#this has been sitting in drafts collecting dust for months now

[adoralea]

After so long, I have FINALLY pulled Selene and Penelope's reference sheets out of my closet (drafts).

I am a little sad that Tumblr kinda killed the quality a little. Sooo, I'm gonna leave a link to the tweet so that you can see it in better quality.

Selene and Penelope reference sheet tweet.

[abcwordsurge]

still working on rewriting my Houston / Miami / New Orleans fic, and?? it's getting longer in the rewrite??? I've heard of this happening to other writers but I thought it was just a myth. this has never happened to me before.

I added like a whole nother side plot with Houston and Texas (who's her dad in this one). I think it'll be 10 chapters instead of the original 4 or 5. I'll almost definitely go over 10k words, which is almost unprecedented for me (I'm a one shot kind of writer, only have 1 fic on AO3 over 10k)

I'm getting there though. I have three chapters ready, and each of the other seven are outlined and sort of drafted. it'll be done someday

[bluetimeombre]

ׂׂૢ Hugh and you are WIRED,

You and Hugh take part in the Wired autocomplete interview

[this has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust, enjoy! Not proof read, just the vibes]

'Hello, I am Hugh Jackman,' he smiled at the camera.

'And i'm Y/N.'

'And we're doing the autocomplete interview,' he said.

You smile at how he tried his best. 'The WIRED one,' you added.

Hugh looked back to you. 'Oh yeah.' he laughed and apologised to the crew. 'I'll hold, you peel and read and I'll answer,' said Hugh, taking the board that started with him.

You leaned back in your chair, eyes peering at him. 'So, I do all the work and you sit there, ok, yeah, that's fair.'

He chuckled as you peeled away the first question.

'Is Hugh Jackman Australian?' you read, screwing up the paper and chucking it behind you. 'Um, no, he's not. It's all a bit he does, it's incredible he's kept it up for years,' you answer for him.

Hugh laughed. 'I am, I am Australian,' he insisted.

You shook your head, nudging him friendly. 'Such a good actor. Is Hugh Jackman retired?'

'No, just old,' said Hugh.

You chuckle before looking at the camera. 'He said he was retired but that was a lie,' you poke fun at the amount of times he said he'll never do Logan again... but did Logan again. 'He's a lair like I said- a good actor.'

You rip the next one off. 'Is Hugh Jackman... a good singer? Uh yes!'

'Thank you, there you go,' nodded Hugh.

'He's such a good singer,' you boast, holding his knee. 'Les mis, Oklahoma, The greatest showman.'

'That's where we met,' he smiled. The two of you did meet during the filming of The Greatest Showman.

You smiled back at you. 'We did. Yeah, highly recommend having Hugh Jackman sing to you, it's-it's magic.'

You do a couple more questions before finishing his first board and letting Hugh break it over his knee before chucking it away. 'Oh woah. You know, people would pay to have that done to them.'

Hugh laughs. He takes the board meant for you and peels the first away. 'I've got it love, let me. Is Y/N dead?'

'Starting off strong here,' you said. 'Um, only on the inside.'

Hugh chuckled. 'That's horrible,' he said through his laughter.

'Don't worry babe, I'm still here. Alive and kicking,' you mumble off.

Hugh eventually peeled away the next one. 'Ok, is Y/N in Wolverine origins.'

'No, thank god,' you said as Hugh, again, keeps laughing. 'No, I do not appear in that movie. But a version of my character does for like ten minutes. And i'm sure it was the better ten minutes of the movie.'

'I won't argue with that,' said Hugh.

'So it wasn't me but another actress playing my character.'

'Right, not confusing at all,' said Hugh. 'Just don't think about it really. Yeah. Right, is Y/N a billionaire? If she was, I would've married her by now,' said Hugh.

You laugh, rocking back and forth. 'Now I really need to reach that billionaire status,' you said.

Hugh's board was next.

'Ok, how Hugh Jackman got jacked?' you read, looking over to him. 'How did the Jackman jack?' you asked, the question coming out a bit more on the naughty side than you intended.

The both of you looked at each other promiscuously.

You held up a finger. 'Maybe I should have worded that differently.'

'Yeah,' he chuckled. 'Um, I basically was miserable for six months. No I'm kidding, a lot of training and boiled chicken.'

'Yum! How tall is Hugh Jackman?'

'6'2- 6'3,' he hummed, thinking about it.

'Do you think people are asking cause they're angry you're not 5'3 like Wolverine should've been in the comics?' you asked.

Hugh's face straightened. 'Why'd you have to bring that up?'

You chuckle, peeling away another one. 'What is Hugh Jackman.., made out of?' he laughs as you whisper to the camera. 'Boyfriend material.'

'Is that actually what it says?' he turns the board, checking it. It really did. 'Oh woah. I assume the interweb means the Adamantium in Logan?'

You snorted. 'The interweb, is that what you just called it?'

'Isn't that what the cool kids call it these days?'

You shake your head and toss his board behind you without sparing a thought.

Hugh stared after it. 'Is that how you treat all yours lovers?'

You purse your lips, trying to hold in a laugh. 'It's just a board, babe, you're the real thing.' You picked up the next board for you and handed it to Hugh who was peeling the first one away immediately.

'How is Y/N... oh it ends there. Well, that's very nice, how is Y/N?' Read Hugh, answering before you got the chance. 'She's very well, er, cause she's with me. Next one. Is Y/N single? What a good question.'

Next to you, Hugh was grinning like a mad man, or a man who knew a secret. Or just like an idiot in love. Any of them worked as you just stared back at him. 'Um, you'd have to ask her,' you said, trying to do what you did best and avoid questions.

'We are asking you, c'mon, the people want to know, are you single?' Hugh teased.

You shook your head with pursed lips. 'You know, Y/N is...' you trailed off, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Hugh chuckled before looking into the camera. 'His name rhymes with Pugh Ackman.'

'Ryan Reynolds, of course!' you say, peeling off the next one yourself. 'Ok, is Y/N in marvel movies? um yes, a few.'

'Most,' Hugh corrected. 'If not all,'

'Yeah, i've done a few in my time,' you answered. 'Started when I was like, sixteen now i'm,' you pretend to count on your fingers, freaking out when you realised the numbers were high. 'Anyway, Hugh's turn!'

'Ok, i'll peel now,' said Hugh, giving you the board.

'Oh thank you, give my poor nails a break,' you said.

'Does Hugh Jackman... smell nice?' he leant over to you and you took an inhale.

You shrug. 'Yeah, he's alright.'

He chuckled and made a gesture at you before going onto the next one. 'Does Hugh Jackman, my name is falling on deaf ears I think now, does Hugh Jackman do all his own singing?'

'Yes, he does!' you yell. 'He's a great singer guys, no debate.'

'No cap!' added Hugh.

'Oh jesus,' you hide your face and laugh into it.

'What?' asked Hugh.

Eventually you moved onto peeling the next one. 'Does Hugh Jackman have tik-tok?'

You laugh too loudly. 'No, could you imagine if he did? I have to help him out with instagram for gods sake.'

'That's true, I do not know what the tik, nor the tok is,' said Hugh. 'Ok, last one on this board. Does Hugh Jackman do all his own stunts? No.' he threw the board.

'That was an easy answer,' you scoff. 'Do you want to tell us why?'

Hugh thought about it. 'No.'

'Alright then, my turn,' you said.

Hugh took the board before you could, not letting you hold it or do your own peeling. 'Alright, ready? Does Y/N do all her own stunts, aw, we're matching.'

You laugh. 'Um, I try to,' you answer. 'I try to, I really do but some are just too dangerous. Like I'm legally not allowed to jump from a building into a dumpster or walk away from an explosion.' You give Hugh a look, referencing that scene in Wolverine origins which he cringed at.

'Does Y/N write her own songs in The Greatest Showman? Can I answer this?' Hugh asked you.

You lean back. 'Only cause I know you're going to gush at me, so go ahead.'

Hugh got his answer ready. 'So when Y/N came on the project, it was only a half developed idea- if that. And I'd seen her at an Oscar's party and we started chatting and I asked if you were interested in this little project we were doing, you immediately came on board and started writing songs for this. I think, in total you wrote, what was it four- five?'

'Five I think,' you nod.

'Five of the greatest songs on that movie. Honestly, hearing it live and in the workshops was just, the best thing i've ever heard,' Hugh looked back at you, a loving smile on his lips.

You pout and rest your head on his shoulder. 'God that Pugh Ackman is a real nice guy.'

Hugh laughed and pecked your forehead. 'Does Y/N enjoy being in the avengers?'

'I do yeah,' you answer. 'I think there's like a lot of talk that when you stop playing a role you're supposed to come out and say you hated it, but I loved it. And I still love it. And I'll always love it.'

Hugh held up a hand. 'That being said. She would love being in the X-men more.' He waited for you to reply but you didn't and just stared at him. 'Ok, never mind. Anyway. Does Y/N drive?'

'Absolutely,' you nod. 'I've got the speeding tickets to prove it.'

'Ok, so these are your last boards,' said the lady behind the camera.

Hugh frowned. 'Oh, i'm having fun,' he said, taking his board.

