mairablue

[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)

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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)

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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 😅 )

[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?