repair cells.

Belphegor sleeps because his sin compels him to.

Effects of such an extended sleep schedule hasn't been studied yet in demons. You think. There are simply too many books in RAD's library for you to conduct a research project, and nor have you stumbled upon any such scientific papers yet. But it is evident that all those extra hours of slumber have had a positive effect on the demon's memory. You had watched him use the RAD-issued Devildom History Textbook, 671th revised edition as a pillow before his test during second period in class. Your own two eyes can testify that he had not studied; and yet he had scored full marks.

Osmosis; he had told you with a snarky grin.

You roll around in your bed, the movement effective in stirring the demon from his sleep. Belphegor pokes out from the mountain of blankets like a cranky cat being awoken: bedhead glory and all. Gapes at you for a moment or two and groans when you stare back.

"Stop staring at me like that. You're creeping me out."

"But I can't sleep," You counter, nudging yourself closer until your forehead touches his shoulder, and you burrow further into it. "And you always are awake at random hours in the night."

You hear him sigh. Once. Twice. Then a hand stretches out to reach for the D.D.D. on the table.

"You're right," He whispers, voice heavy with sleep. "And now we're both awake together."

“What to do then?”

“I don’t want to get up.”

"Me neither."

"Mhm."

It takes three minutes for you to blurt out the words: “I’m feeling hungry for a snack though.”

"Beel might already be in the kitchen," He states, resting his head under his arm. "And Lucifer is awake at this time."

"Blegh."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh-"

Fifteen minutes later, you and Belphie stand in front of the establishment.

"It's closed."

Belphegor mutters with dejection at the closed sign in front of him. The always open 6/13 is closed. Under repair, the notice glued on the door states.

All that walking for nothing.

You check your D.D.D. "Let's try Uncle Demon. You and Beel often frequent it for donoughts, right?"

"Yes, but I don't want something sweet right now."

"Savoury?"

"Yes."

Belphegor rubs his eyes. "Cafe Lament has revised its working hours from 10 to 11pm to being open till 2am in the night."

"How'd you know that?"

"Beel told me."

An Ignis Owl hoots in the distance, breaking the quiet. You are reminded to look at the time. "We have," You bend down to tie your shoelaces, "Exactly twenty-five minutes before it closes."

"Shit." He says. "Better hurry."'

Countless times Lucifer has had to drag his brother downstairs to the dining table. Innumerable instances have occurred where one of the brothers had to carry Belphegor to whatever destination they were after in that moment. Many a times he fell asleep in your lap.

And now he's grabbing your hand and making a run for it.

The wind roars in your ears as you scuttle along with him. His face is determined, hair tousled by the wind, breath coming out in huffs.

You know he'll be exhausted by the end of it all, eyes droopy and breath slowed. He's so much like a cat sometimes, getting brief bursts of hyperactivity in the night, then settling down near you for a nap.

Lucifer hasn't started blowing up your D.D.D., which means the ruse of pillows arranged like two bodies sleeping has worked. Or that the demon has decided to plop down on his pile of paperwork face-first in exhaustion. Beelzebub has gone back to sleep. You'll get a snack packed for him too, hand it over in the morning.

Later, when both of your cravings have been satiated, and the clock will strike three, you and Belphegor will make it back to the house, the gates opening quietly. They're old iron gates, and usually they would screech, but the House knows the mannerisms of its inhabitants: when to be loud and when to be silent.

You know you're going to wake up late, but midnight adventures like these don't come often.

For now, you're content sleeping with your demon in the attic.

[vixxxsos]

The Fifth Member

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Reader Genre/Themes: Friends to Enemies to Lovers Warnings: Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn Word count: 7.628K Author's Note: Very poorly revised. It's my first time writing fanfiction, so I hope you all like it. It's also my first time posting on Tumblr, feeling like a 85 year old trying to understand technology. I'll get better with time.

Synopsis: Y/N was always there. Before the sold-out arenas, the chart-topping albums, the global tours—she was there. A constant in the chaos, the fifth member who didn’t need a mic or a spotlight. She didn’t play an instrument, couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she was family. She was home.

To the fans, she was the girl in the background of every backstage photo, the laugh behind every chaotic livestream, the one who always seemed to be right where the band needed her. Until one day… she wasn’t.

No announcements. No explanations. Just gone.

Now, years later, the world sees the band rebuilding. But behind closed doors, there’s a name they still don’t say out loud. A silence heavier than any breakup song they’ve ever written. Because losing her wasn’t just a fallout—it was the unraveling of everything they used to be.

And for Y/N? Disappearing wasn’t the end of the story.

It was only the beginning. 2014

The diner at 2 a.m. wasn’t much of a scene.

The neon sign outside flickered every few seconds, casting a dull red glow through the windows. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate from the one other customer sitting at the far end. I was behind the counter, flipping through a battered magazine, pretending I wasn’t on the verge of passing out from sheer boredom.

And then the bell over the door jingled.

I barely looked up. The graveyard shift regulars were predictable—truck drivers looking for caffeine, insomniacs killing time, the occasional drunk stumbling in for something greasy to soak up the alcohol. Nothing new.

But this guy?

This guy was loud.

“God, it smells like heaven in here. Or grease. Same thing, really.”

His voice was way too enthusiastic for someone walking into a half-dead diner in the middle of the night. Messy red hair, black skinny jeans, a hoodie that looked two sizes too big. He had the kind of presence that made the room feel smaller, like he sucked up all the quiet the second he stepped inside.

I sighed, shutting my magazine and bracing myself.

“What can I get you?”

He slid onto one of the stools at the counter, drumming his fingers against the surface like he was thinking real hard about this decision.

“Alright, what’s your honest opinion—do I go for pancakes or a burger? I trust you. This is a big decision.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At 2 a.m.? Pancakes. Always pancakes.”

His grin widened like I’d just told him the meaning of life. “Great, that’s what I’m getting then.”

I scribbled the order down and passed it to the kitchen, stealing another glance at him as he looked around like this was the most fascinating place he’d ever been.

Who the hell is this guy?

A few minutes later, I set the plate of pancakes in front of him.

He devoured them. I had never seen someone eat so aggressively. And between bites, he talked—a lot. 

“So, serious question," he said, pointing his fork at me like he was about to make a groundbreaking statement. "If you had to give up either coffee or music for the rest of your life, which would you pick?"

I snorted despite myself. "I hate coffee. Easy choice."

He blinked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime. “You hate coffee?”

I nodded, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Can’t stand the stuff. Smells better than it tastes.”

He sat back like I’d physically stunned him. “That’s... genuinely tragic.”

I shrugged. “Guess I’m living life on hard mode.”

He laughed, a real one, not forced. It made the empty diner feel a little less hollow. "You don't know what you're missing," he said. "Coffee's the only reason half the world isn't dead on their feet."

"Or maybe it's why half the world is jittery and miserable," I offered.

He pointed at me, like I’d scored a point. "Okay, that’s fair."

He stabbed another piece of pancake and shook his head. “You’re lucky this place makes good pancakes. Otherwise, I might've walked right back out.”

I smirked. “Yeah, because you seem like a real harsh critic.”

“You have no idea.” He smiled, and there was something easy in it, like he was used to making people laugh and wasn’t trying too hard now. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

I hesitated a second, then said, “Nice to meet you, Michael.”

“No name?” he teased.

I gave a small shrug. "You’re the one who walked in here monologuing about the smell of grease. Gotta earn it."

He let out a low whistle. “Tough crowd.”

“Graveyard shift crowd,” I corrected. "We're built different."

He laughed again — quieter this time, almost to himself — and went back to demolishing his food.

After he finished, he wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled a crumpled wad of cash from his hoodie pocket. I rang him up, rattling off the total.

He slid the money across the counter with a grin. "Keep the change, mystery girl."

I glanced down and froze. It was way too much.

I looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

He shrugged, easygoing. “Best pancakes I've had in a long time. Best conversation, too.”

Before I could argue, he was already sliding off the stool, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Thanks for the life advice. And the existential coffee debate," he said, backing toward the door.

"You’re welcome... I guess?"

The bell over the door jingled as he stepped out into the night.

I watched him go, the diner suddenly too quiet again.

Some loud, overly friendly guy passing through, looking for late-night food and conversation.

But then…

He came back the next night.

"What's up, mystery girl?"

I looked up. It was him again — Michael. Same disheveled red hair, same oversized hoodie, but now he had a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"You're back," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Should I start charging you a cover fee?"

He flopped down onto the counter stool like he was right at home. "Only if I can get a VIP pass to the coffee-less club."

I couldn’t help it — I rolled my eyes. "You're a special kind of crazy, you know that?"

"Crazy? Pfft. I’m awesome," he said. “So, what's new with you?"

"Not much. Same old, same old. You know, working this exciting graveyard shift," I said, gesturing to the empty diner with a sweep of my arm. "You?"

He leaned back on the stool, drumming his fingers against the counter. "Band stuff. Same old, same old. We're playing small venues and trying to make noise wherever we can. The usual musician grind."

"A band?" I raised an eyebrow. "You're in a band?"

"Yup. You’ve probably never heard of us. We’re still working on getting some decent traction." He grinned, looking way too casual for someone who was in a band. "But we’re good, I swear. You might even like us if you gave us a chance."

"Why’d you get so offended about me preferring music if you’re a musician?" I asked, leaning on the counter with a smirk.

He looked at me like I’d just cracked the code to his whole existence. "I wasn’t offended," he said quickly, but I could hear the hint of defensiveness in his voice. "It’s just... well, coffee’s the fuel for music, you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "The fuel?"

"Yeah, I mean, you can’t be a proper musician if you don’t survive on coffee and zero sleep. It’s a whole vibe, you know?"

I stared at him, trying not to laugh. "You’re really serious about this."

He nodded, looking deadpan. "Coffee is basically the air that musicians breathe."

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. "I think you might be overhyping the whole caffeine thing."

He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Okay, maybe it’s a little dramatic. But seriously, it’s part of the process. Like, how am I supposed to write music if I don’t have coffee running through my veins?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "So, if I told you I could survive just fine without it, you’d think I was crazy?"

