mairablue

[mairablue]

Reblog if your blog is boopable-safe so you can get all the (probably new) achievements. I don’t care about notes I just want boops

[mairablue]

coming across a post from a mutual who hasn't opted in yet

[mairablue]

What booping yourself feels like.

[mairablue]

[mairablue]

I think I'm out of practice (if I was even what you could call in practice in the first place when it comes to art) but still... hopefully this is okay.

Happy Halloween everyone! (And yes I did have a screenshot open for refrence when doing the hair 😅 )

[mairablue]

The Evermoor

Request: Sinister love for Maedhros, especially if it's after his fiery death ~how very SPOOKY~ he'd be scary enough as a ghost, but more terrifying would be if he survived or was resurrected, with his burns.Gosh I love Halloween

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader/ Reader x OC

Genre: Horror

Summary: He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

AN: Your prompt is so awesome ��� I loved writing it too much. Got carried away so now there's another part. I'm sorry if this does not exactly follow your prompt but this was awesome.

Chapter 1| Chapter 2

Next up- Sinister love with Maedhros chapter dos 🤭

You cower, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tense as if trying to melt into the mattress. The darkness feels oppressive, alive, crawling across the room toward you, its presence tangible in the suffocating silence.

Buried under your quilt, your mind drifts toward the closet opposite the bed. Its door, barely cracked open, looms in your vision. A door you distinctly remember forcing shut before slipping beneath the covers. A door that seems to have a will of its own, refusing to remain closed.

The house whispers around you—the creak of brittle wood rising from the old floorboards as if the very bones of the mansion are shifting in the night.

The Evermoor, ancient and untouched, resists the modern makeover your fiancé envisions, its colonial elegance holding tight against time’s slow decay.

For now, the Evermoor stands as it always has—unmoved, unchanged, steeped in shadow.

Most days, Evermoor feels like a distant memory, as if it exists in a realm between the living and the forgotten. Its old stone walls, hidden by evergreens and draped in mist, seem to breathe with the weight of centuries. It sleeps peacefully, exhausted by the passage of its long history.

That was how you first saw it—the slumbering, serene majesty of the Evermoor, drawing both you and Zaid into its mysterious hold. Your fiancé.

The decision to leave Prague had been wild, impulsive, even. Trading the city’s buzzing streets for the quiet of Viscri, nestled in a valley so still it felt like stepping back in time.

Zaid had been enchanted by the sprawling backyard, imagining your two dogs bounding across it, while you found comfort in the damp, earthy scent of the village—like fresh rain mingling with ancient stone.

This was how life unfolded for most people: years spent amid the crowded anonymity of cities, until you find the one person who makes the world slow down. Love follows, fierce and fragile, weathering the storms, if you’re lucky. Then comes the dream of escape, leaving the fast lane for something slower, more peaceful.

Work promotions had helped make that dream possible. The suburban fantasy, a far-off dream for many, had crept into reality with the right person by your side.

Zaid was that person—the flirtatious frat boy you never imagined sticking around. But beneath his charm lay a deep kindness, and that kindness made it impossible not to love him.

Loving Zaid was effortless. He made it so. Flowers left in unexpected places, candlelit dinners, soft words, and grand gestures that melted your heart. He cradled your love with a care that drew you in, little by little, until you couldn’t imagine life without him.

The once-ridiculous international student who convinced you to leave everything behind now sat beside you in Evermoor, slurping ramen as you both debated which floorboards would suit the study best.

A glittering diamond caught the light on your finger. He had proposed three months ago, under the soft light of candlelit shadows. Did you see it coming? Yes. But did you put on an elaborate act of surprise? Absolutely.

Zaid was predictable, but in ways that made you feel safe. He was a man of habit, of routines you had come to cherish. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon the hidden ring. Its hiding place in the unused suitcase had been clever—until one of your friends asked to borrow it.

The ring was magnificent, the kind that sparkled so brightly it drew gasps, making people look twice to make sure it was real.

Had you known what was to come, you would’ve never accepted it. You would’ve sent that suitcase—along with the cursed ring—to the farthest corner of the world.

The ring that stole Zaid away from you. Or was it the Evermoor?

The early days in the mansion had been enchanting. Bright, warm spring afternoons spent poring over floor plans, your future laid out before you. The wedding was to take place at Evermoor, the perfect venue. The house itself felt magical, like it had been waiting for you and Zaid to bring it back to life.

The mansion was a spell you couldn’t resist. It drew you into its labyrinthine halls, its ancient bones whispering secrets as you wandered through its forgotten rooms.

