#adam olla

[lokichaoss]

This will always be my favorite Movie look of Tom he is gorgeous

[mickimoo1409]

Tom Hiddleston has joined the calendar husbands ❤️

Your birth month is your new husband!

[theseimmortalcoils]

Adam from OLLA

[societyfolklore]

Certain Kind of Sadness

Title: Certain Kind of Sadness

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x Female Reader

Warnings: Melancholy, vampires, depressive thoughts, hunger/feeding mention Words: 300 words A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles Prompt: June 9th - Somebody That I Used To Know – Gotye/  “You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.” (Set 1890’s)

Adam found you because of the poems.

Not the address. Not the letters you had stopped answering. The poems.

They had been appearing in little publication under names no one else would know were yours, each one thinner than the last. Hungrier. Beautiful enough to make something in him go still.

So he came.

The room you called home sat above a pawnshop, narrow and damp, its window blacked out. Paper covered every surface. Floorboards. Desk. Bed. Some pages had been written over until the ink bled into a mess of colour.

You sat in the middle of it, barefoot, hair undone, fingers stained dark to the knuckles.

“You need to go outside,” Adam encouraged.

You did not look up. “Need to finish.”

“You need to feed.”

Your quill paused.

A carriage rattled past below, wheels hissing through rain. Living hearts moved under umbrellas in the street, war, foolish and full. You could hear them. Of course you could.

“I don’t feel like eating.”

Adam stepped over pages, careful not to crush a single word. “Poet.” Warning clear.

You smiled faintly at the name, though it did not reach your eyes. “Don’t look so grave. It’s only ink.”

“It is not only ink.”

No. It wasn’t.

Sorrow did.

It was what filled your veins now. Not blood. Not hunger. The stuff pouring from a wound you could not close and had stopped trying to hide.

“You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness,” you started. “It feeds the muse better than blood ever could.”

Adam crouched before you, pale, still as a saint carved from marble. “And what does it leave behind?”

Your fingers tightened around the quill. “Something worth reading,” you whispered.

His gaze softened with terrible understanding.

“That is not the same as something worth preserving.”

[nerdmutant2]

these two would hate each other so much

[flungoutofspace07]

Is my type in men a paradox?

Can a man be poetic, warm, silly, and whimsical while also being dominant, classy, intelligent, and secure in his sense of self?

Can a man be the type to know when to take charge... to protect... to be possessive while also not being suffocating and controlling?

Are they capable of balancing softness with wit? Firmness with tenderness? Safety without smothering?

I want to feel cared for... occasionally coddled... like I have someone to lean on, but I don't wish to sacrifice my independence or self-worth.

Can a man be strong and dominant without needing me to compromise my own strength of character? I want us to go head to head. I want it to be raw and messy and passionate while also having such secure knowledge of each other's boundaries.

Can we not both be powerful enough to be entertaining? Forces to bw reckoned with in our own rite? I want someone who bests me in some way and who I best in others. A rivalry that also compensates for the areas we each lack in.

Be whimsical, be artistic, be a poet. Be strong, be collected, be firm. I need to feel his security to feel that I am secure. Let us both be each other's anchors... what we both return to... what we cling to in rough waters.

I want us to fight tooth and nail in our love, fueled by obsession and worship. To have such respect and admiration for each other that it brews a deep devotion. I want to find solace curled in his lap with my head in his neck and I want him to find peace with his head against my stomach and hands on my hips as he kneels infront of me. Positions of aching turning to peace, of coming home.

Is this love real? Is it dead? Did it ever exist? This is what we all read about, but do we ever see it outside of the screens and pages? If it is real... how few get to have it and for how long?

The less poetic version:

I want someone who caries themselves like Richard Roper without being a murderer, racist, classist, and sexist. I want a passion that burns that deeply with that many layers without him being a total bigot.

I want the priest from Fleabag, without his devotion ultimately being to God. I want it to "not pass." For him to pick me to begin with or come running back.

I want Dr. House in a reality where his self sabotage was something that could heal and improve instead of crushing us.

I want Wilson without the boredom he gets when he feels less needed and his savior complex is no longer in overdrive. And without his tendency to cheat if that boredom does arise.

I want Loki without the doomed storyline. Or James Norrington without the embedded misogyny, entitlement, and need to prove himself. Or Ransom Drysdale without his prickish nature? Or Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) without his suicidal tendencies or the world around us ending. Or Henry Creel without the influence of the Mind Flayer. Or Thomas Sharpe without the limitations of Lucille and their unhealthy attachment.

But can they even exist without those necessary traits? Those key parts of their stories? Are my hopes just a naive deluded want?

[bottomlessp1t]

Me n my omega

[liminalpebble]

🎄🕯An Unhinged Yuletide Gathering🕯🎄

My darlings! 💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

It's time for a festive unhinged gathering! Arrive in your loveliest ball gowns and with your thottiest thots and feel free to share away! The more, the merrier! I'm thrilled to have every single one of you here. This time, I invite you all to a lavish Scandinavian manor house.

We can watch the snow and the northern lights from the lovely art nouveau observatory of the highest tower. Throughout the evening, the roaring hearths, lush decorations, and golden glow of luxurious interiors will keep us very content. There will be decedant warm beverages aplenty, a scrumptious dinner, and spread after spread of desserts.

The company is, of course, also a mouthwatering collection of our exquisite fictional men.

Jonathan Pine is in a brand new and very smart three piece suit, welcoming you with an incandescent smile as he guides you in. He smells deliciously of expensive cologne and the single festive red rose pinned to his lapel. Before he takes his leave, he holds your hand in both of his and makes some very intense eye contact, saying, "and Miss, if there's anything at all I can do for you, please don't hesitate to find me."

You barely catch your breath as you move further past polished oak doors into the large glimmering ballroom where Loki is lounging on a velvet couch, some elaborate mixed drink balanced in his lovely ivory hand. He charms us all with tale after tale as our cheeks get warm and we take turns feeding him teasing little bites of cake.

Thomas Sharpe stands brooding in his finest tuxedo, desperately waiting for his chance at a waltz with you as you look so lovely this evening.

Eddie...delicous, sweet, snarky Eddie Munson snuck in with the caterers. His big chocolate button eyes scan the crowd of lovely ladies, and he gives a big dimpled grin. With no regard at all for the job he signed up for, he shrugs off the uniform top, smooths out the Iron Maiden shirt beneath it, and swaggers over.

"Welllllll, hello lovely ladies!", he declares as he plops on the couch next to Loki, even daring to cross his legs over the god's lap and steal a sip of his drink. Loki stares at this bushy-haired miscreant with a leathal glare that cracks delightfully into a big euphoric grin. One trickster obviously appreciates the charisma of another.

Adam keeps to himself, playing the most beautiful piece of music on an antique lute. He feels a rare flicker of joy as he anticipates candlelit ghost stories on Christmas night (a sweet revival of a Victorian tradition). The faintest twitch of a smile moves his lips as he thinks of all this...delcious...company he'll have the pleasure of experiencing it with.

Hux sits alone, reading in a quiet parlor. The general's lovely hands stroke his beloved ginger cat, Millicent, as he plays out chess games within his powerful mind. His lovely green eyes flick towards you as he hears your footsteps, and he smiles wickedly. You're the only distraction he allows here, afterall...and what an enjoyable one you are.

Thank you for joining the party, my loves. Who else do you see? What does the evening have in store for us? Have you brought something interesting? Oh, do tell. *wink*

Welcome and happy holidays! 💃 🎄

Peb 💜

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