"Honestly?" He paused for a second, his grin turning playful. "Yeah, I think I would. I mean, it’s just part of the ritual, you know?"

I leaned back, pretending to think about it. "I get it. Luckily, I don’t need to like coffee because my musical abilities are nonexistent. I’m happy just appreciating good songs."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "So, no secret talents? Not even a little bit of musical genius hiding under all that mystery?"

I chuckled. "If I have any secret talents, they definitely don’t involve playing instruments or singing."

"Well, that’s a shame," he said with mock disappointment, "because I was about to offer you a spot in our band. Guess you’ll have to settle for being our number one fan."

I grinned. "I can definitely handle being a fan. No coffee-induced breakdowns required."

He laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "Fair enough. But hey, you might change your mind one day. You’ll hear one of our songs and think, "I need to be part of that."

I shook my head, smiling. "We’ll see about that.” “Okay, until then, I need more pancakes.”

Michael became a regular before I even had time to process it.

At first, it was just him—showing up at ungodly hours, ordering pancakes like they were the only food group that mattered, and talking my ear off about his band.

The guy never shut up.

But somehow, I didn’t mind.

I’d gotten used to customers who barely looked at me, let alone asked me anything about my life. But Michael? He talked to me like we’d known each other forever. Like I was actually interesting. It threw me off at first.

And then, he just disappeared.

One night he was there, rambling about some demo they were working on, leaving a tip that made my entire shift worth it. And then—nothing. No messy red hair walking through the door at 2 a.m., no overenthusiastic debates about pancakes versus burgers.

At first, I figured he was just busy. Maybe his band had finally booked a good gig. Maybe he’d found a new all-night diner to bother. But weeks passed. Then months.

And honestly? It kind of sucked.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to him until he wasn’t there anymore. My shifts felt longer, the nights quieter.

So by the time I started letting go of the idea that I’d ever see him again, I wasn’t expecting much. People came and went all the time. Michael was just another one of them.

Until he wasn’t.

The bell over the diner door jingled, the same way it always did, but this time, when I glanced up, I froze.

Because standing there—grinning like he hadn’t just vanished for months—was Michael.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Mystery girl!” His voice rang through the diner like he’d never left. “Guess what? I brought company.”

I didn’t even have time to process my relief before my eyes landed on the guy next to him.

Tan skin, dark curls, a warm kind of confidence that didn’t come off as cocky—but still made it clear he knew who he was.

Michael clapped him on the back. “This is Calum. He plays bass. Also, he’s an idiot, but we keep him around.”

Calum rolled his eyes, sliding onto the stool next to Michael’s. “Ignore him. I’m actually the most talented one in the band.”

His voice was smooth, lighthearted, but there was something boyish underneath it—like he was still figuring himself out, even if he’d never admit it.

And even though he was confident, he didn’t look at me like he was waiting for a reaction. He just existed, comfortable in his own skin, but not trying to impress anyone.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and reached for my notepad. “Right. So, does the most talented one in the band also want pancakes, or…?”

Calum grinned. “Damn. She’s quick. I like her.”

Michael nudged him. “Dude. Back off. She’s our pancake dealer, not your next victim.”

I snorted, shaking my head as I wrote down their orders. Great. Now I had two of them to deal with.

But the truth?

I was just glad Michael was back.

Michael and Calum didn’t just stop by that night.

They kept coming back.

What started as a reunion turned into a routine. Every few nights, they’d stroll into the diner like they owned the place, throwing themselves into the same stools, talking about their band like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And the thing was?

I started to believe them.

Michael was all enthusiasm—loud, animated, eyes lighting up whenever he talked about the songs they were writing. And Calum? He was the balance. He didn’t ramble the way Michael did, but when he spoke, it mattered. He had this quiet confidence that made you want to lean in, like every word was worth something.

They were both just kids chasing something big.

And it was contagious.

"We’re opening for this huge boyband," Michael blurted one night, shoving another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "You ever heard of One Direction?"

I blinked. “Uh, yeah? Pretty sure the entire planet has.”

Calum smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, they want us on their tour. Stadiums. Actual stadiums."

I stared at them, trying to wrap my head around it. Just a few months ago, Michael had been sitting right there, complaining about gigs in half-empty bars. Now they were talking about playing for thousands of people.

Michael leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "We leave in a few weeks. It’s gonna be insane."

And that’s when it hit me.

They were leaving.

I felt it like a shift in the air—this weird pang of something I didn’t want to name. It wasn’t like they’d been in my life forever, but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped seeing them as just customers.

They were friends.

And now they were about to take off into something bigger than I could even imagine.

I forced a small smile. "That’s… amazing. Seriously."

Michael’s grin softened. “You know you’re part of this, right? You called the pancake energy. That’s gotta be lucky or something.”

I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, I’m sure my late-night menu recommendations are the reason your band’s taking off."

But deep down? I felt it.

Like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something bigger than any of us could understand yet.

“Don’t worry, mystery girl.” Calum said. “We’ll keep coming back until you reveal your name.”

I rolled my eyes. “You might just call me mystery girl for the rest of your life then.”

Michael and Calum disappeared again.

This time, I knew where they were.

Touring. Playing in front of thousands. Living a life so far removed from the one we’d shared in that tiny diner that I almost convinced myself it had all been a dream.

But then, out of nowhere, Calum came back.

Not Michael. Calum.

It was past midnight when the bell over the door jingled, and I looked up, expecting another tired trucker or a group of drunk college kids looking for greasy fries. Instead, it was him.

Same easy confidence, same dark eyes scanning the place like he owned it. But something was different.

He looked older. Not in a way you could pinpoint, but in the way he carried himself—like he’d seen more, done more, lived more in those months away.

"Hey, stranger," he said, sliding into his usual stool at the counter.

I blinked at him. "What are you doing here? Where’s Michael?"

Calum smirked, resting his elbows on the counter. "Miss me that much?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Shut up. Want your usual?"

"Yeah, and a milkshake."

"Fancy."

"I’ve been living off room service and gas station sandwiches for months. Let me have this."

I shook my head, turning to grab a glass. But I couldn’t deny it—I was happy to see him.

And that night? That was the first of many.

Calum started coming in alone more often. Some nights, he’d bring his guitar, strumming absentmindedly while I wiped down tables. Other times, he’d just talk—about tour life, about the crowds, about how weird it was to go from being just another kid with a dream to suddenly having thousands of people screaming his name.

"It’s insane," he said once, stirring his milkshake with his straw. "One day, we’re playing for like, twenty people at a bar. Next thing I know, I’m on stage, and all I can see is a sea of lights and faces. It’s like… I don’t know. Unreal."

I leaned against the counter, watching him. "Do you like it?"

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he grinned. "Yeah. I love it."

But I caught that flicker of something in his eyes. Like maybe he wasn’t sure if it was all his yet.

Still, he carried himself with the kind of ease that made it clear he was used to being noticed. Girls probably threw themselves at him on tour, but he never acted like that guy. He was flirty, sure—he’d toss a wink my way, throw in some playful teasing—but it was never serious. Never like that.

And honestly? I liked it.

I liked him.

Not in a romantic way, not in a what if kind of way, but in the way where you meet someone and just know they’re going to be a part of your life.

And Calum Hood?

He was part of mine now.

At first, it was just Michael and Calum.

But then, like some unspoken plan had been set in motion, the others followed.

The first time I met Ashton and Luke, I was running on fumes. One of those nights where the diner felt like a liminal space—where time moved sideways and the world outside barely felt real. I was balancing a coffee pot in one hand and a plate in the other when the bell above the door jingled, and two more boys stepped inside.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, curls tucked under a bandana and dimples that made him look far too kind to be wandering into a diner at 2 a.m. The other? The other was Luke. And that was the problem.

Because Luke Hemmings was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. It was immediate—a short circuit in my brain, a weird pressure in my chest, like my body couldn’t quite decide whether to breathe or freeze. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of everything—my tired eyes, my messy apron, the coffee stain on my sleeve. It was stupid.

I didn’t know him. But he was tall and stupidly pretty, with piercing blue eyes and messy blond hair that looked like he ran his hands through it a lot. He had the kind of face that made you feel ridiculous for staring too long. And I hated that I was staring.

“This is her, huh?” Ashton said, nudging Calum as they slid into a booth. “The famous mystery girl?”

Luke dropped into the seat across from Calum like he belonged there, stretching out with lazy confidence. I handed them menus, even though I knew they’d ignore them.

“Alright,” I said, pen in hand. “What are we thinking tonight?”

“Pancakes,” Calum said immediately.

“Shocker,” I muttered, scribbling it down.

Ashton grinned. “What’s good here, mystery girl?”

Before I could answer, Luke tilted his head at me, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Do you actually have a name? Or is ‘mystery girl’ just your whole brand?”

I smirked, wiping down the counter. “It’s Y/N.”

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for it to sink in—before Michael gasped from the other end of the counter.

“You told him?” he practically shouted.

I blinked. “What?”

Michael sat bolt upright, scandalized. “You told me to earn it! I’ve eaten, like, eighty pancakes in this establishment. What did he do to earn it?!”

Calum threw his hands up. “No, yeah. I second this betrayal. This is emotional damage.”

Luke, of course, just looked smug. Like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe I just have good energy.”

“You have main character energy,” Michael snapped. “It’s a curse. You walk in here once, and she gives you the name? We were gonna put it on a t-shirt!”

I laughed—actually laughed—as I poured another cup of coffee. “You two are so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Calum echoed. “I wrote a song about you, and I still don’t know your name!”

“Wait—did you?” I looked at him, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged. “Well. Half a verse. Maybe like... a line and a half. But still.”

Michael dropped his head to the counter with a groan. “This is the worst day of my life.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Anyway,” I said, turning to Ashton with my pen poised again, “the only other option that won’t give you gastrointestinal regret is the burger and fries. That sound like your vibe?”

Ashton chuckled, completely unfazed. “Sold. Nothing like a little sodium to keep the heart pumping.”

“Living dangerously. I respect it.”

“I mean, I’ve survived worse,” he said, shooting a look at Michael. “Like the time someone made gas station sushi a group dinner.”

Michael raised his head from the counter just long enough to mutter, “It smelled fine.”