Your freelance work went on hold, and soon you found yourself documenting your journey on YouTube—a simple series on renovating your dream house. While your editing left much to be desired, the vlogs gathered a modest following of 56 subscribers, five of which were Zaid’s accounts.

You couldn’t have imagined then that those mindless videos would become relics, haunting the internet for years to come. Fame would find you, but not in the way you expected.

It all began with a cold. Zaid wasn’t unfamiliar with seasonal colds, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. You joked about him being a "frail Victorian child" wasting away in the manor’s drafty halls.

You expected it to pass, like it always did, with a steady diet of soups, tea, and Vicks humidifiers. Even your doctor friends laughed it off, teasing Zaid as they handed him a lolly for his melodramatic whining.

But as the days dragged on, your laughter grew strained. The cold didn’t break. Zaid grew weaker by the hour, his skin losing color, his energy fading. Nights were filled with his fevered ramblings, his body slick with sweat, twisting beneath the covers.

You stopped the renovations, packed your bags, ready to drag him to the hospital. But Zaid refused. His grip on the Evermoor tightened, as if the house held him captive. His sunken eyes stared at you, forbidding the thought of leaving.

You stayed by his side, your hands clasped in his, pleading with him, crying through sleepless nights as his fever raged on. His brothers flew in from the States, ready to move him to the infirmary. Your aunt stepped in to oversee the Evermoor while you prepared to leave.

And then, overnight, Zaid recovered. His pallid face transformed, flushed with sudden vitality. Every plan to leave vanished in an instant.

He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

Zaid’s obsession with restoring Evermoor to its former glory took precedence over everything. The modern renovations you had so carefully planned were tossed aside, replaced by an eerie fixation on the mansion’s past.

His eyes gleamed with an intensity that unsettled you—a brightness that seemed to glow, unnatural, when he caught you staring.

And it wasn’t just you. Hermes and Zeus, once Zaid’s loyal companions, now cowered in his presence. The dogs, who once leapt into his arms, growled or fled when he entered the room. But Zaid remained indifferent, unbothered by their fear.

What disturbed you most was his fixation on the ring. His eyes followed your hand, tracking the diamond wherever it went, but he rarely touched you like he once had. When he did, he avoided the ring, as though afraid of it.

He was like Tantalus—forever reaching for something just out of his grasp.

It was during a quiet afternoon, while absentmindedly scrolling through comments on your YouTube channel, that you stumbled upon it.

A simple comment that stopped you cold.

Tevildoisapookie 5:08 Did anyone notice the elven script on that newspaper? Didn’t expect a Silmarillion crossover with cottagecore, lol.

Confused, you paused the video, your brows knitting together. The paper you had used to cover the windows during the painting of the guest bedroom doors was visible in the frame, covered in scrawled text.

Your fingers hovered over the reply button, hesitation filling you.

LadyofEvermore Can you read what it says?

Chuckling nervously at your own paranoia, you tossed your phone aside and resumed petting Hermes. The dog gave you an annoyed glance, irritated at being woken from his nap.

“I’m sorry, old man,” you muttered, running your fingers through his fur. Slowly, you drifted off, the warm sun lulling you into a shallow sleep.

You woke to the low growls of your dogs. Blinking groggily, you found Hermes and Zeus standing over you, tense and alert, their eyes locked on something across the room.

Your gaze followed theirs and froze. Zaid stood in the doorway, unnervingly still, his eyes gleaming with that strange, unsettling light as he stared back at the dogs.

You quickly gathered the dogs, leading them outside where their tension evaporated as they chased fireflies into the dusk. But as you turned to head back inside, you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

Zaid.

You forced yourself to relax, leaning back into him.

“Pizza okay with you?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly. Zaid nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on your hand, on the ring that sparkled in the fading light.

Later, when you took out your phone to order the pizza, a notification awaited you.

Tevildoisapookie www.reddit.com/r/Quenya/comments/4x2d9k/the_language_Quenya_script_more]

A Reddit user had commented, translating the strange symbols from your video-

SobbingMaia It seems to be a Quenya reiteration of the Oath of Fëanor(a pretty good one) :

Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[mairablue]

Thank you, @lamemaster for tagging me. 🙂❤️❤️

Tagging: @imhereforscm @acefaun @fateinthestars @fang-and-feather @star-crossed-mid @ladybambivamp @fizzyxcustard (No pressure) 💛💛 And anyone who hasn't been tagged feel free to join in. 🙂

[mairablue]

Leon 🤣🤣🤣

[mairablue]

The Evermoor

Request: Sinister love for Maedhros, especially if it's after his fiery death ~how very SPOOKY~ he'd be scary enough as a ghost, but more terrifying would be if he survived or was resurrected, with his burns.Gosh I love Halloween

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader/ Reader x OC

Genre: Horror

Summary: He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

AN: Your prompt is so awesome 😩 I loved writing it too much. Got carried away so now there's another part. I'm sorry if this does not exactly follow your prompt but this was awesome.