You shrug. 'We'll just have to google ourselves at home more often.'

Hugh agreed and peeled the next ones, these questions beginning with 'Why'. 'Why Hugh Jackman, returned as Wolverine?'

'Good question, liar,' you said.

'Well, at first, you know, I wasn't going to, I really wasn't,' he spoke, looking to you as if cameras weren't pointing at you. 'But then this Ryan... Gosling guy? I think that's his name. He just kept asking and asking, turning up at my house, he got my number, I don't even know how-'

'Yeah, sorry about that,' you added.

Hugh laughed before carrying on. 'Eventually you know, he waved a bag of cash in my face and I knew, just to get him off my tale, I had to.'

'Yeah, that sounds like a Ryan Gosling move.'

'Why didn't Hugh Jackman win an Oscar?'

'Guys, that's mean,' you tell the camera.

'Thank you, interweb for reminding me I didn't win an Oscar,' said Hugh. 'Well, listen, when you find out you're up against Daniel-Day Lewis, you kinda know not to prepare a speech. And then when your publicist the next day calls and says yeah don't worry, you- you don't worry.'

'You were robbed for Logan,' you mused.

Hugh agreed with a chuckle. 'She's my number one fan. Why Hugh Jackman ran naked?'

You perked up. 'Hello, he what?'

The crew laugh at your excitement.

'It was for X-men two... well, I feel like every X-men movie I strip down,' said Hugh. 'Thinking about it.'

'Got to get that watch rate up,' you said.

'Yeah, exactly. So I did a scene in X-men two where I was running the corridor after just finding the metal in my body and the claws,' he explained, again only looking at you.

You nod, like it was the first time you were hearing the story. 'As you do.'

'And then I turn the corner and the entire crew of women are just there waving dollar bills and I, on reflex, went to cover myself you know and then I cut myself.'

You seethed in pain. 'And then you did it for Wolverine one and two and the next X-men movie,' you listed.

Hugh nodded. 'Then I never stopped.'

'Why would you?' you asked, raking your eyes up and down him and winking.

The last board up was yours.

'Ok, let's go,' said Hugh, scraping at the board. 'Why Y/N is famous?'

You laughed.

'Because she's fucking talented!' said Hugh, 'why wouldn't she be famous?'

You shrug. 'It was gonna happen one way or another. I became famous because I wanted money. And Hugh Jackman, one of them i've got, the other i'm still working on.'

Hugh grinned, wriggling his brows. 'Why did Y/N win an Oscar? Oh, you won one,' he joked, glaring at you as you laughed. 'Lucky you.'

You read the question again. 'I mean- that feels almost condescending you know like oh she won an Oscar, why?'

Hugh stared and pointed at the camera again, repeating himself. 'Because she's fucking talented! Why wouldn't she win an Oscar?'

'I won best actress for a movie called Room, which was very tough, very well written annnndddd I deserved it,' you shrug.

'Why did Y/N marry Hugh Jackman?' he gasped. 'You married him?'

'I have not yet, but I am engaged to Pugh Ackman, so um, please, feel free to send us gifts,' you say causing Hugh to drop the board and laugh. 'Um, I really need a new toasted and he likes watches.'

'Oh, he sounds like a nice guy,' said Hugh.

'He is, he's great.'

taglist (thank you!): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @th3mrskory, @wolfyychan, @chaimshelii, @wolviesgirl @haytchee, @aoi-targaryen

[starkeysprincess]

Oh hell no girly, you can not leave me hanging with the idea of a personal trainer!Rafe and not write it :( I legit need you to write it pretty please! Just her coming to the gym, getting super shook seeing that it's such a handsome guy, feeling super shy and embarrassed because she is not ''done up'' or even wearing nice workout clothes, just wanting to run out and cancel

bae, trust that I won’t leave you hanging, I’ve been holding off on this au & the moodboard has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust since the middle of July 😭

you'd walk into the gym, wearing nothing but biker shorts and an old baggy oversized shirt that probably embarrassingly enough has small bleach stains from the one time you dyed your hair.

you've been sitting on the idea of having a personal trainer for months but figured it was time to just do it and sign up.

you approach the front desk to greet the receptionist, asking if you can be signed up to work with a personal trainer.

“alright, you’re all set up. now, we just have to see which trainer will work well with your goals and availability” the girl mutters, scrolling the mouse to the computer. “okay, it looks like Rafe is the only one who fits for what you’re looking for”.

“I’ll go get him so the two of you can discuss when you want to start”.

you leaned against the counter, looking around the gym as you waited. watching several girls walk in and out of the gym in their sports bras and tiny shorts and a full face of makeup.

you were too focused on watching people come and go to notice Rafe approaching you until you heard your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I’m Rafe” he introduced himself, holding his hand out and your breath hitches in your throat at the tall, handsome, buff man standing in front of you.

it took you a few seconds to register he even said something because you were too busy gawking at the way his muscles moved under his shirt before you placed your much smaller hand into his, introducing yourself.

“I already know your name, princess” he chuckles, recalling the fact that he did say your name when he approached you.

your could feel your face burning in sheer embarrassment, wanting to turn around and run right out of the gym when you remembered your appearance.

you try your best not to stutter your words as the two of you discussed when your first session would start.

“alright, I’ll see you next week, yeah? ‘M looking forward to working with you” he grins, shooting you a playful wink before heading back to continue working.

“oh my god, i just wanna crawl in a hole” you mutter to yourself when you got into your car, “maybe i should just go back in there and cancel, yeah that would be a good idea except I already embarrassed the shit out of myself enough for today”.

[wol-fica]

-ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟: ℙ𝕣𝕖-𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤-

pairings - wednesdayaddams x elemental!reader

summary - in which reader has a crush on a certain goth…

warnings - angst, pining, rude Xavier (sorry), happy ending

an - i miss writing for Nessy, so i think this would be a good addition to my bliss series; this is before they got together :) shit writing btw

—————————

Shit.

That is the word you would use to describe yourself right now.

Mornings have never been your thing, you hated getting out of your warm bed just to immediately go and sit in a boring class for a ninety minutes learning about the anatomy of a mythical horse or whatever the lesson plan was. School was an agitator for you, but you still valued your education so waking up on time was a need-to-do.

Usually though, you at least get yourself ready and look decent enough for the day, but this morning was different. See, yesterday during lunch in the quad, you were writing the final draft of your confession letter to a certain raven haired goth. Your crush had been festering for a few months now, and you had decided to write a little something for her to let her know how you feel.

Everything was going perfect, you were just about done with the letter and was going to slip it under her dorm after folding it up, but a gust of wind ruined your whole plan. The letter flew across the quad and into the hands of Xavier Thorpe, who happened to despise you.

He read the whole thing in one go, snorted at it and stared at you with a little condescending smirk before walking it straight over to his friend group. Everyone, including Enid Sinclair, Yoko Tanaka, Eugene Ottinger, Ajax Petropolus, the twins Kent and Divina, and Wednesday Addams herself all read it collectively.

Xavier was laughing his head off while they did, and Kent joined in once he finished. Ajax chuckled while Enid giggled with a little blush of her face, Eugene looked confused to who wrote it, Yoko and Divina smirked and shared a look before squinting at you, and Wednesday just looked blank.

You watched in pure horror, your body shrinking into your seat while the whole thing unfolded. You felt sick to your stomach, and to top the whole thing off, Wednesday took the letter and crumpled it into a little ball, tossing it into the trashcan next to her.

Your heart shattered, mouth dropped open in shock. Xavier turned to look back at you, pointing and leaning on his knees while laughing at your expression. Tears formed into your eyes, and with one last look at the girl you so badly liked, you snatched up your things and ran.

Fast forward to now, where you just looked dead. Your hair was disheveled, there were dark bags under your eyes, and you barely made any effort to make your uniform look fit and well kept. Your tie was loose, your jacket was unbuttoned, and your shirt was wrinkled and dusted at the collar. You had no socks on, and you didn’t even bother to put a belt on your pants.

People stared in class, whispering amongst themselves while pointing at you. At one point, you thought you saw Enid shoot you a look of pity, but you shrugged it off to being your sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on you.

You looked depressed, because you were, and it did not help when you crossed Xavier in the hallway and he said loudly to Kent, “Looks like a dirtbag!”

You sighed, glancing up at the darkening sky before hurrying to get to the quad for dinner. You planned on eating, and getting back to your dorm as soon as you could so no one would have to endure looking at you any longer.

After standing in line and grabbing your tray, you trudged to an empty table and sat down, slumping in your seat. You were exhausted from lack of sleep and crying all night, and it wasn’t a surprise to you when you leaned your forehead against the table and tears started to form again. Your tray of food was left untouched while you cried to yourself, and the stare from a certain goth went unnoticed by you.

Wednesday was watching you, her black eyes burrowing into the side of your head while your body shook slightly with each painful sob you produced. She felt a weird feeling in her stomach, one of pity and remorse she didn’t understand. Her heart was telling her to go to you, to pull you into her arms and hold you close while she comforted you, but her stubbornness refused the idea.

“Wednesday.”

She turned her head away from you, choosing ti look at Enid now, “What.”

Enid sighed, glancing at you before looking back at her roommate, “You should talk to her.”