“Did it taste fine?” Luke asked.

“Define fine,” Michael said.

Calum made a face. “I’m literally eating, can we not?”

“You’re waiting to eat,” I corrected, scribbling the last order and tacking it up in the window. “Big difference.”

Luke leaned back in the booth again, eyes still trailing after me as I moved behind the counter. Not in a weird way—more like he was just cataloging the place. Or me. Like he was trying to get a read on something unspoken.

“You always work this shift?” Luke asked casually.

“Graveyard’s my kingdom,” I said. “Welcome to the palace of fluorescent lights and bad decisions.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “You took that straight out of Tumblr.”

“Well,” I said, smirking, “that’s the only thing I can do to pass time when these two aren’t here disturbing my shift.”

Michael threw his hands up in mock offense. “Excuse me? We’re a delight to be around.”

“You’re a nuisance,” I said without missing a beat.

Calum grinned. “Okay, but we’re your nuisance. You wouldn’t be able to function without us.”

He wasn’t wrong.

It didn’t take long before they became a fixture in my life.

At first, it was just Michael showing up like clockwork. Then it was Michael and Calum, always full of stories, always dragging me into their world. And now? Now it was all four of them.

They made my shift bearable.

Some nights, they piled into a booth and stayed for hours, cracking jokes, arguing about setlists, and making fun of each other in a way that only close friends could. Other nights, it was just one of them—Michael ranting about some new video game, Ashton asking me deep life questions at 3 a.m. like some sort of sleep-deprived philosopher, or Calum smirking at me from across the counter and saying things that would have made me blush if I didn’t know better.

Luke, though? Luke was different.

I wasn’t sure if he meant to be. But I felt different around him.

At first, I thought it was just nerves—just my brain playing tricks on me because he was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. But as time passed, I got used to the others.

Luke? Not so much.

It wasn’t like he did anything special. He was just… quieter than the others. A little more awkward, like he was still growing into himself. But there was something about him that made my stomach flip in ways I couldn’t explain.

He had this habit of watching people when they talked, really listening. When I spoke, he looked at me like he was paying attention, like what I was saying actually mattered. And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because the others? They teased me, pulled me into their chaos, made me feel like I had always been a part of their group.

But Luke made me feel seen.

And that? That was dangerous.

                                                                 ***

The idea wasn’t mine. I wasn’t looking for a change, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it.

It started as a joke—one of those throwaway comments Ashton made while sprawled out on my floor, his head resting on a pile of laundry I hadn’t gotten around to folding. The boys had crashed at my place more times than I could count by then. It was a small, ridiculous apartment, but they didn’t care. They sat on the floor, ate whatever leftovers I had, and made themselves at home in a way that somehow made it feel less lonely.

"You know," Ashton said, stretching his arms above his head. "You might as well just move in with us."

I laughed because obviously, he was kidding.

But then I saw Michael nodding like it wasn’t the dumbest idea in the world.

"Actually, yeah," Michael said, sitting up. "We’re barely home anyway, and you wouldn’t have to work at that stupid diner anymore. You could just—be with us. Help us not be complete disasters."

Calum, half-asleep on my couch, cracked one eye open. "And my cuddles are top-tier. Like, objectively. You’d be missing out."

Michael smirked. "And Ashton needs someone else to listen to his deep, philosophical bullshit because we physically cannot take it anymore."

Ashton sat up. "Hey! My thoughts are insightful."

"They are long, is what they are," Calum muttered, stretching.

Michael turned back to me. "And Luke needs someone to watch rom-coms with him. Also, to hold his hand when we watch horror movies."

I scoffed. "I hate horror movies. I get just as scared as he does!"

"Exactly!" Michael said, pointing at me like he had just proven a point. "You’ll suffer together. It’s perfect."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You’re ridiculous," Michael shot back. "For not saying yes yet. Especially after all the huge tips I gave you when we were broke."

"You were weirdly generous with your non-existent money," I mused.

"See? You owe me." He grinned.

I rolled my eyes, but something in my chest tightened. The idea of leaving my tiny apartment, the one place I had scraped together for myself, should have felt impossible. But instead, I realized how easy it would be. I had no lease, no family to argue with me about it. Just a handful of belongings and a job I was already tired of.

Luke wasn’t there when they brought it up, which somehow made me even more nervous. Because if I said yes, I wasn’t sure how he would feel about it. It was stupid, I knew that—he had girlfriends, he wasn’t interested in me. But the idea of invading his space, of making it obvious just how tangled up in their lives I had become, felt like walking straight into something I wasn’t prepared for.

"You don’t have to decide right now," Ashton said, reading my hesitation. "Just think about it."

I did think about it. For days.

And then one night, as I lay awake in my too-quiet apartment, staring at the ceiling and realizing that I had no real reason to stay, I made my decision.

I packed a bag.

And I never looked back.

Michael showed up at my apartment the next evening with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that told me he knew I’d cave.

"You ready?" he asked, leaning against my doorframe like he already knew the answer.

I hesitated for half a second before sighing. "Yeah."

"Nice." He stepped inside, eyes scanning my nearly packed-up space. "Damn. You work fast."

"There wasn’t much to pack," I admitted. A couple of bags, some clothes, a few things I had clung to out of habit more than necessity. That was the thing about not having roots—you didn’t accumulate much.

Michael picked up one of my bags and threw it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "You sentimental about this place?"

I looked around, taking in the tiny kitchen, the peeling wallpaper, the old couch I had dragged in from the street because I couldn’t afford a new one. The memories here were mostly just nights spent alone, waiting for the next shift at the diner, before the boys started showing up and making it feel less empty.

"Not really," I said honestly.

"Good," he said. "Because I’d rather die than carry a couch down those stairs."

I laughed, and just like that, the weight on my chest loosened.

The house wasn’t what I expected.

For some reason, I pictured a place that looked like a frat house—cluttered, chaotic, maybe a little disgusting. And while it wasn’t spotless, it was actually… kinda nice. Lived-in.

The guys had decorated it in a way that was pure them. Posters covered the walls, guitars were scattered in every corner, and the coffee table was covered in things like stray picks and takeout containers. There was a warmth to it that my apartment never had.

Luke was the one who opened the door when we got there.

His hair was damp, like he had just showered, and he was wearing a loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He blinked at me, confused for a second, before his eyes flickered to the bags slung over my shoulder.

"Wait—" His face lit up. "You’re actually moving in?"

I shifted awkwardly under his gaze. "Yeah."

A grin spread across his face, and before I could react, he grabbed one of my bags. "Hell yeah!" he called into the house. "She actually said yes!"

Ashton came around the corner, already nodding like he knew I would. "Took you long enough."

Calum strolled in behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his signature smirk firmly in place. "Told you my cuddles would win her over."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

Michael dropped my bag onto the floor. "Alright, where’s she sleeping?"

Ashton gestured toward the hallway. "Spare room. It’s kinda a mess, but we cleaned it up a bit."

I peeked inside. It wasn’t big, but it was bigger than what I had before. A bed, a dresser, a small window that let in just enough moonlight to make the space feel real. Like this wasn’t just another temporary thing.

"Make yourself at home," Luke said, setting my bag inside.

I hesitated in the doorway, looking at all of them. I still wasn’t sure how I had ended up here—how a handful of late-night shifts at a diner turned into this. But they were watching me with so much ease, like I already belonged here.

Like maybe I had for a while now.

I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and let the door close behind me.

The first morning in the house was loud.

I woke up to the distant sound of someone playing the drums—badly. I groaned, burying my face into the pillow, hoping it would stop. It didn’t. Instead, it turned into a full-blown beat, like whoever was playing actually thought it was a good time for a practice session.

I rolled over, glaring at the ceiling. This is my life now.

After a few minutes of debating whether to just suffer through it or actually do something about it, I threw on a hoodie and trudged out of my room, following the noise.

The culprit? Ashton, of course.

He was in the living room, sticks spinning between his fingers, hitting the couch cushions like they were his drum set. He looked up when I entered, his face breaking into an easy smile.

"Morning, sunshine."

I glared. "It is not morning. It is a violation of peace."

Calum, who was sprawled across the other couch, snickered. "Welcome to the circus."

I sighed, dropping onto the armrest of the couch. "You guys do this every morning?"

Ashton shrugged. "Pretty much. Gotta stay sharp."

I groaned, already regretting everything.

That’s when Luke walked in, his hair a complete mess, his hoodie halfway falling off his shoulder. He yawned, rubbing his face. "Why are we all awake?"

"We are awake because Ashton has no respect for human decency," I muttered.

Michael strolled in behind Luke, coffee in hand, completely unbothered. "Oh, you’ll get used to it."

"Will I?" I deadpanned.

Luke flopped onto the couch, pulling his knees up like he was about to fall back asleep. "We should’ve warned you," he murmured, voice still groggy. "We don’t really do quiet mornings."

"Or quiet anytime," I pointed out.

"Exactly," Calum said, smirking. "But hey, at least we’re fun."

I rolled my eyes, but a part of me couldn’t argue.

It had only been one night, and already, it felt like I had stepped into a completely different world. The kind of world where mornings were filled with offbeat drum solos, sleep-deprived banter, and a level of chaos I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But at the same time… I kind of liked it.

                                                                       ***

Life with them wasn’t always crazy. It had its quiet moments too—the kind that made me realize just how much they had become my family.

Like how Michael would stay up all night playing video games, yelling at the screen like the characters could actually hear him. It drove me insane. More than once, I had to storm into his room at 3 a.m., eyes barely open, grumbling, "Michael, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up, I will unplug everything." He’d look up, grin, and go, "Five more minutes?"

"That’s what you said two hours ago."

Sometimes, I gave up and just sat on his bed, watching him play. Once, he tried to teach me, but I kept forgetting which button did what, and it ended with me accidentally making his character jump off a cliff. He was offended. "You just killed me!"

"I don’t even know what I pressed!"

"Get out of my room."

He never meant it, though. The next day, he’d drag me into the bathroom to dye his hair, convincing me to do mine too. And because I had no self-control, I did. That’s how we ended up making Calum bleach a random strand of his hair. Cal hated it at first, but the next day, he was acting like it was the coolest thing ever.