Next up- Sinister love with Maedhros chapter dos 🤭

You cower, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tense as if trying to melt into the mattress. The darkness feels oppressive, alive, crawling across the room toward you, its presence tangible in the suffocating silence.

Buried under your quilt, your mind drifts toward the closet opposite the bed. Its door, barely cracked open, looms in your vision. A door you distinctly remember forcing shut before slipping beneath the covers. A door that seems to have a will of its own, refusing to remain closed.

The house whispers around you—the creak of brittle wood rising from the old floorboards as if the very bones of the mansion are shifting in the night.

The Evermoor, ancient and untouched, resists the modern makeover your fiancé envisions, its colonial elegance holding tight against time’s slow decay.

For now, the Evermoor stands as it always has—unmoved, unchanged, steeped in shadow.

Most days, Evermoor feels like a distant memory, as if it exists in a realm between the living and the forgotten. Its old stone walls, hidden by evergreens and draped in mist, seem to breathe with the weight of centuries. It sleeps peacefully, exhausted by the passage of its long history.

That was how you first saw it—the slumbering, serene majesty of the Evermoor, drawing both you and Zaid into its mysterious hold. Your fiancé.

The decision to leave Prague had been wild, impulsive, even. Trading the city’s buzzing streets for the quiet of Viscri, nestled in a valley so still it felt like stepping back in time.

Zaid had been enchanted by the sprawling backyard, imagining your two dogs bounding across it, while you found comfort in the damp, earthy scent of the village—like fresh rain mingling with ancient stone.

This was how life unfolded for most people: years spent amid the crowded anonymity of cities, until you find the one person who makes the world slow down. Love follows, fierce and fragile, weathering the storms, if you’re lucky. Then comes the dream of escape, leaving the fast lane for something slower, more peaceful.

Work promotions had helped make that dream possible. The suburban fantasy, a far-off dream for many, had crept into reality with the right person by your side.

Zaid was that person—the flirtatious frat boy you never imagined sticking around. But beneath his charm lay a deep kindness, and that kindness made it impossible not to love him.

Loving Zaid was effortless. He made it so. Flowers left in unexpected places, candlelit dinners, soft words, and grand gestures that melted your heart. He cradled your love with a care that drew you in, little by little, until you couldn’t imagine life without him.

The once-ridiculous international student who convinced you to leave everything behind now sat beside you in Evermoor, slurping ramen as you both debated which floorboards would suit the study best.

A glittering diamond caught the light on your finger. He had proposed three months ago, under the soft light of candlelit shadows. Did you see it coming? Yes. But did you put on an elaborate act of surprise? Absolutely.

Zaid was predictable, but in ways that made you feel safe. He was a man of habit, of routines you had come to cherish. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon the hidden ring. Its hiding place in the unused suitcase had been clever—until one of your friends asked to borrow it.

The ring was magnificent, the kind that sparkled so brightly it drew gasps, making people look twice to make sure it was real.

Had you known what was to come, you would’ve never accepted it. You would’ve sent that suitcase—along with the cursed ring—to the farthest corner of the world.

The ring that stole Zaid away from you. Or was it the Evermoor?

The early days in the mansion had been enchanting. Bright, warm spring afternoons spent poring over floor plans, your future laid out before you. The wedding was to take place at Evermoor, the perfect venue. The house itself felt magical, like it had been waiting for you and Zaid to bring it back to life.

The mansion was a spell you couldn’t resist. It drew you into its labyrinthine halls, its ancient bones whispering secrets as you wandered through its forgotten rooms.

Your freelance work went on hold, and soon you found yourself documenting your journey on YouTube—a simple series on renovating your dream house. While your editing left much to be desired, the vlogs gathered a modest following of 56 subscribers, five of which were Zaid’s accounts.

You couldn’t have imagined then that those mindless videos would become relics, haunting the internet for years to come. Fame would find you, but not in the way you expected.

It all began with a cold. Zaid wasn’t unfamiliar with seasonal colds, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. You joked about him being a "frail Victorian child" wasting away in the manor’s drafty halls.

You expected it to pass, like it always did, with a steady diet of soups, tea, and Vicks humidifiers. Even your doctor friends laughed it off, teasing Zaid as they handed him a lolly for his melodramatic whining.