Wednesday furrowed her brow, “There is no reason for me to.”

“Yes there is.” Enid replied, bringing her fork to her mouth and chewing on a piece of steak.

“Just because she sent me a confession letter, doesn’t make me obligated to take care of her.”

“Wednesday c’mon!” Enid said, giving her friend a look, “You read that letter, she really likes you!”

Wednesday glared back, “And? I still see no reason for me to go talk to her.”

Enid sighed, glancing around before leaning in to whisper lowly, “What Xavier did was unacceptable and rude, you should at least make sure she is okay.”

Wednesday turned to look at you for a moment, the pang of guilt returning when she saw you had lifted your head. Your face was stained with tears, eyes heavy and tired from crying. You meekly picked at your food, not even bringing the utensil up to take a bite.

“I suppose I could check in to see how she is.” Wednesday murmured, her heart beating slightly faster at the thought of talking to you.

“You should.” Enid said, turning back to her steak, “It’s the right thing to-.”

“But her sadness is not my problem.” Wednesday finished, sparing you one last glance before picking up her book and continuing to read.

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed, “Really? You won’t even ask her how she is feeling?”

“She’s clearly sad Enid, I don’t need to ask to see that.”

“Wednesday.” Enid growled, gaining her roommate’s attention, “Go talk to her, now.”

“You cannot make me-.”

“I see how you look at her.”

Wednesday’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes locking with Enids.

“I see how you stare in class,” Enid said, “I notice how you have her schedule in your desk, and how you blush when she walks by.”

Wednesday opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You like her, it’s clear as day. But you can’t break her heart just because you don’t want to accept your feelings for her.”

Wednesday glared at Enid, practically foaming at the mouth in anger. She wanted to respond, a little clap back about how she barely even knows you, but nothing came forward.

“Go to her, before it’s too late.” Enid finished, nodding her head at your retreading figure as you left the quad.

Wednesday huffed, giving her roommate one last silent threat before slamming her book shut, stuffing it in her bag, and quickly following after you. Her steps were quick and quiet, not wanting you to spin around and see her before she could get to you.

She eventually followed you to your dorm, coming up the stairs right as you shut the door. Her breathing was strained, and her face was slightly flushed with color from moving so fast. She slowly approached your door, apprehensive and suddenly nervous for the first time in her life.

What should she say to you? How should she speak? Should she be defensive? Or should she just confess her own feelings and see how you react? The consequences of all the outcomes were dreadful in her mind, but she had no other option than talking to you.

So she did what she does best, lost all expression from her face, sucked in a deep, and knocked on your door. She waited an antagonizingly long moment before stepping backwards when the lock clicked.

The door swung open, revealing you in black sweatpants, a white tank top, and still looking as depressed as you were during dinner. You froze when your eyes locked with Wednesday, your lips parting and eyes widening when you realized who was in front of you.

You both stood there for a moment, the world seeming to stop while you stared at each other. Wednesday was waiting for you to move or speak, while you were thinking the same.

“Can-.” Wednesday swallowed, clearing her throat, “Can I come in?”

You closed your mouth, eyeing around behind her, and nodded. She walked past you, turning when you closed the door and locked it. Her eyes scanned all over your walls, taking in the movie posters and tapestries that you had taped up. She awkwardly placed her bag at the foot of your bed, choosing to sit on the end of it while watching you move around and clean.

“Y/N.” Wednesday said, slightly irritated with how you were trying to ignore her with doing a spontaneous house-keeping.

“Yeah?” You replied timidly, still sweeping over by your closet.

“Come here.” She requested softly, patting the spot next to her.

You gulped, your shoulders tensing before you dropped the broom and sulked over to her. You plopped down next to her, leaning back until you laid flat on the mattress while she sat next to you.

“I read your letter.” Wednesday said after a moment of silence, “It was…passionate.”

“Oh my god just say you felt uncomfortable.” You groaned, putting your hands on your face.

Wednesday paused, letting you ramble and complain about the incidents from yesterday’s lunch fiasco. She listened until she had enough, slamming her hand onto your thigh to silence you.

“I actually found your confession to be quite exceptionally written for someone like you.” She murmured, her thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin, “You should consider a writing class.”

You eyed her warily, skeptical of her words. Slowly, you sat up, trying your best to not cause her to move her hand, “You really think so?”

“Yes, and I also have some of my own things to confess…” The ravenette said, tearing her eyes away from yours to look at the floor.

You placed your hand on top of hers, a silent encouragement to speak her mind.

“I have realized that I myself have my own feelings I need to share.” Wednesday started, her hand twitching under yours, “It has come to my attention that I have gained something called a “crush” on you-.”

Her sentence was interrupted with lips crashing into her own, salty but soft and welcoming with warmth. She instantly reciprocated, her hands sliding around you neck while yours grabbed at her waist.

Her lips were plump and tasty to you, flavored like black cherries and stale burgundy lipstick from this morning. You pulled at her, guiding her into your lap so you could kiss her more properly. Her tongue slid against yours, a small whimper passing through your mouth and into hers from her hand scratching at your neck.

You soon parted for air, giggling when she chased you. She huffed, but sighed in satisfaction when you tucked your face into her neck, pressing a few kisses there that made her stomach all fluttery.

“Your heart is beating super fast.” You noted, hugging her closer when her fingers wound into your hair, “Do I make you that flustered-?”

“Be quiet.” She whispered, smirking when she heard you purring from her fingers scratching your scalp.

You complied, leaning back with her in your arms when she pushed you slightly. She murmured soft praises to you, guiding you into a deep sleep that you so desperately needed.

“Sleep Y/N.” She cooed in your ear, humming when your eyes fluttered shut, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You felt your brain drift off into slumber, a smile etched on your face while you held the girl of your dreams.

What wonderful bliss…

——————

taglist: @cartierdreamx  @tundra1029 @red1culous @vorsdany @andsoigotabutterfly @theafterofnevermore @yomomisgay @house-of-lovin @slvt4lanadelrey @thenextdawn @nepobaby08 @dunohilly @somekindofpoet @alexkolax @cinffy23 @pedrosprincess @amberfreemansburntface @myfturn

[heartshapedbubble]

omg i was answering this req and when i saved it to my drafts I COULDN'T EDIT IT??? so i deleted it in hopes to remake it BUT THE ASK WAS GONE fuck you tumblr :(( im so sorry anon you know who you are

aesop carl, qi shiyi and frederick kreiburg w/ a singer s/o hcs⚰️🪈🎼

aesop carl⚰️

...you'd have to do most of the initiation with him. aesop carl is not impolite, not at all, but the crippling anxiety overcoming him makes it hard to go beyond a "hello" or any other introduction. he has a lot of nice things to say to you, romantic even, but during the first couple of months you'll have to basically yank them out of him

aesop is horrible with words, and would rather just hide away and hope you notice how he feels about you. in his eyes, the simple things he does with you - small talk, exchanges of handkerchiefs and drinks by the table, midnight walks when everyone's asleep - are acts of confessing his love. to him, trust equals love, and love equals assistance and communication.

something that he's even more afraid, though, is singing. talking can be quiet, unnoticeable, blending in with everyday noises, but singing is always noticeable. the change of pitch can be caught even by an untrained ear, and the ensuing confrontation, to him, is terrifying.

you fascinate him, a lot. unlike him, you're not afraid to set your voice free, letting it echo through the room and spin around you like a ribbon. kind of like an aura, it attracts passerbys and always leaves them standing in awe, even if it's just for a minute. that kind of confidence is impressive, and he himself finds it rather enchanting.

as you train your voice on the podium, enjoying yourself and twirling around in your flowy robes as if there's nobody around, the last thing that's on your mind right now is a potential secret admirer somewhere nearby. the secret admirer being aesop, of course. he's crouching in one of the loges, partly sick to the stomach because someone might walk in on - or even worse, you may notice - him, partly enjoying your outstanding performance.

qi shiyi🪈

she thinks you two make for a pretty nice duet ;)

you two clash at moments, as she enjoys and is used to the more "formal" arts such as opera and your field of interest is musicals, but overall she's enarmored by your talent and your charisma. jazz, rock, ballad or aria, a strong voice does not go unnoticed.

once she softens up to you, you'll notice just how much she enjoys your voice. as you comb her hair, she asks you to sing something for her. when you two are fast asleep, her head is on your chest, listening to your soft hums as she's lulled to sleep. calls you her songbird as she wraps her arm around your waist and spins you around in your brand new costume.

here and there she'll dust off her old flute and play a nostalgic melody or two. it's even better when enrichened with your singing, and it motivates her to jump back on her feet and do a little three-step as she plays

frederick kreiburg🎼

he's not a wunderkind, but being surrounded by music from a young age he has quite the trained ear. he can quickly differentiate between a powerful mezzosoprano and a rich, dark alto. a lot of insinuations and jokes have been made behind your back about how you two are perfect for each other, but he just rolls his eyes, not bothering with empty gossip.

thanks to the unisolated manor walls, at one point he'll hear some vocal exercises coming from your room

am i losing my mind again? he thinks to himself, looking around in wonder. he stays in the hallway for a little longer, trying to find the source of this haunting voice - and it will take time, oh, indeed, but eventually he'll knock on your door and unintentionally kick off your relationship

as expected, he enjoys playing alongside you. motivating him to crack his knuckles and sit in front of the piano again is hard, but the both of you know your irresistible smile will not leave him any other choice....

mostly picks out german lieder from his collection of sheet music, but of course, adapts to your wishes - something more energetic works great as a warm up

he's the happiest when he performs alongside you on the podium. nothing makes his face light up like when he watches you sing from behind the piano, gesturing towards the audience and slowly dancing to the composition unraveled by his fingers, basking under the golden spotlight.

