mairablue

[mairablue]

A God's Worship

Request: I hope you are doing well 💗 I love the new Adrian x dutchess reader story. I got the prompt, 'Psyco'. I was wondering if you could write a Adrian Tepes x female reader story where the reader is a bit unhinged. But he is madly in love with her. Like a dark, twisted tale. 😁

AN: Hello anon, thank you for reading my work! Here is your request. I hope you enjoy this. Unhinged but madly in love readers are my fav. I tried something new by writing this one poetically.

Genre: drama & angst ig

Pairing(s): Alucard x gn Reader

Summary: His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch. And the world falls apart.

Some sacrifice love for good. Some burn the world for love. Some light it up. And some… create a new one.

This story is for those who become God to worship their love.

"It is not real!"

Adrian clutches Lisa’s hand, his golden eyes wide, trembling with frantic terror.

"You're dead!"

His body, shrouded in blankets, wracks with shivers as he points a shaking finger at his father.

"And you… I killed you. Why are you here?"

He flinches from their touch, ignoring the gentle hands trying to soothe him, to press a cup of medicine to his lips.

"My dear," Lisa whispers, cupping his damp cheeks. "It is a dream. We are here with you."

She pulls him into her arms, a mother’s warmth, he remember it well. Her warmth, the scent of herbs and ink...his mother.

"A nightmare of the past. Your father and I live. We are alive."

But her words are hollow, empty as the castle halls.

Adrian presses his hands over his ears.

"This is a lie… a spell, a dream, an illusion." His voice wavers, a fragile thing on the brink of breaking. Sweat drips from his temple, strands of pale hair clinging to his nape.

Then—

"Shhh."

A voice silences the storm in his mind.

A whisper, just by his ear. Lips brushing his skin.

"You are safe."

His breath hitches. His heartbeat slows. His eyes flutter shut beneath your touch.

And the world falls apart.

Adrian links his arm through yours.

It takes effort, his gaze refuses to leave you tonight.

The winter ball of the Fae glows with silver light, a kingdom sculpted from frost and moonbeams. Next to him, you are a wonder, robes spun from the midnight sky, glimmering with woken stars. Your hair cascades down your back, untamed, luminous with crystals of ice braided in.

The court is frozen in time, statues carved by the careful hands of devoted brownies.

His mother and father are lost in a sea of dancers, their laughter carried by the wind, lost among masked dancers.

Adrian rubs his thumb over your palm.

"You look beautiful, my love."

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Dance with me?"

At your nod, he whisks you onto the floor.

His arms around you. Yours around him. Closer than ever.

He dances with the same effortless grace as his father.

Dracula, after all, had taught him the waltz of the Unseelie Court.

Sun-spun hair rests beneath your fingers. He smiles, laughter spilling from his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

His steps creak—

Not against polished marble, but against worn wooden floors.

Dust shifts beneath his shoes, months of neglect disturbed with each movement.

Yet his smile remains.

His eyes remain lost in the illusion of your faraway court.

Perhaps it would be easier to let him stay here.

If it brings him joy, you would leave Dracula’s crumbling castle in a heartbeat.

"Do you like it here?" You nod to the marvelous sights of your court that your beloved revels in.

Your fingers weave into his hair, cradling the warmth of his head against your palm.

"Why not stay longer?"

The question is light, effortless. Crafted with delicate precision to mask the quiet desperation curling inside you.

What you would not do to have him here, in your world.

To drape him in silks, to spoil him with the everlasting luxuries of your court.

Adrian frowns.

Hesitation lays itself bare upon his face, a fragile thing for you to pluck away at first sight.

Spells make it easier to read him.

"No… please, no." His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his grip trembling. "I cannot leave home."

His steps falter. His eyes clear, gold sharpening through the mist of illusion. "Must stay with mother...and father," he whimpers.

The edges of your glamour wither, fragile as the first frost beneath morning light.

"Alright, beloved."

You pull him into your embrace, his breath shaky against your shoulder.

"No more. We won’t leave. We shall stay where you wish"

With a mere thought, the phantom forms of his parents step closer.

"We shall stay with your parents."

A reassurance. A spell. A carefully woven promise.

You usher him back into the comfort of his dream. The world you have made for him.

Your beloved is happy there. Fulfilled.

Who are you to deny him?

Here, the castle stands untouched, as it had in the past.

Here, the bodies of traitorous friends do not rot in the woods.

Here, the church has never burned.

Here, the humans still live.

Here, you have given him the world he desires.

And in return, Adrian chooses life.

Next to you. Here.

You twirl him in your arms, guiding him through another waltz beneath the dream-lit sky.

He dances with you, laughter slipping through his lips, until exhaustion drapes over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

His body leans into yours. He tires more easily now. Agitation wears at him faster, the strain of his soul bound to your spell pressing upon his fragile form.

It had been his fading soul that led you to this.

By the time you found him, it was already too late.

Broken by grief, your beloved had been lost to the cold corridors of his misery, wasting away within the crumbling bones of his father’s castle.

But you refused to let go of him.

Your love, your passion, your despair, your grief, it was all his.

But mercy?

No.

You refused to grant him that.

You refused to let his soul wander where you could not follow.

So, you made him a world.

Seared his soul to yours.

Even death would not take him. Not at the cost of him.

You yawn, feigning drowsiness.

"Shall we retire?"

Adrian blinks up at you, bleary-eyed, nodding without question.

You lead him to his room, guiding him to the bed with a gentleness neither of you deserve.

He does not question the sudden shift in scenery.

Does not question the way his vision wavers, as if some part of him knows.

He simply settles into your arms, his face buried against your neck, breathing softly.

And you hold him closer, knowing he will never wake from this dream.

[mairablue]

I can't put it in words how much i love this story! 😭🤧🩷🩷🩷

Thank you so much for writing this!!!! 💖💖💖

On Your Toes

Request: Hi (* ´ ▽ ` *) I hope you are still accepting spin the wheel requests. I got , fan and idol as a prompt. If you aren't too busy at the moment, can you please write a story for Adrian Tepes x Idol!reader? Like he pretends to dislike her music but finds her voice soothing, secretly admires her and... loves her. 🫣🙃

AN: Thanks for requesting! This is slightly different from you request but I seriously had to write it to escape my writer's block (partially due to Love and Deep Space wrecking my life) Also ik Ballerino is Italian but can we roll with this please because danseurs sounds mad pretentious.