Speaking of Calum—he was different. Quieter, more grounded. On nights when my mind wouldn’t slow down, I’d slip into his room, curling into his side as he pulled the blanket over both of us. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He never had to. He just let me stay until I drifted off. Sometimes, he’d text first—you up?—and that was all it took for me to head straight to his bed.

On the nights when even that didn’t work, I’d be in the kitchen, aimlessly baking to calm myself down. Calum would sit on a stool, arms crossed, watching me. "You stress-baking again?"

"Maybe."

"You gonna share?"

"Maybe."

He’d smirk, waiting patiently until I finally caved.

Ashton was the one who kept me in check. If it weren’t for him, I’d live off of diner food and coffee. He made sure I ate properly, drank water, didn’t run myself into the ground. When I felt overwhelmed, he’d sit me down, talk me through things in that calm, reassuring way of his. He scolded me when I needed it, but never in a way that made me feel bad—just like an older brother who cared too much.

"You should try the drums," he said one day. "It helps with frustration."

"I don’t think smacking things with sticks will solve my problems, Ash."

"You’d be surprised."

And Luke… Luke was something else.

I knew I had a crush on him. I knew. But I also knew he needed a friend more than anything, so I swallowed it down and let myself just be that for him.

He was clingy in a way that wasn’t suffocating—just warm. Just Luke. He loved to use my shampoo, which I only noticed when I went to wash my hair and found the bottle empty. "Lucas Robert Hemmings," I yelled down the hall, holding up the bottle.

His door creaked open, his blond head peeking out. "I can explain—"

"No, you can’t!"

Still, every time I went to the store, I bought two bottles.

When he painted his nails black, he made me do it. When we watched horror movies, he’d reach for my hand, and I’d remind him I was just as scared as he was. "Yeah, but I need emotional support," he’d argue.

"You are my emotional support," I shot back, gripping his arm when something jumped out on the screen.

"See? Mutual support."

Some nights, he crashed in my room, curling up beside me like it was second nature. He was always the little spoon—except when I was on my period. Then, without me asking, he let me cling to him instead, wrapping his arms around me like he knew I needed it.

We talked about everything except love. His dreams, his insecurities, his fears—those were conversations that happened in the late hours, when the world was quiet. I told him about my plans for school, how I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have enough saved up to actually go. He hated hearing that.

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said. "We’ll cover stuff until you get a better job. No arguments."

I wanted to argue. But they weren’t handing me money—I wouldn’t have accepted that. They were just making sure I had the space to figure things out. And that? That was different.

It meant more than I could put into words.

                                                                ***

As their music took off, I was there for all of it. The first time I heard She Looks So Perfect, I lost my mind. "This is gonna blow up," I told them. And it did.

The fans loved them. Loved them. And somehow, they loved me too. They noticed when I helped them with gifts and letters, and when the guys posted pictures of things fans had sent them, the comments were always the same: Y/N definitely gave them that.

Interviews were full of casual mentions—"Y/N would hate that," "Y/N said it first," "We gotta ask Y/N." Like I was just as much a part of this as they were.                                              

Backstage had become second nature to me. I knew every inch of these dimly lit hallways, every creak of the dressing room doors, every frantic call over the crew’s radios. The air always felt thick with anticipation, electric with the energy of thousands of fans screaming just beyond the walls. It never really quieted, the distant roar a constant reminder of how big this had all become.

It was nothing like the nights we spent in my tiny apartment, sprawled out on the floor with takeout containers and inside jokes.

Now, their lives moved at a different speed—louder, faster, bigger. But in moments like this, behind the curtain, before the chaos, it still felt like us.

Michael was the first to notice me, as always. His face lit up when I walked through the dressing room door, and within seconds, he had me in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against the top of my head like a sibling trying to assert dominance.

“She’s here! Everyone act cool,” he announced dramatically, grinning as he finally let me go.

I rolled my eyes, smoothing my hair. “Yeah, because that’s ever worked for you.”

Luke, who had been tuning his guitar, glanced up. He was sitting on one of the armchairs, legs spread wide, fingers moving over the strings with easy familiarity. His lip quirked slightly, just enough to show he was listening.

“We are cool,” he murmured, not looking up this time.

“Right. That’s why Ashton is pacing like a man possessed,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

“It’s called getting in the zone, Y/N.” Ashton didn’t even pause, just kept shaking out his hands like he was about to enter a boxing match.

Calum, lounging on the couch with his phone, finally glanced up. “Nah, she’s right, mate. You look stressed.”

“Back me up here, Hemmings,” Ashton called out.

Luke barely glanced up, still focused on his guitar. “She’s never wrong.”

His words were casual, effortless—like it was just fact. But for some reason, my stomach flipped the way it always did when Luke said things like that, the way he always made me feel like I was something constant.

I quickly shook it off, pushing past the feeling.

Instead, I went into backstage mode.

I handed Michael a water bottle because I knew he wouldn’t remember to grab one himself. I tossed a pack of throat lozenges at Calum, who caught them one-handed without looking. I nudged Ashton to stop pacing for two seconds, pressing a protein bar into his palm.

And then, without having to be asked, I turned to Luke.

“Fix my collar?”

It was part of our routine now.

His collar was always fine. It wasn’t about that.

He stood in front of me, close enough that I could feel the residual warmth from the stage lights he had been under during soundcheck. His usual pre-show jitters weren’t visible to most people, but I saw the way his fingers tapped against his thigh, the way his jaw clenched slightly.

I reached up, smoothing my hands over the fabric of his shirt. My fingers brushed against the side of his neck—warm, soft.

Luke’s breath hitched, just for a second.

Then he exhaled, slow and measured, and gave me a lopsided smile. "Gotta look good for the cameras, right?"

I rolled my eyes, stepping back. "Yeah, because that’s what people care about—you looking presentable and not, you know, actually playing a good show."

His lips twitched. "Can’t it be both?"

Michael groaned dramatically from the side. "Jesus Christ, just date already."

Heat crept up my neck. "Shut up, Clifford."

Luke laughed, but something in his expression lingered—something softer, something I couldn’t quite name.

Then, just like that, the moment was gone.

The crew knocked on the door, giving the five minutes to stage call. Ashton rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. Calum grabbed his bass. Michael bounced on his feet, hyping himself up.

Luke hesitated, his eyes flickering to mine for the briefest second before turning away.

And then, in a blur of movement, they were gone—disappearing under the glow of the stage lights, swallowed whole by the world that was slowly pulling them further and further away from me.

                                                            ***

Tour meant long nights, shitty food, and more time together than most people could probably stand.

But for me, it meant them.

It meant cramming into hotel rooms with takeout containers littering the floor. It meant late-night drives with music blasting so loud it rattled the van windows. It meant watching them play their hearts out in front of thousands of people, only to return to a dimly lit hotel room, stripped of all the chaos, just us again.

That night, the others had tapped out early. Ashton was sprawled across one of the beds, snoring softly, limbs flung in every direction. Calum had curled into the armchair, hoodie pulled low over his face, dead to the world. Michael had barely managed to mumble just resting my eyes before passing out half-off the couch, one arm dangling toward the floor.

And then there was Luke.

We sat on the floor of his hotel room, backs against the bed, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlamps outside. The distant hum of the city buzzed through the window, but in here, everything was quiet.

Luke rolled a water bottle between his palms, his fingers twitching slightly. He was always like this after shows—tired, thoughtful, quieter than usual.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

I blinked at him. “Random question.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Just curious.”

I tilted my head back against the mattress. “I don’t know. Maybe something small. Something meaningful. Something I won’t regret when I’m old or… when I need to hide it for important occasions.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged. “Like my wedding.”

His gaze flicked to me. “Your wedding?”

“If I ever get married,” I smirked. “Would you?”

“Get a tattoo? Someday.”

I shot him a teasing look. “Not willing to commit to anything bigger than a lip piercing?”

He groaned. “You’d cry if I ever took it out.”

I scoffed, nudging his knee with mine. “In your dreams, I would.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t fire back. Instead, he studied me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “I still think you’d suit one.”

I raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was softer now. “Something delicate. Maybe your favorite quote. Or a tiny star.”

His gaze drifted down, lingering on my fingers as if he were committing them to memory. His own twitched on his knee, inches from mine.

The air between us felt different.

Charged.

Like something unspoken had crept in, curling around us, daring me to acknowledge it.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay light. “You should get my name tattooed. Just in case you forget about me when you’re all rich and famous.”

He chuckled, low and raspy. “Like that could ever happen.”

Something in my chest twisted. The way he said it—so casual, like it was impossible for us to drift apart.

Like I would always be here.

His expression softened as he looked at me, lips parting slightly, like he was about to say something else—

Then his phone buzzed.

The moment shattered.

Luke barely glanced at the screen before unlocking it, and just like that, the smirk was back.

A text. Some girl he’d met after the show.

I turned my head away before he could see whatever was on my face.

“I should answer this,” he muttered, already pushing himself up.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Go for it.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I stayed on the floor a little longer, staring at my hands, trying not to think about how, for a second, I almost let myself believe something was there.

[fairyminnie444]

First of all I want to say that I love your posts so much and thank you for offering the option to ask questions xD

I have been manifesting small things here and there but I never seem to manifest the bigger things that I want like for example a bf or whatever. The thing that stuck with me that I guess is affecting me is when I lost something really dear to me and I kept affirming doing everything I could but I do remember sticking with affirming and it didn't manifest at all. I will admit that I was probably wavering a lot and focusing on the time no matter how much I told myself that I wasn't and that I was doing everything right. That still haunts me and every time I want to manifest something I really want which to me is a big thing, I freeze and just don't do it or just give up in the middle. How can I manifest when I absolutely don't believe that I can?

Thank you Fairy. Ily ❤❤❤

Hi baby tysm 🩷🩷

First of all you need to stop seeing things like “big” or “small”

Remember: you are the one who chooses everything about your reality. Manifesting 1 cent is the same thing as manifesting your soulmate if you decide it. The practice is the same.

So lets do this: 

1. Understand What Went Wrong

You’ve already pinpointed the issue:

• Wavering: You affirmed, but deep down, you doubted.