[fruitymocha]

Laboratory of Love

Starring: Idia as The Creation, Ortho as The Assistant, and You as The Mad Scientist

Warnings: Yandere themes, mental instability, mentions of corpses and general post-mortem shit, violence/violent tendencies, murder, and psychological torment (both self inflicted and from an outside source). I DO NOT CONDONE ANYONE’S ACTIONS IN THIS STORY. THIS IS PURELY FICTION AND SHOULD NOT BE EMULATED. DNI IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, ARE EASILY FRIGHTENED, OR DO NOT LIKE DARK/YANDERE THEMES.

A/N: you guys! As of writing this author’s note, Little Songbird has over 90 likes! Thank you guys so much for the interactions, it means a lot, especially since I was kinda worried it wouldn’t be received well when I first posted it. Also yes, I know it’s been a year, but it’s fine, just go with it. This literally has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust since last October, so it’s about time I resurrect this thing (yes this is a purposeful joke). I hope that you guys enjoy Laboratory of Love just as much as Little Songbird, and without further ado…

Round and round we rewind the reel…

Y/N L/N. That is my name. My mission is to investigate the world of the living and find the spark of life.

Unfortunately, the people outside are cold and unyielding to modern science. They are stuck in their old ways, believing my research and experiments to be… sacrilegious.

Hence why my secret lab is hidden away in an abandoned tower. It’s close enough to the city that I can easily acquire modern equipment and resources, but also foreboding enough to keep people away. Or did my reputation do that for me? Who knows.

“Ortho, have you acquired the book?”

“Yes Doctor. The Book of Shadows, as you requested,” The young boy handed me a thick leather book, his fiery blue hair flickering in child-like joy.

“Thank you, Ortho,”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” I flipped through the pages, hoping to find its alchemy section. “Doctor, do you think science and magic are compatible?”

“There’s only one way to find out, Ortho, and you know what it is,”

“Aren’t you worried about what could happen if you use dark magic?” I sighed.

“Ortho, we’ve been over this,” I said, focused on the alchemical symbols in the Book of Shadows. “I don’t believe in ‘dark’ magic. There’s no such thing as ‘light’ or ‘dark’. Society simply deems ‘light’ to be the ‘safe’ and acceptable type of magic, while ‘dark’ is more dangerous and selfish. But if humanity never trifled with danger, we would never be where we are today. We would still be at Nature’s mercy,”

“I understand now, Doctor. But please be careful!”

“You know I will, Ortho. They may call me mad as much as they want, but I have no death wish. I know how to take precaution,”

Ortho. Another societal outcast. Allegedly cursed with his fiery hair, and considered a bad omen. They said his blue locks were from the fires of Hell. So I took him in as my assistant, and I found him to be quite curious and inclined to help. A perfect job for him. Society may call me many things, but to call me cruel would be untrue.

“Doctor, what do you plan to do?”

“Learn the ways of Nature, and acquire that power for myself,” I said simply

“…why?” I thought about it hard. Then I knew.

“My time in university could not satisfy my thirst, so I will seek out the solution myself,”

“It’s only been a few months since your graduation, Doctor,”

“Yes, and that means all my higher education is still somewhat fresh in my mind, Ortho. It will help me,” I stared off for a moment before something struck me as odd.

“I still don’t understand why you call me Doctor, Ortho… I have not earned a doctorate degree,” I said slowly

“Because I think you deserve the title, Doctor,”

I closed the Book of Shadows, and silently turned to the setting sun out the window.

“Ortho?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

I thought for a moment. Am I sure I want to do this?

I sighed, and said it anyway.

“Where is the nearest cemetery?”

~*~

“Are you sure we won’t get caught, Doctor?”

“To be quite frank with you Ortho, getting caught is a very real possibility. If you’re not up for the risk, you can go back to the lab-”

“No. I- I want to help you,” I sighed while looking at the blue-haired boy.

“Okay. Let’s find some corpses,” I handed Ortho the smaller of the two shovels I brought. “Let’s get digging,” I walked in a random direction, with Ortho following close behind, looking for recently dead, young male bodies.

First Gravestone

We dug down and inspected his body. Unfortunately he wasn’t a good candidate. He died of plague.

Second gravestone

He was missing chunks of skin.

Third gravestone

His head was smashed, face unrecognizable.

Finally, we reached the fourth gravestone. We dug with less enthusiasm and more difficulty than when we started. But all the effort was worth it. The body was tall, skin sallow, head shaved. But his body was unmarked by plague or brutality. He was not rotting… yet.

“He’s perfect,” I whispered to myself.

Ortho and I loaded the corpse onto a wheelbarrow, but not before wrapping it in inconspicuous cloth tied together with rope.

We were lucky not to get caught.

As we made our way back to the lab tower, I thought about what I would do with the body. Create a puppet, perhaps?

No.

Better.

Create a sentient being.

Ambitious, but The Book of Shadows would likely have the power I need.

Now all I needed to do was find the right spell, get the materials, and do what needed to be done.

~*~

With the corpse strapped on the gurney, attached tubes and wires connecting to monitors and rudimentary electrical machines, and Book of Shadows in hand, I was ready to commence my ambitious experiment.

Thunder rumbled and rain pelted outside. I paid it no mind. I had drawn the sigils in my own blood and placed them on different areas of the body, just as instructed. Blood sigils were also drawn and dried upon my palms. Keeping the book open, I read aloud the incantation.

“Withering Corpse, cold as night

Your early death has caused you strife

I avenge your soul, I’ll make it right

I give your body the gift of life”

A blue glow began to radiate within the room, and I could feel the surge of power coursing through my veins.

The rain pelted. I paid it no mind.

The body in front of me became surrounded in a magical blue glow.

The wind shrieked. I paid it no mind.

The sigils on my palms thrummed and the drawn sigils on the corpse pulsed like beating hearts. Ortho looked on in amazement.

The thunder roared. I paid it no mind.

Any signs of the corpse’s state of death seemed to disappear, instead in a seemingly peaceful slumber.

But then lightning struck through the glass ceiling, and I did pay it mind as it struck the body.

A smaller, stray ray of lightning struck me too, and the last thing I remember was the pain of hitting the ground, and getting rained on by rainwater and broken glass.

~*~

I awoke to the sound of soft rain and Ortho by my side.

“Dr Y/N please wake up!”

I opened my eyes to see that I was in one of the spare hospital beds in my laboratory. I got out of bed, much to Ortho’s shock and worry. When my feet touched the ground, a small shock coursed through my body, and I convulsed briefly.

“Dr Y/N you need to rest, you were struck by lightning!”

“Ortho I must see him!”

Ortho sighed, but reluctantly handed me a wooden staff. I suppose it should do as a walking stick. With the stick’s support on my dominant side, and Ortho staying close by my other side, I shuffled my way to the Enrichment Room.

The Enrichment Room was a room co-designed by Ortho and I, meant for intellectual stimulation without putting too much strain. A less sophisticated way of referring to it would be The Brain Break Room. It was filled with leisure novels, puzzles, riddle books, and other activities that require some form of focus and thought.

Sitting there on the ground in a strange and twisted position, fiddling with a metal handheld puzzle, was The Creation. Instead of normal hair, he had long, blue fire, very much similar to Ortho’s. Hair from the depths of hell. His eyes were striking yellow, not unlike Ortho’s. His skin was still quite sallow, but at the very least it wasn’t post-mortem pale like it was just hours before. His mouth was slightly open, exposing his pointed teeth. Ortho also had pointed teeth, a fact I had grown accustomed to as he stepped into the role as my lab assistant.

I decided to attempt to carefully approach The Creation.

“Hello,” I said.

He looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.

“I’m the one who gave you life. You can call me Y/N,”

The Creation put down the metal puzzle and reached out a hand. The fingers were spread wide in an awkward position. It seemed that The Creation was struggling with fine motor skills. I took his hand, only for him to pull me down with him, walking stick rolling off to the side. His physical strength was remarkable! He stared, fascinated at my dominant arm, which bore red, jagged, bruise-like marks from the lightning strike. He then placed his palm on my upper arm, his own arm completely outstretched in a strange position.

“We should give him a name, Dr Y/N,” Ortho said, coming closer to The Creation. I looked into his eyes. Unaware, void of knowledge or experience, but curious.

“Ortho, I think when the time is right, he should choose his own name,”

The Creation croaked out a deep noise from his throat. I supposed he was trying to talk like Ortho and I. His existence is fascinating indeed.

When I went back to bed, I heard the creaking of footsteps, and Ortho speaking, though it sounded muffled as this was happening on the other side of the door, far from the bed.