Genre: Idol/Ballet au

Pairing(s): Alucard x GN Reader

Summary: You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

"I'm sure 14-year-olds love your so called 'art'," Adrian says, rolling his eyes with a huff as he leans back against the windowsill. "Is it worth leaving years of hard work?"

Crouching in front of him, you rest his feet on your thigh and begin unlacing the bloodied pointe shoe, which clings stubbornly to the oozing callouses on his skin.

"You forgot your ointment again?" You sigh, already reaching for the travel-sized tube you always carry. That habit has never left you, from the past to now.

With gentle hands, you apply the cool gel to his raw soles. Above you, Adrian sucks in a sharp breath, his toes curling at the sudden sting of relief.

"I missed you." You stand up after wrapping his feet in bandages and pulling on mismatched warm socks, socks he never had a complete pair of. "And I worry too. Now that I’m here, I know I have a good reason to fret." Your gaze lingers on his sunken cheeks.

"I do not require your pity!" Adrian huffs, turning his back to you. "Go back to your glamorous life. Aren't you above ballet now? Too good for it?" His words cut deep into your heart.

It has been three years. Three long years since he refused to answer your calls, moved out of the home you once shared, leaving behind nothing but a lonely ring.

He, who is in the lyrics of your every song, the muse for your art, he has left you. Or perhaps, you pushed him away.

Eighteen years ago, at the age of seven, you first met him. In that ballet class, when you both let go of your weary parents’ hands and walked into a room where you became the best of friends.

It was no less than a wedding pyre, where your blood, sweat, and endless hours bound you both into something more.

Adrian loved ballet. His feet never faltered, his arms refused to tremble, even in the swiftest lifts. He was most beautiful in his dance.

You, on the other hand, could never find solid ground beneath your feet while lost in staring at him.

To some extent, you enjoyed the sway of music that came in waves. You relished the closeness it offered, the bond it allowed between you and your friend.

Music, you loved. Just as Adrian loved ballet. Music taught you how to love.

From the scrawled notes on your notebook covers to your cheap GarageBand subscription, you loved losing yourself to the sounds of the world around you.

But all that had to wait, tucked away in the tiny pockets of your time, the ones spared beyond ballet.

You loved music, but you loved him more.

For years, you did.

You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

You grasped at pieces, but all that remained were shadows. Ballet was never your calling.

It was the old SoundCloud rap that thrust you into the shoes that were made for you.

From a small re-release, to album deals, to company contracts, your world pulled you closer.

And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the ballet studio, your heart reached for the keys of your keyboard.

Productions rarely ever kept you, and with a distracted mind, roles slipped through your fingers.

Weeks later, Adrian found himself alone on the stage. Broken from the reverie of his practice, he searched for you. Backstage. The costume room. The tech booth.

You were gone.

And then he saw the script.

Your name wasn’t there.

You had left him. Alone. Lost in his dance.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

Was he to blame? Had he kept you from your passion?

Wrath. Hurt. Guilt. Heartbreak. They flooded him all at once.

That day, for the first time, his feet ached. Not from exhaustion, not from relentless training, but from something deeper. Never before had he cared about pain over his dance. Yet, in that moment, it hurt more than anything.

So he left. Just as you had. Without a word, he walked away—from your home, your ring, everything.

He abandoned you.

He refused to love this version of you. He refused to be the one left behind. So he left first.

This was your penance, and his.

Never again did his feet tire. Never again did his smile falter. He poured himself into his craft, drowning in movement, in rhythm, in perfection.

But who could resist a siren’s call?

Even as he spun through daring choreography, even as he lost himself in dance, his ears could not escape your music.

That brash, loud, jarring music, the very thing that had torn you apart.

Songs that were all about him. Words that glided with melody like his body through motion.

He knew how much it meant to you.

Music, to you, was what ballet had become to him.

And much to his dismay, he understood that far too well.

After all these years, after countless lovers taken just to spite you, he had not expected this.

For the idol so many cherished to kneel beside him as you once did. For you to be so gentle, so familiar in your every action.

For you to still carry the ointment, the one none of the dancers could afford. You had bought it for him back then, and you hadn’t stopped now.

He had not expected you to ignore all the hurt and continue loving him.

It was unfair. Unbearably cruel. To be so good to him.

His heart protested, curling in on itself at the sight.

He let you slip warm socks over his feet, trying his damnedest to hold back the tears.

But you were his friend. His adorable rat. His beloved.

How could he have wronged you? When he knew the answer too well.

The thing about love is that it cannot be held back. It cannot be unfelt.

Like a stubborn stream of water, it finds a way, seeping through the cracks of even the hardest heart.

And after all these years, it had never ceased to exist.

[mairablue]

Hello 🤗😊

I'm sick. And instead of just sitting down to write the fanfic I should write for today, I'm thinking up random unrelated SCM headcanons.

You see, I finished Macbeth yesterday. And I've been a HUGE Shakespeare nerd ever since I was a child. And basically my love language is have you sit down and just listen to me analyze Shakespeare's works to you. So...

Which of the gods do you think would (the first 6 at least) actually sit down and have me talk their ear off about Shakespeare??

I hope you feel better soon!! I know you said the first 6, but I went ahead and did all 12! :)

*~*~*~*~*~*

Leon

He would prefer to just lay in bed with you, either in silence or watching one of your favorite shows together

He also wouldn't want you to use up energy conversing when you should be resting

But if you "simply must speak", then he'd rather hear you talk about yourself, your childhood, etc.

