#🌙 verse: treason.

[scoobwrites]

❆ — [sender] and [receiver] get trapped indoors during a snow storm

killing yourself for perfection is a muse family trait, apparently.

finally finding her biological father brought on a sequence of events that changed melpomene’s life forever. some were for the good. others…well, she sometimes wishes she stayed oblivious of her father’s identity. meeting her sisters? for the good, certainly. having her creative needs and whims nurtured by someone who understood them? definitely good. coming face to face with the very real, very stifling expectations her father had for his children? well, that part could have been kept.

melpomene was a muse through and through in some ways. she loves the arts, always has. and she’s a natural born performer, all woody and buzz’s grainy family videos of her growing up featuring a tiny little girl with wild curly hair just hamming it up for the intended audience. but she’s not the muse zeno wants, not entirely at least. her voice, her stage presence, her attention to detail are what he wants; things he needs to make his fleeting idea of a girl group fit, just another cog in the machine. but she was flashy and strange, curious and willing to take a risk and fail in the pursuit of art. and well, he didn’t like that.

the muses had been recording demos since she was thirteen years old. an entire catalog of songs that hadn’t been good enough to make it to an exec before they were eventually signed. and being signed came with new struggles, commercial success more important than the pursuit of creation. and the next thing she knows they’re two forgettable albums into a career she’s resentful of. she’d once read a review that claimed they make old navy music — and in response someone had edited one of their music videos over an old navy commercial and she wanted to fucking scream. and when the sisters sit down to discuss their third album she informs them it may be their last because if it’s subpar in the end she just might kill herself.

but her father would hear nothing of it; he sent demos, and fledgling ideas, sound bites of lyrics and off shot productions. and she might be working a little too hard trying to make one of them work.

it shouldn’t be this hard. she writes for other artists all the time, her work as a songwriter and producer for others one of the main things keeping her bills paid because their bubbling under chart entries just wasn’t fully cutting it. but an hour at her laptop had turned into two and that turned into four, and before she knows it luis is closing her laptop and lifting her out of the chair and into his arms. she protests, feebly, before he says exactly what she needs to hear: it’s not getting any better, take a break, get your mind off it. and she can’t help but grin at his honesty because ok, she wasn’t going insane — it was still pretty rough despite her best efforts.

she hadn’t even realized it’d begun snowing, and the excuse to remain holed up in her room is the last thing either of them need. “God,” she smiles against his lips, content here in his lap with his arms around her waist. “you’re like unreal, you know that?” something about the way luis carries himself tells her he definitely knows. mel runs her hands up and down his bare chest as he throws his shirt across the room. ring clad fingers tracing the planes and contours of his muscles, like she does every time he’s shirtless because he’s got the body of a greek fucking god and it deserves to be worshipped every single time. “like God was up there taking his sweet ass fucking time.” and won’t He do it. with a laugh she leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips again, a million tiny little ones that turn into one long feverish kiss that has him tightening his grip around her.

God took a little bit more time though. No, too many words.

his lips travel down to her jaw, making his way down to her neck slowly. And she arches her back slightly, leaning away from him to give him more access.

God took a little extra time though. that’s…eh, at best.

he sucks a particularly bruising mark into her neck. and while she often has a no hickies rule with everyone she sleeps with, she’s always made an exception for him. she doesn’t necessarily mind being marked by him. and he likes to make sure people know she’s spoken for, he’s territorial in some ways. And she doesn’t hate that for once.

God was working, took some extra time. almost. almost.

and then it comes to her. “oh!” her eyes snap open, alight with a new idea. luis looks up at her through his lashes, not bothering to fully stop as his hands reach under her shirt — his shirt that she stole. “God was working, probably took some extra time though.” she recites the words quickly, and that makes him stop what he’s doing now. “God was working, probably took some extra time though.” she repeats again, slower, trying to get a feel for how the string of words feel with the cadence. “That’s not…it’s a good start for a quick little 8.” she mumbles to herself, getting up and running back over to her laptop. “I gotta record the sound bite before I forget it.” she plops down in his computer chair, opening her laptop and quickly typing in her password and opening the appropriate apps. “What if it’s like ‘baby, you’re one of a kind uh, God was working probably took some extra time though?”

@slowpokewrites

[nectar-cellar]

OC Obscure Associations

thank you for the tag!! @descendantdragfi @elderwisp @treason-and-plot @holocene-sims lets ignore the fact that im super late to doing this 🤍

honestly i had to think ab these a lot i hope they make sense even tho they probably don't 💀

-

ANIMAL: scared cold wet dog that was left out in the rain

COLORS: black

MONTH: december

SONGS: less than zero - the weeknd

NUMBER: 13

PLANTS: a small potted cactus

SMELLS: old books, gasoline, chlorine, the smell of grass and roads after the rain, sandalwood, smoke and leather

GEMSTONE: ruby and obsidian

TIME OF DAY: 3AM

SEASON: winter

PLACES: a late-night diner, an empty library

FOOD: chinese takeout, greasy cheesy pizza, falafel, instant ramen, fast food

DRINKS: black coffee, cans of redbull and monster, cheap beer, tequila, foul-tasting protein shakes

ELEMENT: earth

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: i'm honestly stumped by this one bc i'm not very well versed in astrology. what sign do u think he is

SEASONINGS: pepper, chili, cumin, cardamom, cinnamon, garlic, hot sauce

SKY: dawn

WEATHER: rainy, dreary, foggy days. a hot summer night. a snowy east coast winter.

MAGICAL POWER: mindreading / telepathy

WEAPONS: a metal baseball bat. brass knuckles. a small pistol.

SOCIAL MEDIA: twitter, letterboxd, an empty grindr profile

MAKEUP PRODUCT: he doesn't wear any but smudgy black kohl eyeliner and black nail polish are very him. maybe some glitter face paint too.

CANDY: chewing gum he bought from the corner store

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: plane (economy seats)

ART STYLE: a rough pencil sketch made in a notebook... also, not sure what u call it but that art style you see in older superhero comic books

FEAR: fear of abandonment

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: the griffin, or alternatively, a vampire with a moral dilemma

PIECE OF STATIONARY: wooden pencil

THREE EMOJIS: 🖤🙏🔥

CELESTIAL BODY: the moon 🥺🌙