“…be careful…need rest…tomorrow…this way…”

I turned to my side in bed, and I tried to relax so I could focus properly tomorrow. However, that proved to be quite difficult. Breakthroughs and discoveries wait for no one.

~*~

As the days went by, I noticed that The Creation had taken an interest in my work just as Ortho had. Occasionally, I would ask him to retrieve items or hold something. Otherwise, he spent many of his days in the Enrichment Room playing with the various handheld puzzles. One by one, he���s started to solve them, and I wonder just how intelligent he is.

I was just about to open one of the ingredient containers when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. The Creation looked over my shoulder, hunched, and maintaining that gloomy default expression.

“What is it?” I asked him. He pointed to Ortho, who spoke for him.

“He wants to learn how to talk,”

I looked at him for a moment, but then smiled to myself, shaking my head.

“Of course you do. And I would be more than happy to help,” I said to The Creation.

He smiled, in his own awkward, sharp-toothed way. It was charming, in its own way (though most of society would likely beg to differ).

And so, I taught him how to speak.

~*~

Weeks went by as I taught him how to be human. He learned to read. He learned to write. He soon mastered all the puzzles I had, and contented himself with disassembling and reassembling things in his free time.

He named himself Idia.

And he treated Ortho like a brother.

“Y/N,”

“Yes, Idia?” I asked, studying the Book of Shadows once more.

“I have come across this concept of ‘love’. What does it mean to love?”

I halted my study for a moment, turning to him. “Love can be many things. There is love for your family. There is love for your friends,”

“I mean romance, Y/N,”

“…that is something you will come to know when you meet someone very special,” I said finally.

“Is there anyone you love like that?”

“…in university, I knew someone, yes. That person is long gone from my life now,”

Idia stayed silent. I returned to my studies, disheartened by the conversation, and wanting to distract myself.

“…will I find someone to love me?” He asked.

I thought for a moment on how to respond.

“…I…don’t know,”

“Why not?”

“The outside world is not kind. It has not been kind to me, or to Ortho. They don’t be kind to you either,” I said, perhaps a bit harshly.

Idia did not respond anymore.

When I had time to look up from what I was doing, he was already gone.

~*~

A year has gone by since Idia’s creation. And he’s become something of a mechanical genius. He’s now the one who builds and fixes my machinery. How convenient.

But as the seasons have passed, he has become increasingly attached. Perhaps not healthy behavior. But what am I to do? His hair is blue like the flames of hell. He would be an outcast before anyone ever gave him a chance.

I felt the autumn breeze coming in through a window.

“Ortho, please close the window”

The window did slam shut. But when I looked up, it was not Ortho who shut the window.

“Idia? What brings you into the lab?”

“I’ve read more books. About love,”

“…And?”

“I want someone to love me. Make me my other half,”

“Idia, creating Life is not a simple task. Do you know what happened the night I created you? You got struck by lightning and so did I. If I do it again, especially in inclement weather, it’s very possible something could go wrong. Do you know how hard it is to find a body undamaged? Unravaged by plague? No part of this process is easy, Idia,”

“I don’t care how hard it is.” He said firmly. “Make me a lover, or I’ll make my own,”

I swallowed. It felt like my mouth was stuffed with cotton. He was serious.

“…alright. I’ll see what I can do,”

“You have one week,”

And with that, he left the lab.

~*~

It was considerably more difficult to find the second body. But I managed.

…but guilt was slowly consuming me. Idia was my best creation. A lovely, fascinating, raw creation. Proof of my conquering of Life.

But I couldn’t do it again.

So I took the body with me, and I used a rowboat to get to the center of the lake.

It was there that I dumped the sacrilegious body. I watched the corpse sink below the tides, never to be rediscovered.

I felt relief for once. Despite Idia’s threat before, I felt relief that I disposed of that body.

That relief was very short lived, and before I realized what was happening, I blacked out.

~*~

When I awoke, I was strapped to a gurney. Ortho looked at me, concerned.

“Doctor, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him,”

Idia emerged from the shadows, wearing my lab coat and protective gear.

“I told you I would make my own lover. And guess what, Y/N? I have,”

“Who did you hurt?!”

“I didn’t go into the town, don’t worry. They are stuck in their old ways. Unyielding to modernity. Unwilling to embrace progress. But you were,” he smiled his sinister, shark toothed smile. He and Ortho looked like brothers. But knowing what my dear creation has become, that comparison felt unfair.

The restraints on the gurney unlatched, and I stumbled off.

There was an unnatural pallor to my skin.

My limbs were somewhat rigid.

Something was wrong.

I scrambled around, looking for a reflective surface. I needed to know what happened. And I found a small handheld mirror. There was dried blood on my head. My skin was unnaturally blanched.

My eyes held the blue flames of hell.

“Idia…what have you done?”

“…I only meant to knock you unconscious. I am much stronger than I thought. But it’s okay, I found your Book of Shadows. I fixed it,”

I looked at him intensely.

“…you learned from the Book of Shadows?”

“Yes,”

“…and it worked…you…you’re incredible…” I said in awe.

“Doctor, what does this mean?”

“…It means Idia, my creation, has become a creator” I said.

“Just as you reshaped me and gave me new life, I have done the same to you, Doctor Y/N,” Idia smiled a satisfactory smile. He had made me into a creation. Like him. It had finally dawned on me. He remade me in his image. The “lover” he made was me.

And I laughed. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. Until I forgot why I was laughing. Until I started to cry as I laughed. I laughed such a laugh they would have called me mad.

Well, they already did before.

Maybe they were right.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

As long as we all held the blue flames of hell in our bodies and souls, none of it mattered.

~Fin~

[aernx]

꧔ LIKE DAYLIGHT — ! (성훈)

you realize other shades of love exists as your relationship with sunghoon blossoms

꒰ genre ꒱ super super fluffly my single heart broke to pieces as i write this 😭😭

ÆRIN’S NOTES ✮ — inspired by mother’s song daylight ☀️ this has been sitting in my drafts for months it’s literally collecting dust ㅠㅠ. Hope u guys enjoy!! I’m glad i finally got more inspo to write this!!

You can hear the rain pour from a distance. Droplets of water rapidly colliding upon rough concrete, soaking the road with rainwater.

Though, even with the upsetting weather of the outside world, the two of you remain coddled underneath the warmth of your shared blanket. Heating the coldness of the outside world with the heat of your bodies.

Before Sunghoon, you never really thought much about the concept of love. Just hearing them from the descriptions of your closest kins, telling you how love was burning red, full of passion and lit with desires.

But now, as you lay against the warmth of your lover, you realize yourself. How love wasn’t always burning red, like how your friend described. Sometimes love can be orange, filled with childlike glee and innocence. Sometimes it can be blue, full of compassion and trust.

Yet those colors haven’t quite describe “love” for you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon shows his love for you with enamoring light. A light so bright that it shines even the darkest of your days. Just like how the sun blesses the morning glory, showering the earth with rays of light, and emitting warmth to the environment below. Sunghoon showers you with such praises as well reassurance. The warmth from his heart that slowly fills you in as well as you feel his presence near.

To you, love portrays as something else. Love isn’t burning red, orange, nor blue. But love is golden, just like daylight.

© aernx 2023 / do not steal, copy, translate — hope you enjoy my works! and let me know if you have any suggestions !

[chao-thicc-hcs]

tws: mentions of blood, saddness, slight hint of suicide, absolute word-vomit because I am sick as hell, but this has been sitting in my drafts for decades

genre(s): angst with no comfort

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song(s) to listen while reading:

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┃

✥

Mikey had his fair share of partying and lecherous moments. For the first few months after your death he felt pure joy, he wasn't himself. Imagine how bad things were to even feeling the need to celebrate it. Mikey was a masochistic fool, never bothering to appreciate what the universe had given him, all the ways out of his suffering. He thought the freed way of life would suit him more. What he failed to realize is how this will lead him to a terrible demise.

Gradually, the sweet, blissful moments of him coming home without a nagging lover to give him headaches formed a growing emptiness inside of him. Not even sinning brought him joy. Every person he hooked up with was replaced with the image of you in his head. He never noticed how much you meant to him until he started seeing you still roaming around the rooms, smiling at him and gesturing to come and embrace him in a hug.

- Y/n.. Are you real?

You didn't answer vocally. Your once sparkling eyes now were deep, black, lifeless orbs. Your touch was cold and seemed distant. This would happen frequently. Mikey coming back home, alone, with ''you'' sitting on the couch, your smile dazzling and relaxing his muscles after a long, tiring day. ''You'' walking around being your usual self and gesturing him to approach you and give you a kiss, which always seemed transparent and empty. When he covered himself and let the wieght of the blankets overpower him, with ''you'' laying next to him, embracing his figure. ''Your'' cooking's smell around the rooms, ''your'' chirpy laugh echoing through the apartment. Until one day, what seemed to be ''you'' never came back. Mikey came home to a small box in your favourite color, and a ribbon in his favourite color. Inside was an old picture from your first date together, soaked in the familiar, potent scent of your favourite Karolina Kurkova perfume. He sat on the couch, tears flowing down his cheeks, hugging the picture and sobbing until his head ached.