Scorpio

He'd object at first, saying he couldn't care less about whatever a poet who ceased existing centuries ago wrote

However, it wouldn't take much persuasion for him to give in and let you drone on however much you wanted

Because secretly, he loves the sound of voice and listening to you talk about things you love

All the while struggling to carve an apple into rabbits for you

Teorus

He would happily listen to you...for the first few minutes, at least

...Then his attention would start to wander; he doesn't quite understand Shakespeare so it would be difficult for him to focus on your words

Then he'd apologize and ask if you could talk about something else whilst trying to reassuring you that he really does enjoy listening to you and that he doesn't want to hurt your feelings

And he'd probably give you a glass of milk to drink, insisting it'll help you feel better

Dui

Dui? Gladly. He'll happily sit and let you talk about whatever you want for however long you want

Whatever will make you happy while you're unfortunately not feeling great

He'll do anything to help you feel better

Shadow Dui, on the other hand? He wouldn't be as ecstatic for that, but then Dui would probably scold him in his mind and Shadow would internally sigh and tell you to continue

Huedhaut

He wouldn't mind at all seeing as literature is one of his favorite topics of conversation

He'd lay by your side and let you talk as long as you wanted do

And unlike most of the other gods, he'd actually discuss with you, as opposed to letting you do all the talking

He'd be the most interested (if not excited) out of all of them to talk Shakespeare

Ichthys

He doesn't know much about Shakespeare at all, but he'd let you teach him a little, considering you're not feeling well and all

Similar to Teo, it wouldn't hold his attention for long, but he'd be willing to listen for a little while

Karno

He's such a sweetheart; he'll happily listen to you

And he'll ask questions and inquire about your opinions

He won't just listen, he's actually interested and wants to know more and have a more in-depth conversation about it

Zyglavis

He'd probably be the second most excited to discuss Shakespeare, next to Huedhaut

He'd see it as an opportunity to learn, and he always appreciates an opportunity to learn

As well as appreciates an opportunity to make you happy

Zyg will gladly sit or lay with you with a content smile on his face

Aigonorus

So...Aigo would say he'll listen, but would also warn you that he'll most likely fall asleep

...And he would.

...That's kinda it. He would be nice and say yes and then just fall asleep like 30 seconds in

He'd apologize when he gets woken up. And then fall back asleep again.

Krioff

Krioff would probably say no. He's just not interested unfortately

Poetry isn't even on the list of the top, say, 20 things he's interested in enough to sit and talk about

But then he would immediately feel bad and suggest you talk about or do something else in an attempt to light his guilt

Tauxolouve

I think he would let you talk his ear off about Shakespeare

He wouldn't mind at all

Lou would find something in there to be take interest in + he would just love seeing you chatting away happily

Partheno

He would probably ask you if Shakespeare wrote about anything sexy, and if the answer was anything equivalent to no, then he'd suggest another topic of conversation lol

[mairablue]

SCM - Department Of Punishment

Scorpio ♏️- Sweet Memories

A/N: This is a continuation of the stories Home Where The Heart Belongs and Dance With Me, Tonight. Also my first fluffbruary story of this year. Hopefully this turned out alright. 🙂

For fluffbruary event ( @fluffbruary )