• Focus on Time: Even though you tried to ignore it, you were still waiting for the 3D to change.

This isn’t failure—it’s simply feedback. It showed you what happens when your inner state is conflicted. Manifestation is not about how much you do but about who you are being.

2. Redefine What “Big” Means like i said before

• You see some desires as “big” and others as “small,” but this is a mental construct.

• Start affirming: “Nothing is too big for me. Everything I want is natural and easy to receive.”

3. Detach from the Past

The fear you’re carrying is tied to that past experience of “failing.” To manifest confidently, you need to rewrite this narrative.

• Ask yourself: What did that experience teach me? Maybe it taught you patience, persistence, or how to identify inner resistance.

• Now, imagine revising it. See yourself in that moment, feeling calm, trusting the process, and knowing everything worked out. Replace the fear with gratitude for what you’ve learned.

4. Start with Belief in Yourself

Manifestation doesn’t require you to believe in the outcome right away—it requires you to believe in your ability to create.

• Affirm: “I am the creator of my reality. Everything responds to me.”

• Focus on building faith in the process, not the specifics of your desire.

5. Commit Without Pressure

Instead of approaching your desire with tension or fear, treat it like a game:

• Visualize Playfully: Spend a few minutes imagining having your desire without needing it to happen. Just enjoy the fantasy like you would enjoy a dream.

• Drop the “Effort”: Stop trying so hard to make it happen. Assume it’s already yours and get on with your day.

6. If You Freeze, Focus on Self-Concept

When the fear of “failing” takes over, shift your focus from the desire to you.

• Affirm:

• “I am always chosen.”

• “Everything I desire flows to me effortlessly.”

• “I trust myself completely.”

This builds the foundation for your desires to come naturally, without resistance.

7. When You Doubt, Do This

If doubt creeps in, don’t fight it. Acknowledge it and remind yourself:

• “This is just my old story. I’m rewriting it now.”

• Journal or affirm through the doubt, but always end with confidence. For example:

• “I used to think I couldn’t manifest, but now I know it’s easy.”

• “Every time I doubt, it’s proof my manifestation is on its way.”

8. Celebrate Your Wins (!!!)

Every time you manifest something, no matter how small, celebrate it!

• This trains your mind to recognize your power. It’s proof that you’re always creating.

9. Trust the Process

You don’t need to force belief overnight. Just keep showing up with the intention to embody the version of you who already has what you desire. Be patient with yourself.

Remember:

“What you seek is already seeking you. The moment you desired it, it became yours.”

[kristallisatie]

It hits me today that, as a historical PruAus shipper, I actually went through quite a bit of viewpoint / headcanon revisions throughout the years. Before my memories fail me because I’m a boomer, I want to document that a bit, in rough chronological order....

What is PruAus I only ship FrUK

Kesese obaka-san vital regions bocchan young master (I had my phase lmao)

Huh that’s an interesting ship, there seems to be quite some content beneath the surface of stupid quarreling

19th century imperial Austria such a vibe, Austria is sissy, weak, not physical, just lets people take advantage of him

Prussia totally tops Austria in Königgrätz, plomp, great angst dynamic (ok that’s before trigger warning was a thing). G major so good (can you believe that was published in 2010)

But seriously, why did they go to war in 1866? Did Austria initiate that? Did Prussia do that? Alright, let’s write a paper on that. Hold on, they seemed rather reluctant to go to war. It is like Zeitgeist pushed them to war. Austria was, from a contemporary point of view, rather formidable, so the defeat was more like a surprise. It is not right to depict Roderich as weak. But why does fandom do that? And more importantly, why do most of these history books frame Prussia as the strong one destined to lead? Also, Hungary was literally backstabbing Austria because they made a secret agreement with Prussia. Why did the canon depict the k.u.k relationship as a relatively happy marriage?

...Why does the canon and the fandom depict Prussia and Austria as always fighting? But they fought like - you can count with one hand - you have the Austrian succession wars, then Seven Years' War, then Bavarian succession (barely a fight but more like a joke), then Austro-Prussian war. They actually spend most of the time cooperating with each other? Meanwhile France - Austria you can count 10-15 direct conflicts depending on how you define it. But at least in my bubble I don’t see much France - Austria quarrel.

How did Prussia become a kingdom? Oh. Because the Habsburg emperor permitted it. Brandenburg stans would prefer to frame that as “courtesy call” but the Great Elector literally told the future descendants to respect the emperor ;). Hm, two thoughts: Austrian favoritism? How did politics actually work inside the empire?

At this point, canon for me is an inspiration for characters and their base personalities, but canon literalism is as bad as biblical literalism, chat can we agree? omg speaking of literalism, the times when Austria would be considered Jewish because of the name Edelstein, and all the HCs people developed based on it... >_>

The origins of Austria? Oh there is Bavaria and Saxony. Stem duchies. Wow. Very shippable, great dynamic. Bavaria has such a character. Let's RP as Bavaria. I wanna live there.

German states are underrated. Speaking of which, gotta develop country/state/nation lifecycle headcanons. Checked out NRW but god, that region, so messed up previously. Prussian administration in Catholic Rhineland, fascinating.

France fought Austria because of the Habsburgs? I want to go deeper. Treaty of Verdun, Oath of Strasbourg. Interesting. HRE and France are the same age? Fighting for Middle Francia for the next 1000 years? Now that's some founding myth we could go for.

Two important themes to resolve - love despite confessional divide, love despite Prussia waging war against Austria. Let’s go into the harder topics like sexuality and faith and how the personifications take it.

I want to write a historically informed saga for PruAus!!! Gotta do more research, specifically - how did they actually fall in love? And when?

Found more details on the 1730–1740s. Basically, the dynamic went like this: Austrian diplomacy was starting to take the help of Prussia as granted, see the Polish succession. Austrians were still kind to the Prussians, like the emperor himself intervened using imperial clauses so the king would not chop off Fritz’s head, but the resentment remained in the sense of looking down at Prussia. I think going with the angle of Prussia wanting to be treated as an equal would be the biggest personal reason he told himself that war against Austria was justified. It is like “notice me senpai” but really stupid and destructive. And I think that underdog or emotionally bottom dynamics really fit the dynamic in other times too.

I really want to avoid making anachronistic, predeterministic headcanons, as in, headcanons informed purely by present knowledge. Like “Styria wouldn’t be a personification because it isn’t a nation today,” but it surely was an entity in the present and could have had potential, and we just would never know. Same with the lower-upper state divides too. At this point it would be terribly inconsistent to have some personifications exist while some others don’t because canon didn’t create them. But in fics that can probably be briefly mentioned because it’s more like a huge distraction to the overall narrative.

Speaking of anachronistic headcanons, marriage headcanon is in my opinion a huge offender. As an Austria stan I gotta make sense of marriage. RPs and fanfics often handwave details. The main theme I see is “if there is some important political alliance marriage then the nations are married.” But then everyone would be sleeping with each other. If that is what people are going for, ok, but personally, with our Hetalia cast mostly male, some non-consensual underage stuff between two guys is the most immersion-breaking thing we could do. I love Roderich too much. I also believe the Habsburg house loves Roderich enough and Roderich loves himself enough that he and the other Austrian states did not do it. If you count just “political marriage,” then Austria and Hungary would have been doing it since medieval times.

Singling out Austro-Hungary and the Habsburg Catholic monarchy as the two marriages is full of inconsistencies. Not to mention, Spain-Austria was not an intentional alliance. There were successors lined up for Spain but they all just died LOL. Even the Spanish cortes had issues accepting Charles because the guy did not speak much Spanish. He grew up in Flanders. The 1500 to 1520s, to Roderich, would have been a rollercoaster in terms of pure luck. But I do think that if Roderich has had any sexual encounters, Antonio would be the first. Sexuality, guilt, sin, reformation, put that in a pot...

HRE being depicted as a weak kid, constant quotes from Voltaire, I’m so done with it. But the important question is, how did HRE truly decline in power? Sure, there’s the Thirty Years' War, but something else messed him up more, right? But no, there is no way Roderich would let anyone have a hand on HRE, there is just no way.

Then, why did Austria keep getting elected as the emperor after the 1440s? Czech and Luxembourgers? How? Let’s visit Prague and find out. Fascinating medieval background, I want to write her relationships with Roderich. I see them tighter together than Hungary, seriously, lol.

Saxony is incredibly beautiful and also an underserved character like Bohemia. I surprisingly liked Leipzig.

Went to all the medieval cities of Bavaria. What a historically and culturally consistent folk. Their national narrative is so laser-focused. Bavarians are the best, I want to be the emperor, otherwise I rebel, screw the centralized authority outside of Bavaria.

I finally understood the empire, I think.

Going to Italy. Let’s form Feliciano headcanons for real. His relationship with Austria is really dependent on the Italian city-states. What does Feli truly represent here? There are Risorgimento museums everywhere in Italy. I don’t think Feli is any of the northern states. He is like HRE but even worse off, with no authority of his own. I find it improbable that he would be Piedmont or Venice. At so many points in history, things could go sideways and some other state would take up the unification task. I am also increasingly convinced that the “memories with Rome grandpa” were a national myth. Feli believed and felt he remembered being around during Roman times, but upon scrutiny he would notice anachronistic, inconsistent details. He just chose to continue believing in it. This is my way of reconciling the North and South personification difference, with the North being the Germanic-conquered parts later turned Kingdom of Italy in name inside the HRE, while the South went a very different way starting with the Exarch of Ravenna.

Let’s finally give Hungary justice and read Hungary-specific history books instead of learning from side mentions in European books. To be honest I still do not fully understand it, in a sense of self-contradiction. Hungary getting ruined by Mongols and Turks, that is a theme. But the level of self-stabbing and the inconsistency between her people and her nobility were stark. It is like Hungary is happy with absolutely no one. John Zápolya surrendering himself to Ottoman authority just so he could get support kicking the Habsburgs out is like, wow, if Erzebet tells Roderich she finds Zápolya right, Roderich would just hate Erzebet so much lmfao. If Austria sides with the people, relieving them from misery and oppression from the nobles, the nobles go crazy. But then the nobles sided with Austria during the more reactionary times and the common folk was also unhappy about it. And it is not like Hungary was ever happy with their own chosen rulers either. If there is one common theme I am seeing, it is like “we could have been great, but insert reasons,” rather dysfunctional, poor but prideful folks. I think the inconsistency makes my version of Roderich understand Erzebet but never fully, like the predictable part is that she wants glory and recognition, but the means are inconsistent.