From that day on, the hole in his heart grew with the speed of light every day he came back to your previously shared home alone, with the only trace of you being the clothes bought from him you never got to wear, and your casual attire, still stained with blood and bitter tears. They were emitting despair and betrayal. He was yearning for ''you'' to come back, just so he could apologize, but to no avail. ''You'' vanished peacefully.

He never took you out on fancy events, never spent time with you nor viewed you as an equal. Never got the chance to see your figure wrapped around the expensive material of the now collecting dust pieces of fabric, or your neck, face and limbs embellished with the sui generis accessories you seemed to take interest in the first stages of your relationship, bought from him on your anniversary. Mikey found himself hugging your most worn shirts until he fell asleep, feeling like the room he used to sleep with you in turning into void, and your smell eternalizing in his nose.

Once again, the invincible Mikey fell into despair, succumbing into his own darkness. He never felt alive, nothing managed to salvage him from the ripples of your cherished memories. He proved he never deserved anything other than suffering, for he destroys every weal the universe sends him in a desperate attempt to heal his inner self and bring him back to stability. His life went downhill. Lost control over his own gang, the overflowing guilt, anger and disappointment flicked a switch and turned him into a monster, even worse than he already was.

He stole the urn from your parents' house, precisely from your bedroom. Wasn't very hard, for the room was without surveillance. They didn't care about you enough to even bother to clean the dust. After you got into a relationship with a hoodlum, they disowned you, exclaiming that you're no longer welcome in their lives. Mikey wanted to kill them on the spot, but he didn't want them to reunite with you and inflict more harm on you, even in the afterlife.

The urn remained on the nightstand next to your spot in your previously shared bed. He made sure to clean it every time he woke up and went to bed, hugging it for a couple of minutes and talking to it, sharing how his day went, how much he misses you and how sorry he is for everything he made you go through.

This wasn't enough. Mikey didn't feel like this wasn't enough. He wanted to apologize to you personally, to finally see the same eyes that sparkled with happiness and warmth when you initially began dating. He felt like this was the right thing to do... ''Yes... that's what's needed, that's what I have to do, that's... the only way out of my eternal guilt." was what he thought when his lean finger pulled the trigger. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❧

[gelenka-daria]

girl save me w a drabble im begging for scraps

so this has been sitting in my drafts for a long while, it's a sequel to this late halloween drabble and i might as well post it

Mairon’s head snaps to the window at the sound of thunder, the frames shiver with every heavy rumble. It’s very nearly morning and the storm is yet to abate. His master is yet to return. He has no qualms about leaving Mairon behind for days, weeks, even months on end, on some rare occasions, when really, they should have gone hunting together.

Mairon misses him, wondering where Melkor’s hunger will lead him tonight.

He goes back to cleaning an urn, a small thing made of stygian marble and intricately inlined with gold that he’d noticed had been gathering dust, one of the many collectibles his master has gathered over the centuries. He wipes it down to perfection, until he can see his reflection in the black alabaster. He puts it back where it belongs and makes way to a wall overspread with weapons of all shapes and sizes, the last thing he’ll be attending to before the sun rises and he retires for the remainder of the day. He’ll dust, tomorrow. He’s got nothing better to do in this still, quiet manor, so might as well.

He’s in the process of polishing a saber when a familiar presence invades his senses. The air grows potent, heavy with the force of his lord’s power, shifting the atmosphere, weighing it down. No matter how long Mairon had served him, he could never quite get used to the magnitude of his master’s strength. 

So soon? 

Its is soon, but Mairon isn’t complaining. He lays the sword down and heads for the door to welcome him. 

He finds him in the hallway, damp with rain and hair sticking to his back as he ascends the steps leading to the second floor, his long coat gone and he’s– Mairon has to do a double take, just in case he’s seeing things. His master is carrying someone, said missing coat wrapped around the person of which he can only glimpse long, fair legs hanging off his master’s right arm. Mairon stands there at the bottom of the staircase, tongue-tied, his mind spiraling with a multitude of questions that he knows better than to give voice to.

He had been in his lord’s service for the better part of a millennia now, and not once had he come back from his outings bearing anything beside relics and recherché treasures, and for all his charm and self-assured demeanor, he had never been overly fond of or ever sought any other’s company, even those of his own kind. 

So, who–

“Mairon.”

Mairon’s body snaps back to attention like someone’s pinched his nerves. “My lord.” 

“Prepare a bath." Comes the order, absent-minded, almost, gaze fastened upon whoever he's carrying.

“At once, my lord.” His master sounds at ease, for the most part, but something in his tone hints at urgency, that Mairon be quick about it and so, like a bat out of hell, he does just that. The bath is drawn apace, and he lays out everything one might need next to the large tub in orderly fashion, fresh wash cloths and smooth stones, soaps and scented oils. Mairon is in the process of reaching out when his master steps into the steaming washroom fully clothed, expecting to be handed the individual tucked close to his master’s chest, hidden away under the dark garment, but the lord ignores him entirely and makes way to the bathtub. 

Mairon stares at his master’s retreating back in wide-eyed confusion. 

The coat falls at his master’s feet, carelessly discarded to the ground as though it doesn’t cost a fortune, sleeping gown follows, pale and thin and equally wet. His master kneels, carefully sinking the person in his arms in the hot liquid, the water splashing gently, some of it spraying his boots as he reaches for a cloth, his other hand cupping a head of long, white hair, fingers working to unravel the tangles there. 

All Mairon can do is stare, at a loss for words. Is… is Melkor going to bathe this person–himself?

Who–

“Leave us.” His master commands abruptly. All Mairon can do is bow as he retreats, shutting the door behind him, his eyes drift to the large window at the end of the hallway, and sees the first light barely cresting the mountains behind the thick burgundy curtains. Water still sloshes behind the door.

Mairon stands outside until the door swings open and Melkor steps out, the person in his arms cocooned in soft towels, hidden away from Mairon’s wondering eyes. His master doesn’t acknowledge him as he walks past, treading through the hallway to his bedchamber. 

Who?

Why?

Mairon cleans what little mess had been left behind, wipes the wooden floor dry and picks up the clothes piled together for washing, later. He’s ready to turn in by then, and he seeks out his own room. 

Yet how he ends up at his lord’s door is a mystery to even himself. 

It’s open, and Mairon observes his master placing a young man, already clad in a lovely shade of blue, into his own bed, moving him with care, his touch attentive as he sits by his side and smoothes an ivory comb through his snowy hair. 

It’s either Melkor does not notice Mairon, or he simply does not care, he would have dismissed him already if he didn’t want him there and so, emboldened by the lack of admonishment, Mairon takes a few steps inside and lays eyes upon the stranger. 

He doesn’t think he has ever perceived something so captivating.

Mairon’s gaze rakes over a shapely face, coral, plump lips and sharp cheekbones, long lashes fanning his cheeks. He watches his master pull the man’s hair to one side once he is done combing through it before he proceeds to braid it, deft fingers weaving through the tresses, threading the long, blue ribbon between the strands.

He lays the long plait down one shoulder once he is done, thumb running over seemingly soft ridges, his other hand tucking a stray lock behind the man’s ear and that’s when Mairon detects the puncture wounds on the man’s pale jugular. He’s unable to keep the shock off his face, this time, his wide eyes taking in the shape of his master’s teeth in this stranger’s neck. A turning bite. 

He has converted this person.

Mairon struggles his way out of this particular bout of disbelief, and he’s had one too many in the past two hours. 

“My lord, wh-” 

“Bewitching, isn’t he?” Melkor says, his clawed finger tracing the man’s pale cheek, gaze intense, the embers in his eyes burning tender and Mairon can’t think of a time when his master ever wore such an expression. Not even for Mairon himself, who had served and loved him unfailingly. What a riveting, hurtful thing to bear witness to. “I have so longed for a worthy companion.” 

A companion. 

It’s happened. 

The haze of confusion disperses and everything makes so much sense, suddenly, that Mairon wonders how he had not picked up on it sooner. 

Melkor has found himself a bride.

Of course.

Of course.

“I have so longed for a worthy companion.”

Did he? Was I not enough?

Mairon stares at him, this cold, lovely thing that is to be everything Mairon wishes he could have been. Immortal as he is, still he never thought he’d live to see this night, because theirs might be a long, lonely existence but Melkor never really cared, never voiced his need for someone special and as much as Mairon strived to be that someone, he never seemed to amount. 

The tightness in his chest prevents him from erupting into joyless laughter.

You’ve no right to feel betrayed, he never promised you anything. Wasn’t it you who clung to him? Weren’t you the one that begged? 

Mairon fights the bitter feeling down, insides warring between wanting to tear that beautiful man to shreds and stealing him away to have him all to himself.

He can’t do either.

“What pleases my master pleases me.” He declares instead, inclining his head to hide away the hurt, the jealousy.

Melkor hums. “Yes, I am very pleased.” His lips stretch into a gratified, serpentine smile, his gleaming fangs poking from under the curve of his mouth. “I see great potential in him.” 

He must have, Marion thinks, to have gone to such lengths. His master doesn't do things by halves, not a matter as critical as this, at least. Turning someone, altering their entire being and putting such power at their disposal is as pivotal a subject as one could possibly be. His eyes do a final sweep over the sleeping form. 