Prompts: anticipation | nonsense | mail

5th February, 2025

~~~

It has been a month since he had boarded that train and left. I tried not to think too much about the whole situation. I tried to focus on my work; trying to immerse myself in the mundane routine of my life.

Things were changing, i had heard. Some said the situation will be better and soon the war will come to an end.

I looked out the window onto the school campus. Thick drops of rain were falling from the sky, making the atmosphere gloomy.

The class room was devoid of the sound of laughter and usual merriness. Handful of students who could still attend school were present.

"Madam?"

I turned to look at her; waiting for her to continue.

"Should we submit the assignments?" She asked placing a notebook on the table. "You said to complete it by Friday", she looked back at her friends, "We have already completed it."

"Today is Tuesday, it's it?" I said.

"No madam, today is Wednesday, the 5th", she said softly.

"Yes, if you are done working on it, you can submit your assignments", i said addressing the whole class.

The rest of the day was uneventful. By the time i was prepared to leave, the rainfall had turned into a drizzle. There were very few people outside and even fewer cars.

I walked slowly, pondering about the fact that i had forgotten the correct date, which meant that the letter must have arrived this morning.

Most shops were closed except a few selling essential items. On the opposite side of the street, stood a little confectionary shop. The delicious aroma of freshly made sweets wafted from the little door onto the street.

The sweet smell brought back a sweet memory.

-

The doorbell rang; i rushed to open the door. Scorpio stood with his mother and grandmother. He smiled; his sweet boyish smile lighting up his eyes.

That was the day he met my parents and i met his mother and grandmother. My parents, his mother and grandmother continued their conversation while we went upto my room.

"You have to try these, at least once (Name)", he said holding up one of the sweets in front of me.

I shook my head and smiled, "I don't like those, very much".

He insisted i will like them. That i should give them another chance. At last i agreed.

A smile of satisfaction came upon his face as i took the first bite. He was right, the sweet was warm; soft like a feather, as it melted in my mouth.

"Is it good?" He almost had a teasing tone in his voice. I wanted to refuse; say no. But how could i? He was so delighted, so happy, so close. I could softly brush my fingers against his cheek, feel the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers. Look into his eyes, listen to the warm, deep tones of his voice as he chuckled.

Before i knew it, i had been standing there on the street, smiling like a fool as few drops of tears, escaped the corners of my eyes.

For some reason i turned to look at the other side of the street at the confectionary shop. The shopkeeper, lady was in her 70s. Noticing me, she smiled. Her eyes were filled with warmth, even with everything surrounding us. I felt, perhaps i have known her for many years.

-

I pushed open the front gate and walked in. The letter had arrived. I picked it out from the mailbox.

Walking home i kept the bags on the table and quickly changed into something comfortable, before reading the letter.

My fingers shook slightly as i opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. Anticipating something horrible was still a habit that i possessed.

"I hope you are well. I am well". Reading those sentences i took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was a relief to read those two sentences every time i opened one of his letters.

He described the situation that he had witnessed there as much as he could without getting into the more upsetting details.

'Yesterday, i saw the crescent moon. The river water held an ethereal reflection of it. I met another journalist, Mr. Roy few days ago. He had managed to acquire some (sweet's name) from a shop nearby, which we ate with tea sitting on the river bank.

I wished i could have shared them with you. The sweets were almost as good as the ones we have back home. This might seem a bit stupid to write, but i hope to eat those with you the next time i come home. And it is even more nonsensical to bring that thought in mind, given our current circumstances. Is it not, my dear? But i do believe, i have the liberty to dream, no matter what circumstances i might be in.

But i truly hope and pray to see the delightful expression on your face when we eat those again. At least one more time.

It is getting late, and my pen is almost out of ink. I will write to you soon. Take care of yourself. Do not worry. Whatever happens, must happen. Keep moving forward. I love you, forever and always. Good night, my dear.'

-

He had signed his name and had even drawn a little smile.

I folded the letter and kept in inside the envelope before putting it with the other letters.

Opening the packet, the warm, delicious aroma greeted me again. I could picture him sitting on the unfamiliar river bank, of the distant land, smiling to himself as he wrote the letter. I chewed softly, relishing the (sweet's name) as my lips curled up in a smile.

[mairablue]

"I have made my choice,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles. “And I will make it every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

💗

Duchess' Consort

Request: Loving your Tropovenia stories ❤️ I got, 'Against Parents'. Would you please write something about Adrian and modern reader with that prompt? 🥺

AN: Hello anon, I am glad you're enjoying my silly little event! I loved writing this and would have loved to add more bg but this event is for short stories so I tried my best. I hope you like it :)

Genre: drama & royalty au ish??

Pairing(s): Alucard x female Reader

Summary: “You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

“He’s a vampire!” your father roars, his face flushing red. It’s a familiar sight, one that mirrors your own anger. Apparently, temper ran strong in the family.

“And he’s a dhampir!” you snap back, marching toward him with equal fury.

The latest argument about your relationship had now passed the two-hour mark. You were both too stubborn to yield, two sides of the same damn coin. Exhaustion tugged at your shoulders, but neither of you would back down. Not yet.

With a huff of defeat, your father finally lowers himself into his chair, rubbing his temples. “You can’t just marry the son of Dracula,” he says, his voice weary but still carrying an edge of authority. “He’s no match for you.”

“We’re in love!” You slam a glass of water back, trying to swallow both the drink and your frustration. “And it’s not like I’m abandoning my duties. I’m still here. I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to. Isn’t that enough?”

Your father shakes his head slowly. “And what?” he retorts, his tone bitter. “Sully our bloodline with a half-vampire? You’d ruin everything. Do not make me regret not seeking another heir when I had the chance. Perhaps I should have remarried, like everyone insisted...”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and stinging. They lodge deep in your gut, twisting until your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall. You grit your teeth, clenching the glass in your hand so tightly you fear it might shatter.

“Worry not, Father,” you bite out through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with controlled rage. “I’ll be sure to have plenty of children with Adrian. Enough that I never have to suffer the same regrets you do!”

The room falls silent, your words hanging heavy in the air.

Your father glares up at you, his eyes hard but not without pain. He didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t. He loves you. He’s just afraid, trapped by his grief and his fears. You are all he has left of your mother, and her betrayal has carved a gaping void between the two of you. Making a weak man out of your father. One afraid of any and all gentleness.

“I will not give up on him,” you say quietly but firmly. “The duchy can deal with it. And if you can’t, Father…”

You take a deep breath, standing tall despite the tremor in your voice.

“Then I’m sure Uncle will be more than happy to step up as your heir.”

Your father’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of his brother, and you see the flash of panic before he quickly masks it with a glare. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s too proud to admit it. The two of you stare each other down, both unwilling to break first.