Wait, did I mention that all of this is about writing a PruAus fanfic? I haven’t even talked about HRE history and how that is relevant to rank setting for personifications, Prussia’s legality, elector legality, towns and cities and abbeys. Polish history and what that means to later interaction between Feliks and Roderich in marriages, Vienna sieges, partitions, and successions. The early days of the Teutonic Orders and how that characterizes Gilbert. I know, 700 words of rambling later and I finally mention Gilbert HCs? Austria has truly made me an AEIOU.

I will continue later...

[ghostcaterwaul-doesnt-write]

Tarot Prompt #7! I used another prompt from Tarot for Writers by Corrine Kenner.

The draft was written in about 7 minutes, stream of consciousness, then edited and revised over the course of a week.

Picks up where the last one left off.

I’m thinking of doing a taglist for these, by the way, if anyone’s interested! Should I do that? I’m probably going to make a masterpost of them as well.

Constructive feedback or words of encouragement are always welcome!

This snippet contains mentions of alcohol as it takes place in a bar.

Deck used: Joseph Vargo's The Gothic Tarot

Card: 10 of Swords

Prompt from Tarot For Writers by Corrine Kenner: Gossip

Alice sipped on her absinthe, savoring the sweet, herbal, licorice flavor of the chartreuse liquid. She looked around the tavern as Gareth talked to the other patrons. The Tavern was a circle, with a circular bar in the middle made of a pitch black wood with a rainbow opalescence. Booths with purple velvet upholstery lined the gray brick walls. The floor was marble tile designed to take the shape of a purple goblet with an olive green jewel. All the windows were blocked out with stained glass designs depicting various goblets except for the front window, which was clear with the exception of stained glass script spelling out The Ghastly Goblet. Crystal sconces adorned  the wall, radiating teal, violet, and magenta light and there were matching centerpieces on the tables and every 3 seats at the bar. A silver chandelier that’s arms only held incense hung from the ceiling. The tavern had a warm, sweet, earthy smell with hints of spice and vanilla and a smoky resinous scent. 

Alice gazed around in awe, eyes wide and mouth agape,, her heart pounding with excitement. She almost forgot about her drink until she saw Gareth take a sip of his Bourbon Manhattan. She sipped her drink and looked around once more, her eyes landing on an unnaturally large black-purple vulture with piercing fluorescent green eyes that had flown into the front window’s view and perched on a planter hanging from a street pole. The planter held a plant with cascading stems of blue and purple bell-shaped, bioluminescent flowers with gently flared petals.

Suddenly, whispers filled the tavern.

“There’s that old crone’s bird again.”

“Why does it come all the way out here?”

“Probably looking for Astrid’s next victim.”

“Do you really think she killed her husband?”

“Oh, now all of you shut up.” Gareth’s voice boomed throughout the tavern and reverberated off the walls, shocking the rest of the patrons into silence and causing Alice to jump a bit. He continued, “We all know Astrid did no such thing. And you all go to her for spells and potions anyways. How dare you take advantage of her skills only to talk behind her back!”

There was a hum of murmurs for a moment before regular conversations began to pick up again.

Alice was still partially transfixed on the vulture outside as she gazed into the carrion’s mesmerizing eyes. “Who’s Astrid?” She asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. Alice couldn’t help but be intrigued by this mysterious witch.

“An old witch that lives out in the swamp.” Gareth said. “That bird is her familiar, Edgar.” 

“A familiar? That’s a really special animal to a witch, right?”

“To put it simply.”

Alice went quiet for a moment as she still admired Edgar until he eventually took flight.

She turned to Gareth. “Can I meet her?”

“Astrid? Yeah. Sure, kid, I’ll take you out there later.”

[atefingersdagger]

Scrapped Cato + Clove WIP

"Pulses."

*

To remember she’s alive, she has to press her fingers to her pulse. Pointer and middle, feeling the pump under her skin. Clove does this often, counting the beats, never finding a murmur. She’s lucky.

Next to her, Cato does this, too. For himself, and for her. A simple way to grasp where they are now; District 2, home, safe. There’s no more wars being waged. Or high sacrifices to be made.

They sleep in the same bed, comfortable with each other’s presence for many reasons. It’s easy to tell when he is being plagued in his sleep, brows threaded together, creasing his forehead, and the cold sweats. Waking him up, even past midnight, was only natural.

She takes his shaking hand, large in comparison to her own, and presses it to her chest once he’s registered where he is. Not at the swell of her breasts where they both liked, but right above her heart. Clove holds his palm there, closing her eyes in slight rapture, thankful he’s still here to touch her at all.

Which is ironic, as when she first met him, she had plans to kill him. Formulated in that very moment on stage. To make a good show of his demise. But that rule revision during their Games changed them into something more intimate than competitors in a fight to the death.

Her thumb absentmindedly caresses the back of Cato’s scarred hand, an act she wouldn’t have been caught dead doing five years ago. She breathes in deeply with a pause for inhale, letting him feel the rise and fall of her sternum.

“Clove.”

He whispers his name in the dim room, never pitch black because he sees shadows of muttations in the dark. Cato’s voice is rough, a bit scratchy like gravel being grazed under heavy, moving weight. The sound stirs her insides into being somehow warmer.

Nodding, Clove pats over his knuckles. “I’m still here.”

“So am I.”

That’s what they say each time. A rehearsal that never fails to bring them back into the present. It’s moments of solitude and the secrecy of the thick, silent walls of their house that allow them to be like this; vulnerable with no strings attached.

To her neck, Clove slides his hand up, catching the instinctual twitch to pull away. Cato can snap her spine so easily. He knows from the Games, and he still has trouble touching her there for it. They haven’t truly wanted to kill each other since the arena where they had every chance to but simply didn’t. Their greatest act of mutual mercy.

“It’s okay.” She soothes, adjusting his two fingers into the position to feel her pulse. And the one he’d use between her legs. “I trust you.”

Clove watches him, how he looks at her like a puppy wanting attention or how his blonde hair has darkened in its dampened state. With a teasing movement of her digits down his muscular arm, she whispers a crude joke, liking the way that smug expression of his occurs then.

“I’m real. I’m not going anywhere.” Clove says, free hand brushing away the sweaty strands that have stuck to his forehead in his tossing and turning.

He repeats her name, a habit of his she quite enjoys. The soft, bumpy back and forth of his callused thumbs tickles her jaw, but she’s trained in holding back any girlish giggles. So she’s quiet besides a satisfied sigh.

“Your pulse is quite sexy.”

No, that gets her. Clove barks out one loud laugh before it trails off into chuckling. Her sound is a rev of a purr at the end. One she knows will turn him on.

“Color me seduced.” She holds his hand harder to her throat. How her flesh gives at the adored tension has her spine tingling.

Except Cato glides his palm to the back of her neck swiftly, securing her to his lips.

*

[sailtomarina]

Dramatic, that

Playlist, AO3 | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Hermione couldn’t make heads or tails of Malfoy. One moment he was making her work life a living nightmare, and then the next he stood behind her in the cafeteria line adding a bread roll here and a slice of chicken thigh there because she “didn’t eat enough.” What was he, her guardian? She hadn’t felt this amount of whiplash since, well, ever. He ran cold, then hot, then somewhere in between.

Take, for instance, when she’d been running late one morning. She must have turned off her alarm without realising it, giving herself hardly any time to splash water on her face and throw on some clothes before running through the Floo. She’s had to make do with a breath-freshening charm, and as for her hair, well, that was a lost cause. It had tumbled around her shoulders without restraint, the curls magnified after she’d fallen asleep with it wet after the shower.

She’d barely made it into the lift before the gate closed and met the now familiar eyes that so easily reflected his mood. Malfoy’s jaw had dropped, his body backing into the corner with both hands on the railings like he was afraid her hair was about to devour him whole. Rather than the expected snide comment about nests and creatures, he’d just stayed in position until they’d reached her floor.

Now here he was back to his unflappable self and questioning her methods of communication with the Centaurs–as if he had ever tried to secure a meeting with any in the past. The star-gazers were notoriously difficult to find unless one trespassed on their territory, and Hermione was not that stupid. At least, not anymore. She’d learned her lesson after Sixth Year.

“As I said before, the Quantock herd will not accept anything less than full autonomy of the indicated region and their inhabitants.”

“And as I have stated before, the Wizengamot lacks the authority to transfer ownership of lands under multiple owners, some of which are Muggle, to a single entity.” Malfoy countered. Wearing what might have been a Muggle suit if not for the large fold of the collar and how the coat trailed in the back, he almost looked like the perfect representation between the old and the new. 

She wanted to grab him by his oversized lapels and shake hard enough to make teeth clack. He kept his hair shorter lately, so there was no slicked back style to send into disarray.

The remainder of the session passed quickly once it was clear she’d have to revise her proposal yet again. Her next attempt would need to be fully armoured and ready to batter down any opposition.

The very next morning, Hermione arrived at her desk to find a deep crimson flower in a small vase. 

Rebecca’s lips curved upward when she noticed it in the middle of her delivery of messages and mail. “Dramatic, that.”

“Is it?” She’d thought the offering the exact opposite of dramatic. While, yes, the long train of blossoms reached upward as if asking for attention, the single stem seemed humble enough.

“It’s a gladiolus.”

At Hermione’s blank look, her assistant gestured along the length of the flower.

“Sometimes called ‘little sword’. I’m sure you can see why.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “It’s striking. I take it to mean something equally cutting? A strike to the heart, perhaps?”

“Right in one!” Rebecca replied with a mock stab and wink. “Cut anyone down to size lately?”

“Not to anyone who’d send me flowers. Curses would be the more appropriate response.” Hermione scowled at the elaborate signature on one particular memo. It was just like Malfoy to sign off with a flair unbefitting the subject matter.