But as the days dragged on, your laughter grew strained. The cold didn’t break. Zaid grew weaker by the hour, his skin losing color, his energy fading. Nights were filled with his fevered ramblings, his body slick with sweat, twisting beneath the covers.

You stopped the renovations, packed your bags, ready to drag him to the hospital. But Zaid refused. His grip on the Evermoor tightened, as if the house held him captive. His sunken eyes stared at you, forbidding the thought of leaving.

You stayed by his side, your hands clasped in his, pleading with him, crying through sleepless nights as his fever raged on. His brothers flew in from the States, ready to move him to the infirmary. Your aunt stepped in to oversee the Evermoor while you prepared to leave.

And then, overnight, Zaid recovered. His pallid face transformed, flushed with sudden vitality. Every plan to leave vanished in an instant.

He was better than ever—but not the same. It was as though the fever had washed away more than just his illness. The man you loved had been replaced by someone—or something—else.

Zaid’s obsession with restoring Evermoor to its former glory took precedence over everything. The modern renovations you had so carefully planned were tossed aside, replaced by an eerie fixation on the mansion’s past.

His eyes gleamed with an intensity that unsettled you—a brightness that seemed to glow, unnatural, when he caught you staring.

And it wasn’t just you. Hermes and Zeus, once Zaid’s loyal companions, now cowered in his presence. The dogs, who once leapt into his arms, growled or fled when he entered the room. But Zaid remained indifferent, unbothered by their fear.

What disturbed you most was his fixation on the ring. His eyes followed your hand, tracking the diamond wherever it went, but he rarely touched you like he once had. When he did, he avoided the ring, as though afraid of it.

He was like Tantalus—forever reaching for something just out of his grasp.

It was during a quiet afternoon, while absentmindedly scrolling through comments on your YouTube channel, that you stumbled upon it.

A simple comment that stopped you cold.

Tevildoisapookie 5:08 Did anyone notice the elven script on that newspaper? Didn’t expect a Silmarillion crossover with cottagecore, lol.

Confused, you paused the video, your brows knitting together. The paper you had used to cover the windows during the painting of the guest bedroom doors was visible in the frame, covered in scrawled text.

Your fingers hovered over the reply button, hesitation filling you.

LadyofEvermore Can you read what it says?

Chuckling nervously at your own paranoia, you tossed your phone aside and resumed petting Hermes. The dog gave you an annoyed glance, irritated at being woken from his nap.

“I’m sorry, old man,” you muttered, running your fingers through his fur. Slowly, you drifted off, the warm sun lulling you into a shallow sleep.

You woke to the low growls of your dogs. Blinking groggily, you found Hermes and Zeus standing over you, tense and alert, their eyes locked on something across the room.

Your gaze followed theirs and froze. Zaid stood in the doorway, unnervingly still, his eyes gleaming with that strange, unsettling light as he stared back at the dogs.

You quickly gathered the dogs, leading them outside where their tension evaporated as they chased fireflies into the dusk. But as you turned to head back inside, you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

Zaid.

You forced yourself to relax, leaning back into him.

“Pizza okay with you?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly. Zaid nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on your hand, on the ring that sparkled in the fading light.

Later, when you took out your phone to order the pizza, a notification awaited you.

Tevildoisapookie www.reddit.com/r/Quenya/comments/4x2d9k/the_language_Quenya_script_more]

A Reddit user had commented, translating the strange symbols from your video-

SobbingMaia It seems to be a Quenya reiteration of the Oath of Fëanor(a pretty good one) :

Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending, Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[mairablue]

Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

[mairablue]

Could you reblog this if you enjoy seeing your writer friends ramble about their wips on your dash?

[mairablue]

Redownloaded the app again and made new ones

English ones this time

[mairablue]

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

[mairablue]

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

[mairablue]

Me internally when mom talks to people in the grocery store forever (also probably every teen ever)

[mairablue]

What if we met earlier?

Previously, when I met someone, I thought about how strange it was that fate decided to bring us together.

After all, we were very different; we didn't fit into each other's lives at all.

Then I began to imagine how my life would've changed if I had met that person earlier?

Or, if we ran into each other on the street, would we just pass on by? Would we take notice of each other?

Too different, with no common interests, and busy with our own lives.

We would've locked eyes only for a second and moved on, forgetting about the fleeting meeting forever.

And only a terrible catastrophe could make us not just look, but see.

If we had met earlier, how would everything have turned out?

In a world where Dmitry was just a passerby, and I was an ordinary woman.

Disregarding time, positions, and events, would we be on the same side?