The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, your father sighs, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of years has finally caught up to him. "You’re just like your mother," he mutters under his breath.

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, turning on your heel. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You turn to leave the room before he can see the tears threatening to fall.

Once, being compared to your mother had cut deep. A wound to your pride, an insult whispered in the shadows of your childhood. The woman who abandoned her title, her duty, for the fleeting fantasy of love. The scandal had clung to you like a curse. A  constant reminder of your supposed weakness.

But not anymore.

“There are conditions.”

Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts, halting you mid-step. His tone is cold, measured, calculated like a final move in a losing game.

“For him to be with you, there are rules he must obey.”

You turn back to face him, your heart tightening. His gaze is hard, filled with the last fragments of control he refuses to relinquish. This is his last attempt to bind you to his authority, to play his final pawn.

And yet, you stand straighter. You are not the child he once manipulated with fear and duty. Whatever terms he lays out, you will not falter.

“I’m listening,” you say evenly, crossing your arms as you meet his stare. You will not cower. Not for him, not for anyone.

“You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

Your voice remains steady, though each word feels like a blade against your heart. You stand with your back to him, your eyes fixed on the blooming garden outside the window.

“It is a terrible fate,” you continue quietly. “And I have nothing to give you. But I promise, should you take this foolish gamble, I will always be on your side. We will be equals beyond titles. Our children will grow up listening to your stories, to the tales of your people. Your lands will be cared for and passed on to our second-born, who shall inherit them.”

You pause, your thoughts momentarily drifting to a dream you dare not linger on too long. It’s easy, too easy, to imagine this future with Adrian. Despite your father’s endless demands, the vision takes root deep within you.

You can see it clearly: traveling to Castle Dracula with your children. Spending Yule together in the estates of your duchy. The dream feels achingly familiar, a warmth you are afraid to grasp.

Still, you steel your resolve, pushing the dream aside as you turn to face him.

“I cannot abandon my duties,” you say, the words final yet heavy with sorrow. “But you can leave. This life... it doesn’t have to be a fate you endure, Adrian.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. It stretches out like a chasm, each second a reminder of how deeply you’ve laid bare your vulnerability. You resist the urge to take the words back, to deny him the choice, to ease his decision with false comforts.

But no. A marriage built on lies and half-truths could not survive a harsh winter, let alone the storms your future would bring. He deserves the truth, as bitter as it is. You were prepared to lose him.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

You had rehearsed this moment countless times, steeling your heart for the inevitable. You imagined his hesitation, the disappointment clouding his eyes, and perhaps even a polite, resigned farewell. You had told yourself that you would understand. You had promised yourself you would let him go if that was his choice.

But now, as the silence stretches and your heart pounds louder than reason, you realize you were lying to yourself. You weren’t prepared. You never could be. The very thought of Adrian turning away feels like a blade pressing deep into your ribs, and you hold your breath, bracing for the worst.

Then he speaks, his voice so soft you almost miss it.

“My mother’s maiden name,” he says, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of tea in his hands. He does not look at you, as though he needs the space to steady himself. “I want one of our children to carry it as their middle name.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Before you can respond, he continues.

“I do not care for titles,” he says, his voice firmer now, each word deliberate. “All I ask is that you do not take other partners. And that you allow me time... time to learn the ways of the household. I would hate to be anything less than worthy of you.”

He sets the teacup down with a quiet clink and steps toward you. His presence is steady as he takes your hands gently in his.

At last, Adrian lifts his gaze, and you see the depth of his conviction shining in his eyes. “I have no doubt that you will not let me be wronged,” he says softly. “My fate with yours will be one of happiness. And I would be the most foolish dhampir to ever walk this earth if I gave that up for anything else.”

A sharp breath escapes you, half-relief, half disbelief. His words fill the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, and for a moment, the dream you’d been holding at bay no longer feels so distant.

“Adrian...” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I have made my choice,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles. “And I will make it every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Tears blur your vision, but this time, you don’t try to hide them. Instead, you squeeze his hands tightly and offer him a smile that holds all the love and gratitude you cannot yet put into words.

One thing you know for certain: with Adrian by your side, you’ll be better parents than either of you ever had. With him, the weight of your duties will feel lighter. Together, you will make something beautiful out of all the broken pieces you were given.

“You are a miraculous idiot,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you throw your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Adrian lets out a warm chuckle, his chest vibrating gently against yours. “Marry me, maybe?” he teases softly, his arms pulling you even closer, as if he never intends to let go.

You laugh through your tears, swatting at his shoulder. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

[mairablue]

Honestly, ever since becoming a fanfic writer myself I’ve become like 500% more understanding and patient about other authors’ update schedules. An author takes 6+ months to post their next chapter? Yeah, totally get that real life can get in the way. An author abandons a fic? Disappointing, but it happens- sometimes inspiration for a story just dies. An author apologizes about taking so long to post a 10k word chapter? Dude, that’s like 18-20 pages on Word single-spaced. It takes me at least a week to write an essay for school a quarter the length of that, and that’s with a deadline. 

It’s probably the most important thing writing fanfic has taught me, tbh. How to fully appreciate the hard work someone else has put into their story. How important the role of the audience is to an author. And that no matter what, you are never entitled to demand more of a story that you are getting for free. 

[mairablue]

This is so sweet.🩷

Thank you for writing this story! 😊❤️❤️❤️✨️💐💐💐💐

"Love story"

Genre: fluff/royalty AU

Pairing: human!Karno × reader

Warnings: none

For the January prompts (the link takes you to the specific prompts and the blog itself. So credits to the writer of this blog post for the prompts and for inspiring me.)

A/N: Prince Karno and princess Reader hehehehe🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

Prompt: Hardcover (Day 21 January 2025)

--------------------------------------------

I huffed, flipping one more page of my book.

Karno chuckled from his chair across from me. "Bored?" He asked.

I looked up at him, watching as the tall bushes with the pink roses behind him framed his figure, the sun adding depth to his sweet eyes. "No, it's just..."

"Yeah?" He closed his book slowly and leaned in, his elbows on the table, which was set in the middle of the palace gardens.

I sighed, closing my own book as well and setting it aside, beside the porcelain pitcher with the aromatic tea. Our cups were still empty, too caught up with reading to remember pouring ourselves some. And now it has gotten cold... "I'm just having trouble connecting with the plot, is all."

"Really?" He seemed surprised, his smile faltering a little bit, though not in judgement. "How come? You seemed very excited to pick up this particular book."