As the door clicked shut and blessed silence fell into place, she took deep pleasure in slashing the thick paper with a cutting spell, imagining it was the sender’s suit she was cutting to ribbons. The image of Draco Malfoy squawking in indignation as he stood shirtless before their peers and elders brought a smile to her face…until she recalled the breath of his shoulders and how well he’d filled out those same suits over the years. 

She gave herself a vigorous shake and sat down. There was no time for that. She had a mountain of work and not enough hours in the day to entertain much else.

Still, Hermione took a short moment to appreciate the vase once more. It really was the perfect shade of green, reminiscent of seafoam. A thin line of gold curled around the slightly flared rim. She leaned closer in inspection. That wasn’t real gold was it?

Of course not. That would be dramatic.

The luminescent sheen repeatedly caught her eye throughout the day, and Hemione found herself frequently losing track of a given task as she stared at the ascending scarlet and its vessel. At the twelfth instance of distraction, she gave up.

There was one way to satisfy her curiosity.

Ever since Hermione had first started receiving questionable mail as far back as Fourth Year, she’d learned all manner of detection spells. The most common of them checked for harmful substances and would have already been conducted by Rebecca. However, Hermione had a couple of others up her sleeve she wanted to try.

The first attempt resulted in nothing new. The spell was supposed to pick up any remnants that might indicate the sender’s identity, but all it relayed was herself and Rebecca. She wasn’t sure if she was surprised or relieved at the lack of additional information. Whoever it was took great care to hide all traces of themselves. On one hand, Hermione hated not knowing the answer to her question, but, on the other hand, what would knowing do in this particular case? Would she feel obligated to reciprocate?

Her second attempt revealed the vase to be even more valuable than she’d suspected. Not only did real gold line the rim, but the glass had been manipulated by dragon fire. But how could that be? The tamest dragons she’d come across were those born and raised within sanctuaries, but even then, they weren’t ‘tame’ in the typical sense of the word. ‘Appeased’ would be more accurate.

Mysteries layered upon mysteries. She could chase the crumbs, perhaps ask Charlie Weasley if he knew of any glassmakers who might use dragon fire.

Or, she could accept the gift and continue her work knowing someone out there was in her corner, supporting her every step of the way. The Wizengamot and Draco Malfoy could sock her in the eye all they wanted; she’d simply bleed out the swelling and keep on punching.

Written for the @hp-flowers week 2 prompt: gladiolus

1107 wc

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3 (MarinaJune)

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

hiii bella, since tkd tournament season is FINALLY over for me (cal state championships were yesterday) i really wanted to talk to you, i miss you so much omggoshh. well. i dont have a conversation starter, but then again i never seem to need one when im with you so i guess i just talk. read it, respond, or ignore my ramblings i dont mind.

life has been busy recently, in good ways and bad ways! its always for to have stuff to do but too much is literally suffocating. but, iv ebeen trying to read more so i started the powerless and lightlark series... (and so far, reckless is freaking amazing but i wouldnt recommend lightlark LMAO the writing is super cringey and the fmc is a player-) speaking of which, what are you reading bella? have you been writing recently? ohhh my gosh and im also so excited for glorious rivals but jlb could not have released it later, like no i dont want to wait to read about whats going to happen to rohan and savannah MY MISUNDERSTOOD BABIES!!! did i mention i met eun this week? it was crazy, like i literally just pulled up to her swim meet like wassupp baee... sighh if you lived closer i would have gone to you too meeting you irl would have been a dream. oh, oh! and im going to dye my hair red today yayyyayyyy<33 how are you doing, pretty girl?

hiii maddie!! omggg I’ve missed you so so much, it was so so lovely to see your user pop up, it literally made me smile so freaking hard!! (and sorry it’s taken me a hot minute to reply, I have been super busy today!!)

ahhhh omgoshhh how did your tournaments go!? I want to hear all about them!! awwww I really have missed talking to you too and it’s so weird because I was literally going to message you tonight and there you popped up in my asks!! 💖💖 I also never feel like we need a convo starter, like it just flows. how could I ever ignore your ramblings, they’re the best part 😘😘

I totally understand you, sometimes busy is good when you’re in the thick of it you don’t notice what a physical and mental toll it takes, so I hope you’re doing okay 💕💕 AHHHH POWERLESS MENTION ALERT!! Kai Azer 🤤🥵 my baby!! oh just you wait until you get to the end of reckless girlie *evil laugh* and oooo I’ve had lightlark on my the for agesss!!

currently I’m reading ‘kiss of deception’ by Mary E Pearson but I’m in my mock period at school right now so I haven’t had a lot of time for recreational reading. BUTTT my preordered copy of sunrise on the reaping arrived and it’s staring me in the face begging to be read but I’m saving it until after my mocks end so I can properly enjoy it!! IM ACTUALLY SO EXCIYED LIKE MY BB HAYMITCH 😍😍 (always had a soft spot for the guy… I can’t help myself)

writing wise I’ve been really lacking sadly, I’m in the middle of two late birthday fics which I feel so bad for not getting done in time and an aaron warner x reader fic… so that’s what to come I suppose but nothing much else bc of mocks 😔😔 I miss writing so so so much!! have you been doing any writing lately??

OMG GLORIOUS RIVALS IS LITERALLY SAT IN MY BASKET LIKE DHSIDJHD I NEED IT NOWWW!! fr, like I want more savrohan, I want to see where the game is going wheidjjwjdh but I have to wait ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I’m too impatient for this!!

OMG YOU DID NOT MENTION!! THATS SO COOL!! and super crazy like what on earth!? and omggg I actually can’t get over how surreal that is and like woah you met a tumblr friend irl!! I am in shock!!

sighhhh if only we lived closer 😔😔 maybe some day eventually… awwww girl youre so sweet!! it’s a dream of mine too 💖💖 I hope one day we’ll make it a reality!!

OMGGG WHATTT!? I LOVE THIS NEW RED HAIR MADDIE ERA, ITS GIVING ALREADY 😍😍 I JUST KNOWWWW YOURE GOING TO LOOK SO SO SO INSANELY STUNNING!!

ahhhh thank you for askinggg!! I’m okay, like I said I just finished my first week of mocks and I’ve got my second week starting this monday so my life is pretty much revision, eat, try to sleep, repeat 😭😭 it’s very boring!! but I had two dance presentations today which were a fun and a little chance for me to let loose!!

ANYWYAYSYS it has literally meant the WORLD to hear from you girl 💖💖 I have really missed out convos!! hopefully we’ll chat more when our lives are a little less busy!! but I hope everything’s going well for you and continues that way my love <3333

[vividiana]

5, 12, 18, and 30 💕

thank you for the asks, friend 💕

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

Her computer sits on the edge of the tub, the paused tutorial video mocking her efforts.

from chapter 8 of my au. Eve is getting ready for a party and it's not going well 😅

12. a trope you’re really into right now when characters try to run from their past but it keeps catching up to them. that's a big theme in my au, but also I'm currently in the middle of rewatching Lost for the nth time and there is sooooo much of that there (side-eyeing Sawyer in particular)

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic my revision process is not at all structured, so I don't have separate files for an outline, a first draft, a second draft, etc. it's all just kind of happening at the same time. which is to say: I don't keep them. but! I can share a fragment of a chapter that I'm working on rn that I really like but I know I will have to delete because I rewrote this one section before and this doesn't fit the mood anymore:

“Let’s make it very clear that we are– That we came together. There are a lot of thirsty people here tonight.” “Well, can you blame them for trying?” Eve asks before she can bite her tongue. “Are you saying I’m irresistible?” “And what if I were?”

I'm keeping that first line for sure though 🤭

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of I'm a big fan of "what a wicked thing to do (to make me dream of you)" which is my take on Astarion's act 2 confession. it was my first time exploring his POV and I love how it turned out, especially all the introspection as he's grappling with his feelings about Eve.

more fic writer asks

[ladysomething]

I’ll be honest, I have been waiting all day for that snippet to be revolved BUT if I trust anything it’s your writing and sayianwitcher so I’m sure it’s going to be amazing when we get a whole extra chapter for it!!!!!

Do you know if we will wait another fortnight after next week? I’m probably asking too much but I’m so excited for rock bottom, which is something I never thought I’d say!

I've been waiting for you guys to read that section, but to be honest, @saiyanwitcher was right. it does deserve it's own moment, not just as an addition to what was already in ch 15.

and I don't think you will have to wait an extra week. my plan had been to post ch 15 today, and then the original ch 16 in a fortnight. so now instead you'll get ch 15 today, the new ch 16 next week, and then the new ch 17 in a fortnight. so basically just an extra chapter slotted in the middle!

at least that's the plan - I'm going to revise the new ch 16 and add a bit more to it, but I don't think that will take too long. hopefully!

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 7!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

If I had to pick a favorite chapter to write, it’s this one. It’s the first post-time skip chapter, so we get to behold all the children (now young adults) in full horny mood.

Also, Alyssa develops a personality, and BOY is it a personality. I originally planned to make her a female version of Aegon III, who is very quiet, but it occurred to me that a hellion would be more fun (and torturous for Daemon, which is the real goal in this fic).

Aegon and Aemond are supposed to return directly to King’s Landing and wait with their family to receive the Dragonstone party, but Aegon decided he couldn’t wait to see Jace again and Aemond only required mild convincing to go along. And yes, the boys took a bath first in some river so they look nice and groomed~

One of Jace’s biggest character quirks is anxiety. She has ALL the anxiety. Comes with being an eldest sibling and second in line for the throne. I don’t consider her shallow, but she perceives her appearance as an important part of her political and social toolkit because the society they live in puts a lot of stock in appearances, especially women’s. So she’s finicky about looking the right part for every occasion. (Also she wants to look nice for her husband whom she hasn’t seen in three years, nothing wrong with that.)

I made Luce a knitter, partly because I’m a knitter and I like incorporating my interests, and partly because I wanted to give her a textile craft that wasn’t embroidery. I hope I’m not being too biased when I say that in this era, knitted products (like socks) are more useful than embroidered products (like fancy handkerchiefs). The practical value of knitting, and it being an acceptable craft for ladies even if it’s not as popular as embroidery, seemed fitting for Luce, who isn’t super conventional but also not a complete rebel. I also really like the imagery of her sending flowery socks to the Stepstones for Aegon and Aemond and Grandpa Corlys to wear.