“He is most comely.” He offers, because he should say something, aiming to please as he’d always done, but gets a cautionary glare for his efforts, Melkor’s eyes gleaming a mean red that Mairon doesn’t usually find himself on the receiving end of. He takes a step back and dips his head in atonement for whatever wrong he’d committed, but by then the flicker of hostility had long since passed and his master’s attentions turn back to the figure laid in his bed. 

“Indeed.” He concurs, his voice gone breathless, eyes hazy, enamored with the gem he caught. Melkor does fancy the finer things in life. But this is no passing fancy, and this new addition to their lives has to be strong enough to endure the change. Not everyone makes it through, at the end, he needs to be looked after. 

So it’s no surprise that, after getting up to change out of his wet garment, and sending Mairon away in the process, Melkor stays by his bride’s side. He doesn’t leave his bedroom for a thing, keeps watch over the young man as he goes through his corpse stage, his body going cold and ashen, his mortality creeping out of him in increments as the human in him dies. Then the fever came, making the man’s body softer and more pliable, warmth returning to him, slowly at first, then faster and faster, a sickness that he would never overcome– that holds all of them hostage. 

Mairon brings his master bowel after bowel of ice cold water and clean washcloths, watches as the man sweats and heaves and trembles in his unconsciousness. It looks as unpleasant as it must have felt, and he’s glad he doesn’t remember when he’d gone through these phases. 

Worryingly, the fever persists, and this never bodes well. 

Mairon stands in the shadows and watches his master pace like a caged animal in front of his bed, fists tight at his sides and eyes gone frenzied because this isn’t supposed to happen, his master had been so painstakingly mindful and now his chosen’s body is too still, too weak, too hot to the touch.

“Stop,” Melkor takes the motionless body in his arms and holds it close, holds it tightly, his hands shaking, the first time Mairon’s ever seen him so desperately frightened. “Stop fighting it, Manwë.”

… Manwë. 

By that time the fever finally breaks, his master had been confining himself in his chamber for a fortnight, keeping vigil at Manwë’s bedside. Mairon pretends not to hear his master’s sigh of relief, the tension trickling out of him in red, seismic waves. The worst of it has passed.

Melkor dips Manwë in another bath of cool water to chase away fever residue, then adorns him in new, soft fabrics, lowers him unto crisp clean sheets and lays himself beside him, keen eyes wide open. 

It’s almost over. 

Manwë should be waking up any day now.

–

It’s two nights later, and Mairon is in the process of adjusting a tilted portrait when a long, cracked shriek swells throughout the manor, the frame shivering underneath his frozen hands. 

At last, Manwë is awake.

Newborns tend to be violent when they first come to, hysterical with hunger and oblivious to their own strength, so more often than not, they would be restrained, for their own safety and that of those around them. But Melkor is one of the strongest out there, he could handle this just fine, he certainly doesn’t need Mairon sprinting his way up staircases and through corridors with Manwë’s howls still in his ears, but Mairon can’t help it, he needs to see this. 

The screaming stops just before he reaches the threshold. He expects utter chaos when he walks into the room, and instead finds his master reclined against the headboard, Manwë’s slighter form pulled across his front, his slit wrist offered up for Manwë to sink into, latching on like it's all he knows to do, like his life depends on it. Because it does, Melkor had to be the one to do it, he is his maker, after all.

Melkor’s other hand smoothes down, coming to a rest at the small of Manwë’s back, his temple pressed to the top of Manwë’s head. “Drink, sweetheart,” he says, watching with indulgent, golden eyes as Manwë feeds off him, “‘Til you’ve had your fill.” 

Mairon has to turn his head from the sight, backing away, much as he wants to be a part of it, he's trespassing on something intimate. Vampire couples feeding from each other is cherished, private, personal. And that’s what Melkor and Manwë are to be. This is not something for him, or anyone, to see. 

Despite everything, it feels like a labor of love, in the end.

[horridly-plagued]

Blabbing about allergies below

I don’t think I’ve ever considered myself to have a sensitive nose and for the most part those holds up true, I never really have long fits just small ones that last for maybe a minute max and even then it’s not super rapid. When I sneeze it’s usually only in twos unless dust is involved and I can usually handle myself pretty well with most things, Though I did find something that flares up a possible allergy like crazy. I don’t think there’s such thing as a candle allergy or not as far as I know but I was gifted this small candle by a friend it’s an old bath and body works Halloween scent (I think it’s the most feminine thing I collect as a trans man) and with most scents I have I usually light em up just to smell them once and then I leave them be.

If I really love the scent I’ll light it a few times and buy more of it if it’s out and or just wait until it rereleases to get a few more of em. The one I got smelt like sweet potato’s in my weird little mind but the first time I sniffed it was the first time I think I have ever had anything close to a rapid. It set me off terribly, I could go as far as to say it was worse then my dust allergy. I didn’t favor it but a friend gave it to me and I don’t exactly feel good letting gifts sit. I sorta thought maybe it was a one time thing? It had only had the chance to irritate my nose once and I was pretty sure it could have just been a me thing possibly the scent was stronger due to past exposer to an allergen etc. I wasn’t thinking apparently and even as a nursing major my brain went anywhere but the fact the scent could have really set me off so badly.

Round two of me not thinking was quick to come in! Because recently I thought I’d light it again, when I originally sniffed it I noticed it really was never fully lit so I didn’t get to experience the entirety of the way it had smelt. It didn’t really bother me at first and so I just assumed once again the first incident was maybe just a dust issue rather than anything else but, as the scent began to become stronger my nose started to get a lot more irritated and my eyes started to water. I don’t think I’d ever really had an experience like it but, it was a good amount of false starts and then fits after I broke the cycle of being perpetually itchy. I think after the third fit I had fully blown out the candle and yet the cycle still continued. I had never been so affected by a scent in my life and so the experience was definitely something!!!

Update: (this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now) not only did I continue to have fits after I blew the damn candle out for a good 15 minutes or so until the scent had basically died out. Whenever I sniff this candle I get the same exact sensation. If I sniff it for long enough I end up having drawn out fits for around a minute or so until I’m away from it again- definitely a heavy inducer though..

Update update: I still have this candle I legitimately cannot burn it without going into a fit and so it’s still almost a full candle the guilt of it sitting there is killing me 😭…

[imsadstuff]

Loving you is Red - A Jeon Jungkook Fic Teaser 2

Fic link: here

Synopsis:

Jeon Jungkook's name was unheard on the Formula 1 paddock till he got a chance to drive a Mercedes car as a reserve driver. His 2020 starts looking brighter as he signs with Ferrari and meets you, his teammates little sister. So many cliched tropes, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, dating brother's best friend, and most importantly Jeon Jungkook looks smoking hot in a Ferrari!

Author's Note:

So, this has been collecting dust in my drafts since I watched Drive to Survive last year, watched the new season, and got motivated to write this fic.

Teaser 3 is going to be out Thursday at 12KST (09-03-2023)

Please comment under if you want to be added to the reading list for this fic! ❤ Also, if you have any thoughts or ideas, please feel free to comment or message me and for the love of Jungkook, don't be a ghost reader!

Race 1 Bahrain Grand Prix 2020

“Hey?” Jungkook picks up your call as he catches an elevator up to his room. “Are you back at the hotel?” “Yeah, I’m on my way to my room,” Jungkook says pressing his floor number. “Can you stop by my room, it’s 504” Jungkook hums a reply, not knowing what to expect. You’re in the middle of attempting to tidy your room when you hear loud knocks, way earlier than anticipated. Swinging the door open, Jungkook smiles widely, not having seen you in almost two months. “Cute pj’s” he comments as you let him in, they are in fact not cute pj’s. What you sleep in is a very old, oversize t-shirt and gym shorts. “Sit” you order and he complies immediately, taking a seat on the bed beside you. Wordlessly, you pass him a pale paper bag, there’s some paper rustling till he reaches the gift.

“oh, wow this is embossed,” Jungkook says feeling the soft leather of the diary. He’s about to open it when you not so gently swat his hands, “Do that when I’m not there” you whisper and he chuckles, seeing just how embarrassed you are about this. “I can’t use this, it’s too precious a gift” Jungkook can’t help but keep fiddling with the diary. “I bought it for you to fill it with diligent notes,” you say, turning to face him. “Thank you ___” Jungkook’s the one feeling shy right now, more accurately vulnerable. Tomorrow is the first race of his first season, there’s so much pressure and he feels like you can sense just how heavy his shoulders feel. “Don’t tell Phillip, but I kinda want you to win tomorrow” you say, reaching for his pinkie finger with yours, Jungkook immediately takes charge, intertwining them. “But whatever happens, it’s going to be alright” you reassure him as he holds your finger very tightly. “How can you be sure?” he asks, finally looking you in the eyes, his eyes give away his fears and tension immediately. “Because when I was going through something tough, you told me it was going to be alright and it’s starting to feel alright”

taglist:

@blancflms @nadzzzblog @kookiewhtaee

(comment under if you want to be added to the tag list)

[rosemaryreaper]

Fallout OCs!