"I don't know." I said, reaching for a lemon cookie, but I regretted it and put it back down, seeing as I wasn't in the mood after all. "It's like I cannot feel it. She keeps describing how she feels butterflies in her stomach when he kisses her and all, but I seem to be... Disconnected from her."

"I see." Karno nodded. "Then I shall help you get into the plot?"

Karno and I have grown up together and he's only a year older than me. And the fact that our families are political allies, is something which guaranteed that Karno and I would grow up around each other from small kids, to fully grown adults.

Reading has always been our favourite hobby and the places we choose to read in depend on the weather.

On sunny days, we choose the gardens, with the fountain. While on thunderous days, we tend to prefer the study with the comfortable sofas, the fuzzy blankets and the fireplace.

I chuckled. "I don't think you can this time."

"You're underestimating me." He said and he smiled again, though this time he had a little something in his eyes. A cunningness that would usually arise during council meetings, but also when he was planning something with me.

And while I would never admit it, Karno's sly smiles always make me lose my composure more than they should.

I had the privilege to watch him grow from a polite and sweet boy with chubby cheeks, to a tall and gorgeous gentlemen.

He drummed a rhythm on the hardcover of his book with his fingertips and smiled to himself. He, then, got up from his chair and my fingers twitched.

I hurried to hide them into my dress's skirt, so he wouldn't notice and I eyed him silently as he walked around the table.

Karno stood in front of my chair and leaned in, placing a hand on the table and the other on the armrest of my chair.

"Karno?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking, but all I could manage was just to lower its volume, as I sank back into my chair.

He smiled and leaned in more, blocking the sun. And then... Warm and then hot... A sweet and spicy taste.

Karno's tongue grazed mine and I parted my lips more for him, ensnared by his spell.

Our kiss deepened, as if he wanted me to forget my very existence—and for a moment I did forget.

For one single perfect moment, all I could think of, was his lips against mine and the ticklish feeling in my stomach.

"Felt it...?" He whispered against my lips, when our kiss ended, as if this was our little sinful secret.

"One more?" I whispered too. "To make sure?"

He smiled and then he cupped my cheeks in his hands. "As many as you like." And as his fingers tangled into my hair, the tea grew colder and a gust of warm wind caused the pages to flutter, until we lost the plot.

Not that it mattered though... When our very own love story was better and it was something you could touch and count on.

[mairablue]

Gone was the polished, confident figure in an expensive suit who had walked in just moments earlier. Instead, you looked small, as though the weight of the world had folded you in on yourself.

As you place your order without even looking up, your mind replays the mechanics of your daily grind. The way your gaze always seems glued to your phone, your head perpetually bowed as if in servitude to the towering skyscrapers of the corporate hub that looms over your life. Every day, they press down on you, making it harder to breathe.

Loved the descriptions! ❤️

I can't thank you enough for writing this story! 😊🩷💖🩷💖

Shattered Armor

Request: @mairablue Hi 💞 Are you still taking requests for spin the wheel event about Adrian? I got the prompt, "He fell first". Can you please write a story with the prompt? Thank you!

AN: Hi friend, thanks for requesting! Please do excuse my own inner angst for this one but this was so cathartic to write.

Genre: He fell first

Pairing(s): Adrian Tepes x female Reader

Summary:Long ago Adrian had walked away from your world. World that never slept. Run by meetings, contracts, profits, grind. Adrian had left it for his mother’s cafe. To the world that smelled of roasted coffee and Mediterranean sandwiches. A glimpse of himself is perhaps what attracts him to you. Like a moth to flame, his heart follows.

Adrian remembers your coffee order as if it were etched into his mind.

Grande, half-decaf, oat milk latte with two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of vanilla, extra foam, and a light sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Exactly 135 degrees.

It was etched there from the first time you walked into his cafe. Typing away on your phone, a Bluetooth headset snug in your ear, you barely glanced at him as you rattled off your intricate order.

You had the air of someone important, busy, and detached. A person who lived in a world that never stopped spinning. Adrian had immediately dubbed you a corporate asshole in his mind.

That’s what he thought as he made your coffee the first time.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at your request, even as he worked to make it perfect. But when you tipped fifty dollars with a casual shrug and moved on without looking back, Adrian had to pause.

Who was he to judge?

When he brought the coffee to your table, he’d planned to offer you a free muffin as a gesture of goodwill after that mountainous tip. But as he approached, his words faltered.

Gone was the polished, confident figure in an expensive suit who had walked in just moments earlier. Instead, you looked small, as though the weight of the world had folded you in on yourself.

You were slumped back in your chair, staring blankly out the window. The person who’d walked in moments before had vanished, replaced by someone far more vulnerable.

Your shoulders were hunched, your hands limp in your lap, and your eyes, distant and red-rimmed, spoke of a weariness that felt all too familiar.

Adrian had frozen, caught off guard by the rawness of your expression.

He knew that look.

It was the same one he used to see in the reflection of office windows late at night. Back when his days were filled with meetings, contracts, and expectations. Back when the weight of his father’s company pressed down on his chest, even in the rare moments of stillness.

World was harsh to all. But it made itself harsher for women. It forged the might of iron to shape them into the form that it deemed acceptable.   

Long ago Adrian had walked away from your world. World that never slept. Run by meetings, contracts, profits, grind. Adrian had left it for his mother’s cafe. To the world that smelled of roasted coffee and Mediterranean sandwiches. A glimpse of himself is perhaps what attracts him to you. Like a moth to flame, his heart follows.

Without a word, Adrian swapped the muffin for a sandwich. Sugar wouldn’t help someone who looked like they were barely holding it together. He set the plate down quietly, careful not to disturb you, and slipped away before you could respond.

Yet he saw it, the way you glanced down at the sandwich, brows furrowed in confusion, before hesitantly picking it up. Your movements were slow, deliberate, like someone unaccustomed to acts of care. Adrian had watched from a distance as you chewed, your expression softening ever so slightly.

You come during the quiet hours now, always slipping in like you’re sneaking moments away from something relentless. Adrian watches as you sit by the window, eyes tracing the slow crawl of traffic. He notices the way your shoulders loosen as the minutes pass, how the tension drains from your body in the comfort of the cafe’s stillness.

He doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he keeps leaving sandwiches by your coffee. Most of the time, you don’t finish them. He often finds the leftovers in the bin or in your hands as you leave, your fingers brushing crumbs from your lap.

Adrian doesn’t know why you linger in his mind. Maybe it’s the reflection of himself he sees in you, the person he once was, drowning in a world that demanded too much. Maybe it’s the quiet grief that clings to you, invisible to everyone else but glaring to him.

What he does know is that every time you walk out the door, holding a sandwich you’ll probably forget to eat, something inside him twists in ways he thought he’d left behind.

And so he keeps watching, keeps waiting. Because in the stillness of the café, he’s found something he never expected: a tie to someone who reminds him of what it’s like to need saving.

Patrick Len sent a meeting invite.

The notification flashes on your phone just as you’re about to place your usual order. The familiar chime of the Slack app makes your stomach turn, and for a fleeting moment, you imagine hurling the damned device off Mount Everest.