Daemon is fit for his age, but he’s in his 40s and he’s got a lot of old battle wounds, so chasing around toddlers is fairly strenuous. Also, toddlers are FAST. Alyssa is closer to three than two, and she’s spent her entire life trying to keep up with her older sisters, so she’s got a fairly good sense of balance and isn’t stumbling around as much.

“Pretty girl” is 100% Aegon’s pet name for Jace, and I’m using it gratuitously in one of the sequel fics, which is Jace and Aegon-centric. (I’ll have an update soon on what I’m writing next, but I’ve decided to break down the epic longfic idea into multiple, more manageable mid-length fics.)

Aemond thinks Alyssa is spooked by his eyepatch and scar at first, but she’s actually falling in love at first sight. 😂 She’s got heterochromia so she probably *likes* that his eyes aren’t symmetrical either.

Aegon and Aemond are no longer afraid of Daemon! They’ve seen a lot of shit in the Stepstones, so their middle-aged uncle seems like less of a big deal now. Poor Daemon.

Aegon and Aemond are currently 18 and 16, so I made their stomachs black holes like most teenaged boys. They also have been eating a lot of rations at the Stepstones, even as royal princes, so a “plain” meal at Dragonstone seems awesome.

I have nothing to say about the melons, except that I’m very sorry for Lucera 🥲

Idk why but there’s something about Jace being very dutiful and proper that attracts messy rebels like Aegon and Baela. Opposites attracting, maybe? Kinda like how Luce is on the wilder side but Aemond is super put-together. I’ve thought about a crackish scenario where Viserys messes things up (as usual) and betroths Jace/Aemond and Luce/Aegon. I think Jace and Aemond would get bored with each other while Luce and Aegon might accidentally kill each other.

Jace and Aegon know their siblings are being stupid about their feelings for each other. Jace tries not to meddle (she doesn’t like it when Daemon meddles so she resists the urge), and Aegon makes fun of Aemond in the half-hearted hope it’ll goad Aemond into doing something.

I like to imagine that Luce eventually invents double-entry accounting in this universe. I also think she’s a big fan of the abacus, which is a more visual way of keeping track of numbers. She also likes charts and graphs in general.

The three dragonglass daggers that Luce orders from the blacksmith are for her, Jace, and Joff. (Luce loves all her sisters, but she has a special place in her heart for the three of them who are full-blooded sisters.) Purple for Jace (royal color for the future queen), green for Luce (like the sea and Velaryon colors), red for Joff (Targaryen color, nice and bloody). She isn’t expecting her sisters to use them as weapons; she wanted to make a gesture before Jace’s official wedding, since it marks a huge change in their lives.

I keep describing Luce and Aemond’s relationship in this fic as Pride and Prejudice-esque, and I stand by it. Miscommunication, ego issues, awkward flirting, a failed first proposal. One commenter described Daemon as the anti-Mrs Bennet, trying his best NOT to let the girls marry. 😂 And if we keep the analogy going, Clement Celtigar is Mr Collins while Otto is the closest thing we have to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

I established in the beginning that Daemon is very bad with feelings. This scene where he tries to comfort Baela is part of his character arc and emotional growth, but he stumbles a few times more before the end of the fic.

I am very pleased that so many readers pinpointed Joff/Daeron as black cat and golden retriever energy, because I was definitely going for that. Daeron spews a lot of word vomit in his one line of dialogue, but you might notice he mentions “I got that thing you really wanted.” See the final scene in Chapter 11 for “that thing.” 👀

Jace is making PR a priority in her reign (and before her reign). She’s observed how loyal the Dragonstone smallfolk are to the Targaryens and wants to spread that loyalty to the realm’s smallfolk in general. This is why she and Aegon do the flight into the city, and why she has her Princess Diana moment on the way to the wedding.

Chapter 8 commentary here

[thatfriendlyanon]

5, 8, 11, 14, 18, 20, 29, 36, 38, 49, and 54! I know this is. many many questions to answer so if you’d like, you can pick & choose which ones you’d like to respond to and leave out the ones you don’t!! :)

:'O thank you for being so interested, grace!! :D ok this is gonna be long so strap in XDD bc yes i Am rambling about Them All >:]

5. synesthesia

ohh the fun fact about this one. so this whole poem is about My First Name, and how when i taught some students in a different country they pronounced my name differently, which then made it Look Different in my head to me bc of my synesthesia. which is great! but the funny thing is is that between writing this poem for my capstone + working to publish it Now, i've. uh. changed my first name SDLKJSDG so i'm really not sure how much sense this poem will make to readers (bc my first name is never Mentioned in full, just broken down by syllables/colors/etc), to the point where i'm considering commenting on it for clarity in my opening author's note lol.

favorite line:

by name. They soften my vowels, wring out the green from my e-s.

8. on the eve of my twentieth birthday

fun fact this is another one of those poems that's "personal experience Themes/Ideas but the actual events have never taken place." also it's one i'm still dissatisfied with and i'm currently on a hunt to figure out Why bc i can't place what's making it still feel Not Right

favorite line (ironically usually it's the closing lines of a poem that give me the most trouble, but i do really like this poem's; it's the middle that needs the revisions):

into a different borough, drenched in Central Park’s green. Trees older than both of us. My hand in yours. A river, two rocks, the sea.

11. unmasking

fun fact i wrote this poem to/about one of my tumblr friends <3 they were one of the key figures in helping me realize i'm autistic, and i really valued the safe space they created for me to understand what that meant. i admired their ability to unmask freely, and i carry some of their freedom with me to this day. <33

favorite line (dropped lines are funnn):

when I’m alone. The paper unfurls. My wings widen, ripple to their full width. I am free for a moment. When I shrink myself again, my creases whiten, start to fray.

14. to the eight texts i’ve left unanswered, a response

fun fact this poem really is just "elle uses winter as a metaphor for why she's terrible at responding to texts for eight stanzas" and it kinda works XD also after reading it can you tell i grew up in a northern state lol

favorite line:

We wake up to silence, windows warped with light from an angled sun.

18. my roommate describes depression

fun fact this was a napo poem i wrote inspired by "lonely" by yael naïm. when i first heard it, the middle verse really struck me (so i'm coloring my face / while i am here with you / imagining the landscape of your sorrow / is it yellow or blue?), so i explored a similar concept as a metaphor for depression & empathy.

favorite line (there are other lines in the poem i like more for their imagery, but i love what this line implies; it's the idea that someone is not scared of sitting with another person's pain when they have experienced their own):

I point to flecks of peach and amber. I tell you I am an artist. I am used to colors and what they leave behind.

20. a week after the divorce, we roadtrip to california

fun fact this poem is written with my little brother in mind, so the mention of "twin pines towering above you" is an undetectable reference to gravity falls, his favorite tv show. :') also looking at it just now is making me realize this could Also be a good spoken word piece, since any time i read it in my head i have specific places where the momentum picks up/voice changes/etc. hmm i should give it a try sometime.....

favorite line:

This world is so wide, little brother, I feel as if we will fall through its corners. See the way the redwoods prop up the sky? See the clouds curling like old receipts, how when it snows they might drip down the horizon and disintegrate altogether?

29. to the solider

okay hilarious fun fact is this poem originally started out as a fanpoem about bucky barnes that i wrote one napowrimo which then ended up as a poem about ptsd sdlkjsdg

favorite line:

only to be caged, abandoned, left behind like photographs in an old drawer.

36. in psychology class we discuss different methods of abuse

fun fact this is the Very First "little girl inside my chest" poem i ever wrote! which is wild to look at now after everything that's gone down with that motif in my writing/processing/Life.

favorite line (i like the mixed imagery of internal body parts + parts of a building):

Today, the me from eight years ago shifts in her shelter, elbows my diaphragm, grabs at my breath. She climbs up my rib cage to the second story of my throat, pushes against my trachea like an infant in a womb.

38. relearning what it means to be alive

fun fact i wrote this one year on world suicide prevention day and it is still one of my favorite poems i've ever written on the subject 💛 also fun fact, this was not ever my intent while writing it but after reading it aloud in a few different settings i do believe this poem's true form is spoken word :D

favorite line (this is my favorite part to perform bc it's where the intensity shifts in the poem and your voice gets louder/firmer/a bit more desperate):

When the cold times come, when the familiar shadows crawl down my throat and settle in my stomach, I will stay to watch them leave. I will stay to shout that I am here, and I am healing, and I am not whole––not yet––but that is okay.

49. when i ask you to explain your neurodivergence

ahh this poem! fun fact i originally wrote it for an acquaintance who had reached out to me to be a part of her school assignment. she was supposed to partner with a person who was a member of a community that she was Not a part of, and help that person create something that communicated a biblical truth to that community. she asked if i wanted to write a poem about my experience having adhd, and the whole process was such a wonderful time.

this is one of those poems where the narrator is Someone Else and the "you" is based more off my experiences. i've always used water imagery to articulate what adhd means to me, and i had a lot of fun finding creative pieces of the metaphor to correspond with different aspects of adhd. i even reached out to my other adhd friends to ask what parts of their neurodivergence they have the most trouble accepting, so i could try to weave those into the poem too. i was supposed to connect my art piece with a bible passage, so i worked closely with psalm 139, since that psalm was such a comfort & encouragement to me when i was first seeking diagnosis and wrestling with the challenging aspects of adhd. the reminder that God created my brain how it is and loves its differences is a treasured truth. <3

favorite line:

Let me come with you down to the seabed. I want to watch kelp dance in your currents–– see them flap like flags each time you can’t contain your joy.

54. the ghosts i’ve befriended tell me it’s time

fun fact this poem is three lines long. XD but more specifically, at the end of each section in the collection i have a "coda" poem, aka a very short (2-4 lines) poem that serves to wrap up that section before going into the next one. so this is the last coda poem of the manuscript, inspired by lazarus being raised from the dead.

favorite line: the title, honestly, since it serves as both the title + opening line xD

ask me questions about my poetry manuscript!!