This has been sitting in my drafts for months. About time I actually shared them.

* * * * Fallout 4 * * * *

Nora “Blue” Delaney (she/her): Minutemen general and Sole Survivor of Vault 111, she led the Commonwealth to victory against the Institute. Now it’s her mission to rebuild her former home, with hope for a peaceful future in the new family that is Piper, Nat, and Shaun. While Nora constantly emphasizes that she has no interest in power, her strong influence over nearly all the eastern Commonwealth settlements and supply lines, as well as on the politics of Diamond City itself, cause many to doubt her intent. None more so than the overzealous Brotherhood of Steel…who she pissed off when she went AWOL as a paladin and sabotaged Liberty Prime. Oops.

Ros Markey (she/they): The daughter of an Appalachian vault dweller and a Piedmont settler, she’s a wanderer with an oddly diverse skill set. After a series of tragedies left her alone with only a temperamental robot horse for company, she bounces from job to job—farmhand, caravan guard, pole dancer—anything that will keep her moving away from her past. Not completely directionless, she regularly collects data for her mother’s Project Salvia, despite knowing next to nothing about the work she has inherited—or how it’s supposed to save the world.

* * * * Fallout 3 * * * *

Charlotte “Charlie” Mills (she/her): Programmer, engineer, former resident of the Capital Wasteland’s Vault 101—and yet forever a Lone Wanderer and outcast. She had a brief stint as one of the Brotherhood of Steel’s most renowned paladins before the whole mess with Project Purity left her with a radiation makeover. “Honorably” discharged due to her new ghoulish appearance, she does her best to live a (semi-)quiet life on a small Maryland farm, occasionally looking after the young son of a certain sharpshooter merc. That is, until that certain merc sets off on a mission for some weird Yankee general. Looks like it’s time to dust off the old Pip-Boy again.

* * * * Fallout: New Vegas * * * *

Shrike (they/them): Courier Six, AKA the baddest gunslinger west of the Rockies, Shrike is rather like a rattlesnake: reasonably docile most of the time, good at communication, and only likely to mess with you if you mess with them first. Unfortunately, a lot of folks like to mess with them. (Most of those folks now have holes in them.) Really, all Shrike wants is to do their job, make some caps, hang out with their favorite scribe, and maybe, if they’re feeling generous, lend a hand here or there. If only things would stop trying to kill them for five goddamned seconds.

[avida-heidia-5]

After thinking it through for a very long time, I’ve decided to abandon my fanfic Absolute Honesty altogether.

The reason why I’ve done this is because I refuse to write a fanfic with Christian Horner in it, and it would feel very wrong to me if I decide to do so. He only plays a supporting role in it, but still.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, actually. I created this fanfic before news of these allegations surfaced. It had been sitting in my drafts for months and months, untouched, collecting dust. Now that the news has spread all over the internet, I’ve come to the conclusion that I will no longer be writing it, out of respect for this poor girl who had suffered through this ordeal.

Rest in peace, Absolute Honesty. You’ll never be forgotten.

💐

For those who are curious and want to know what my fanfic was going to be all about, click on the pencil tag below. ⬇️

[black-klok-youth-pastor]

Charles and MMA Theory

Okay, I came up with this theory a while ago (and has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust for months until this point) but haven’t really shared it in that many places. Bare in mind this is also a sort of weird fan theory of a fan theory, that being the popular Dadlacia theory (the one where Salacia is Charles’s biological father in case you don’t know) so feel free to take this with a massive grain of salt, as we gather around the Pepe Silvia board to ask this one question that just clicked one day. That being:

What if Charles Offdensen and the Metal Masked Assassin were half brothers?

Now admittedly both characters are wrapped in mystery, so of course there’s gonna be a lot of fan speculation on both of them, albeit the main smoking gun is that we at least learn MMA’s backstory in Doomstar Requiem (in song form):

“Born and left alone Never knew his mother Who was killed during birth but left him a brother”

This verse seems to suggest that MMA and 216’s father wasn’t in the picture, either by neglect or being absent altogether, essentially leaving 216 to raise MMA by himself (which is particularly messed up since they seem to be a bit close in age). Sure in complete fairness in a sung-through musical like this we don’t have time for every single detail, but the specific word choice intrigues me.

And if you know the basic Dadlacia theory y’know where I’m going with this, mainly the infamous scene in the cold open of Fatherklok where Charles is suspiciously wistful about how it feels to lose the strength of a father’s touch and that his father had strong hands. Now am I saying all fatherless characters in the series are Salacia’s children? Not really. Like for example, I’m kind of skeptical of the fan theory that Salacia is Skwisgaar’s father, if not the real dad of everyone in Dethklok. The Skwisgaar one I can kind of buy even if I have some theories that I think are better but the latter I’m not as fond of since it kind of ruins the point of the found family aspect (honestly the only variant of this theory I can see is the ones involving Salacia only being their father in a past life, like the sort of Kronos figure in the pantheon but we’d be here all day if we dwelled into that).

What I’m getting at is that part of it kind of goes into the “but why?” aspect since by all accounts. After all, Salacia is immortal as far as we can tell so on paper he wouldn’t exactly feel the need to sire children. Short version as I go to my now outdated headcanons post, my sort of theory to that is that he has a plan not unlike Ego from Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 2 that involves fathering as many children as possible that through trial and error would grant him offspring powerful enough to serve his machinations. Human beings to him are pawns after all, why would his own offspring be different?

Although I freely admit a good chunk of my theorizing has been on the thematic level. The lore of Metalocalypse has taken a lot of influence from various mythology and religions, and what better way to tie into the themes of brotherhood throughout the series than good old sibling rivalry which can be found everywhere from Set and Osiris to Kalervo and Untamo to (of course) Cain and Abel, particularly how one brother more or less (except not really) kills the other.

Although funnily enough, Charles is simultaneously Abel and Seth in this metaphor considering how they didn't even meet each other until after 216's death.

[acewithapaintbrush]

Something a little bit personal. It got longer than I thought so the rest under the cut.

So, even before Corona hit, I had done the (for me) unthinkable:

I had finished a novel.

I have started many ever since I was a snot nosed little brat, but had never actually finished one because I lost the drive or hated what I had written. This time I had an idea that I really wanted to see completed and I told myself that no matter how much I hated my own writing, I would finish it. So I plotted the whole story out and I powered through to get the first draft done. And I did. The first draft was, as expected, horrible (in my eyes) but after lots of rewriting and revising it got better and better and after many months it was finally at a point where I felt it was complete and tried to send it to publishers.

And no one wanted it.

And that was kinda a bummer, but also not surprising because publishers get thousands of stories daily. Why would they want my weird mix of modern fantasy + found family + crime story out of all of them?

I told myself that I would self publish, but I never got around to it because even though I liked the story that I had written (and friends and family told me they liked what they had read) I was never a 100 % happy with the wording. The sentences felt clunky to me. The emotions didn't feel nearly as powerful put into words as they were supposed to.

During the writing process I often felt like I couldn't articulate what I wanted to say in an impactful way. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but put into German sentences they just lacked the bite, the punch.

I liked what I had written, but I wasn't really happy with it and the rejection letters didn't help any.

And so it collected dust on my shelf. My first finished novel and nothing to show for it because I didn't feel like it was worth getting it out there when I myself had so many grievances with it.

I sometimes look at it and think about the characters I created and that are so dear to me and hate myself for being so insecure about it all. For letting my dream of my own book become buried under a pile of self-doubt and apathy. I felt like a failure. It felt like I had given up an inch before the finish line but unable to pull myself up again.

Starting with fanfiction again and getting so many amazing comments about how I have a way with words, how I manage to convey emotions with my writing and lots other wonderful encouragements, I often found myself wishing I had written my novel in English.

It does sound crazy, but I've always been better with English than with my native tongue when it comes to writing. Not necessarily when it comes to grammar or spelling (as you'll probably have guessed by now) but when it comes to putting emotions and a story on paper, English has always been so much easier for me. I kid you not, while writing my novel I often pictured how I would write the sentence in English and then translated that into German. Totally bonkers, but true.

So yeah, me sitting here, wishing I could have written my book in English.

And then having a "Duh" moment because I can! No one is stopping me!

English is not a barrier in the german book market, it's actually a way to reach even more people.

And if you self publish, the language matters even less.

So, I just wanna give this a try.

A last hurray, a last rebellion in the wake of defeat. A last time breathing life into a beloved project that never left my mind.

I just wanna try again.

So why am I making a big ass post which actually can be summarized as: "I will translate my own book into another language."?

In part to keep myself accountable, to maybe help you keep me accountable ("Yo Ace, working on that novel? Don't slack now!")

But also in part because after "A place for Crows" is done, I won't start another big project like that until the novel thing is done. I WILL STILL WRITE FANFICTION, I WILL NEVER STOP WRITING FANFICTION! But don't expect another over 100k monster out of me too soon. Since my novel is actually done I think translating and revising won't take too long but I wanna do this right and concentrate on that.

As I said, I won't stop writing fanfiction, making art and diy projects and interacting here and with my beloved fandoms, so I really hope you'll stick around for my dazzling personality and stories.

Thank you for your attention.