You suppress a groan, the simmering frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You’d just told Patrick about your lunch break, a rare and sacred 30 minutes of freedom. Yet here you are again, accepting the last-minute invite with the same resigned flick of your thumb.

As you place your order without even looking up, your mind replays the mechanics of your daily grind. The way your gaze always seems glued to your phone, your head perpetually bowed as if in servitude to the towering skyscrapers of the corporate hub that looms over your life. Every day, they press down on you, making it harder to breathe.

This time, you put your phone on silent with a little more force than usual, slamming it onto the table and fighting back the prickling sensation behind your eyes. You will not cry. Not until the handsome barista brings your coffee, at least.

By now, Adrian has probably witnessed a dozen of your near-breakdowns. Would one more really be that surprising?

There’s something about this cafe, though something that makes it impossible to hold back the cracks in your armor. It’s far enough from the looming heights of your office, just a 15-minute drive that feels like a lifetime away. Here, you don’t have to sit under the shadow of your desk, with its endless agenda waiting to devour your soul.

Here, you can breathe, if only for a moment.

You glance out the window at children skipping home from school, their laughter floating into the street. Middle-aged women huddle together, their grocery bags heavy but their conversations light. Dogs prance by with their owners, tails wagging, paws pattering. And then there’s Adrian, the barista who brings you the best sandwiches you’ve ever had, always with a smile that feels unearned.

In this tiny pocket of the world, no one is watching for your cracks. No one is calculating the sincerity of your smile or judging the perfect precision of your project briefs.

It’s liberating and miserable all at once. Liberating to step away from the chaos, but miserable to know how fleeting it is, how high the price is for chasing your so-called dream.

A silly dream, stubborn and relentless, the kind you can’t quite let go of no matter how much it costs you.

This cafe has become your refuge, the only place you allow yourself to slip from the relentless mold of perfection. A place where you let the cracks widen, if only a little, as you sit and let the world drift by.

Yet, this cafe is where you dare to let go of your shattered armor. And allow your nurse Joy (yes Pokemon Go had some great gems here) to allow you some healing with the most amazing hummus dressings.   

The $50 tips? Excessive, even by your standards. But you leave them anyway, for Adrian. For the barista whose eyes follow you with a softness you can’t quite understand, like a puppy waiting for a reason to stay close.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you keep coming back.

[mairablue]

And then... Between the darkness and the fog and the silver moonlight...

The figure of a man; tall and lean, appeared at the far end of the bridge, climbing up the arch.

"Louie..." I called out, my lips trembling along with my chin, more from the overwhelming emotions than the cold.

The man stepped closer and moonlight streamed down his face, like cool water dropping from the ancient sculpture of a god.

I can't describe in words how much i love this story. 😭😭😭🤧✨️🩷💝💗💗💗💝🩷✨️

Thank you!

"I'm here"

Genre: fluff

Pairing: human!Tauxolouve × reader

Warnings: mentions of war

For the January prompts (the link takes you to the specific prompts and the blog itself. So credits to the writer of this blog post for the prompts and for inspiring me.)

A/N: This kind of takes place in a WWI situation. I'm not actually referring to any historical events, but basically, Tauxolouve is a human, who was off to war. And... Yeah.😃 ENJOY!!!❤️❤️❤️ I'M QUITE PROUD OF IT, ACTUALLY!!!

Prompt: All gone (Day 8 January 2025)

--------------------------------------------

A thin layer of snow covered the cobblestone roads, feeling as if my boots were walking through a wedding veil, with intricate details.

Snowflakes sprinkled my coat and hair, like silver dust, gleaming beneath the lamps across the streets, which cut through the darkness of the night like blades of flames.

I reached the flinty bridge, which arched right above a freezing lake, its soft gurgles the only noise in the complete silence of the witching hour.

The people had gone to bed. The cats and the dogs had curled up in makeshift shelters. The birds had traveled to warmer sides of the hemisphere.

The bridge was deserted. The chatter, the warm... Even the soft orange shades of the street lamps couldn't reached this place and as fog began to gather, the moon shone brighter and I felt like an actress in the middle of the stage, about to utter the last and most heartbreaking line of my role so far.

My fingers began to freeze, because I had forgotten my gloves at home, the stinging of the cold air causing even my bones to hurt.

I clutched the letter tighter, wrinkling the edges of the yellowish sheet in my impatience.

A letter from Tauxolouve had arrived four days ago, letting me know he'd be returning home today.

But when I went to the train station to meet him and welcoming him home back, this morning... He never stepped out of the train.

I waited for about an hour, watching all the men, clad in the same military uniform, carrying their stuff with one hand and with the other; their wives, their fiance's, daughters, granddaughters and their sons too.

I waited until the smiling and crying—of bliss and gratitude—crowd separated and disappeared... Until I stood there, in the middle of the platform, all alone. All gone, while the cold grew heavier, the clouds finally exhaling tiny crystalized droplets, upon the rooftops of the houses and the seats of the bikes left outside.

And still, my husband never showed up, like he had vowed to me he would.

"Louie..." I found myself whispering to myself, like a mad old woman still chasing the shadow of someone, which only she can witness. My breath turned to a ribbon of fog and I trembled more, the snow falling faster and thicker.

"(Name)..."

I rubbed my forehead. I was hearing his voice now. There was no way I'd be hearing his voice...

For a moment, I considered the possibility of the voice belonging to someone else. But I dismissed it immediately; I would recognize my beloved husband's sweet and calming voice, even in the loudest place, while the world is ending and the ground is splitting in half, along with the sky.

I would recognize his voice, even through the chaos of the stars falling to the ground, the moon pulling the tides of the ocean into disarray.

"(Name)...!"

I heard it again, but I could not see him. Yet I foolishly tried. "Louie?!" I waited, listening to the silence with shaky breaths and an even shakier heart.

"(Name)!" The voice of my love grew closer. "Where are you?!" He shouted.

I turned toward the direction of the sound. "Over here! At the bridge!"

And then silence. The snow, scattered all over, muffled his footsteps, so I couldn't know if he was coming towards me, or if my desperation to see him after months had started messing with my sanity.

And then... Between the darkness and the fog and the silver moonlight...

The figure of a man; tall and lean, appeared at the far end of the bridge, climbing up the arch.

"Louie..." I called out, my lips trembling along with my chin, more from the overwhelming emotions than the cold.

The man stepped closer and moonlight streamed down his face, like cool water dropping from the ancient sculpture of a god.

"Louie!" I shouted and ran. My body forgot about the sharp winter cold, regaining its strength at the sight of my husband safe and well from the war. "Louie!" I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly and sobbing hard and loudly into his chest.

He hugged me back even tighter, one arm around my waist and the other behind my head, his fingers slipping between my locks. "My sweet sweet little lady..." He spoke against my skin, his lips at my temple, kissing me repeatedly.

I sobbed harder, barely able to speak, all the feelings—fear, anticipation, stress, love—combining into a suffocating knot in my ribs and finally exploding after months.

"I'm here." He said. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here, my sweet little lady." He smiled at me, as he repeated the same words again and again, and one would think he's trying to convince me that he's not an illusion or a trick of the eye. "I'm here."

I stuffed the wrinkled epistolary into my pocket, crumbling it even more and then I held his cold face between my equally cold palms. I kissed his cheeks, his lips, his temple, as I cried.

I needed to feel him and make sure I was awake. To make sure he wouldn't fade away or slip through my fingers into a pile of more dull snow.

He hugged me back and kissed me too, our lips cold, but our tongues hot.

I looked him up and down, taking in all the changes in him. He was dressed a military uniform and high black boots with many complicated laces. He was muscled quite a lot and he looked exhausted. But...

He was still the most beautiful man I've ever lived to see. And he still had those charming and kind wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

He was still the love of my life, even if he had two grey hairs on his head from the stress, or if his fingers had callouses.

Because, in his soul, he'll always be the man I met as a teen girl at the stables of a nearby village. He'll always the teen boy who'd paint my portrait, as I made flower crowns in spring... He'll always be my love.

[mairablue]

It's Time for FLUFFBRUARY!

Well, would you look at that? February is rolling around *again* and that means it's time for MOAR FLUFF! We've put together a new prompt list of words and images to spark your imagination. Each day there are 3 word prompts, and every other day there is also a photo prompt. Pick any or all of them as inspiration for your fluffy fanwork —fic or art or moodboard or poem or whatever strikes your fancy. There are also a handful of alternate prompts at the bottom of the list if none of the day’s prompts work for you. 

Whether you do some of the prompts, all of them, or just one you'll be doing the world a service by increasing the global fluff quotient. 

All fandoms, all ships welcome! Tag @fluffbruary in your posts so we can reblog your fluffy creations–and please reblog THIS post so your tumblr community sees it and comes to play in the fluff.

February 1 : dark | defend | wander February 2 : ocean | jest | patience

The rest of the list is under a cut - image prompts every other day make for a lengthy post!

February 3 : uncertainty | myth | pause February 4 : green | grey | chess

February 5 : anticipation | nonsense | mail February 6 : declaration | gregarious | duet

February 7 : hand | curls | pattern February 8 : train | zenith | road

February 9 : accept | icy | ornament February 10 : coat | grimace | paper

February 11 : bench | cottage | tough February 12 : backwards | feign | recognize

February 13 : jealous | rose | narrow February 14 : voice | swim | quaint

February 15 : kettle | wonder | twist February 16 : aquamarine | impress | interlude

February 17 : yearn | salty | reality February 18 : tree | magnetic | trick

February 19 : dramatic | small | orange February 20 : cafe | linger | year

February 21 : anxious | help | zephyr February 22 : bullet | loyalty | unique

February 23 : attraction | mutter | opera February 24 : wine | note | lapels

February 25 : thirsty | swell | question February 26 : book | ivory | shelter

February 27 : kitchen | bell | sun February 28 : clean | galaxy | keep

alternate prompts : requiem | culture | chorus | knit | wait

[mairablue]

You managed to take me with you on another beautiful journey ✨️✨️✨️

I do not have words to describe how beautifully you write! ✨️💞💓💞✨️

❤️

Hi 🤗 Would you mind writing a cute little song fic with Taylor Swift's song Call It What You Want for Tauxolouve x MC? MC has been single all her life, she has never fallen in love with someone before. But they fell hard both for each other. MC is in a band, where is the lead vocalist. She sings this song on stage. 🙂

"Call it what you want"

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: HHHIII😭😭🌹🌹🌹 I was digging through my inbox and I found this request and... It reminded me how this year, Taylor Swift came out as my top artist of all 2024 on my Spotify wrap-up. SO THAT WAS VERY FITTING HAHA!! I WAS LISTENING TO THE SONG WHILE WRITING IT AND... GOD, I LOVE TAYLOR!!! Anyways, ENJOY!!!😚💕💕

It was raining, the cold droplets hitting my umbrella as I walked down the pavement, grazing random people's shoulders with mine.

It was fascinating. So many opportunities, choices and outcomes summing up lives, in many different shapes, colors and textures. And yet... All of them interconnected every day.

The people, which we share the pole in the metro with.

The people you try to evade at the super market aisle and they try to evade you too and you end up moving from side to side, like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

The people you helped pick up their coins.

The people you told the zipper of their bag is open.

The bartender you said ‘thank you’ to.

The high school girl who loved your jeans.

So many stories to tell every day and although many times, we cannot put names to faces and faces to names, we're present. We're active characters in someone's news over coffee in the afternoon or soup during dinner.

All of our stories are laced together like intricate skein.

I went down a flight of stone, damp stairs fast, skipping the last step completely. The wire of my earphones dangled from my ear and on my chest and I hummed to myself as I walked to the studio, a rhythm in my shoes and a feeling in my heart.

Love.

That simple, tiny, four-letter word... ‘Love’.

Perhaps the reason why this morning seemed so bright, although it was raining and grey cloud chased after me. The reason why I forgot the hot coffee I made myself at home. Why I almost tripped in front of people and yet I laughed, instead of feeling embarrassment. Love.

The reason behind everything is love!

I was being forgetful, giddy and productive, all because my brain was clouded by thoughts of him. Tauxolouve. Lou. My Tauxy. I blushed at the mere thought, but I also enabled those thoughts to steal my rationality away.

My first and last love. My friend and lover through anything. Through the slips into the mud, the mornings with the rainbows, the spilt lemonade. The pain, the success, the very core of life... He was there and his presence marks all of the spaces he's been in, even long after he's gone. Like his sweet caramel scent, which smells like home, spring and cookie mix in a bowl, which would bring smiles once it comes out of the oven.

I closed my umbrella and set it by the door to dry. I almost tripped on it, because I didn't steady it right, but I shook my head and just ran. Forward. Like I've learnt to always do by Tauxolouve's side ever since meeting him and ever since the kind wrinkles at the corners of his eyes captured my heart a life-long prisoner. A prisoner, who loved their cage.

Because I could not think of anything better than spending an eternity in his arms...

I picked up my guitar and... In the silence of the studio, there was enough space for my heart's melody. A melody which acompanied me in the shower, while drying my hair, while trying to sleep, while I scolded myself to finish the dishes and stop blushing at the memory of his laugh.

And when the day of the concert came to me... I let the world know. I shouted it straight from my heart. I told the world I loved his eyes, his voice and his cupid's bow.

The stings of my guitar swayed by the pressure of my pick and the microphone taped to my cheek helped my lyrics travel across the crowd, my bandmates accompanying my message with their own music.

The way I'd curl his dark locks around my fingers, tuck lavender flowers in his shirt's breast pocket. I sang of us and our story. About the kind and handsome stranger, whose string entangled with mine, our skein something special and unbreakable.

The story of the girl who sings a little too loudly, with a few too many people listening, a few too many people playing drums, guitar and bass behind her.

And the boy who draws a little too much, loves his parents a little too much, cares a little too much for people he might never meet again, who listens a little too much to my deepest, darkest secrets and my brightest, silliest ideas.

For the boy and the girl who tend to love each other a little too hard, but... No...

It is the perfect amount.

My eyes met his eyes, because it genuinly doesn't matter if there are two or thousands of people surrounding me. I will always search and find him. His eyes. His sweet smile. His heart, who has already found mine, before I even realized it myself.

Call it what you want, but... I think I'll call it ‘love’.

[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 😅 )