#Moon Mansion Solitary

[gissyfanime]

Moon Mansion Solitary Gifset 2!!!

(Containing eps 3 & 4)

[evacharatarts]

Sorry for the late of art here but if you been keeping up with my fanime tumblr (@gissyfanime), you'll know that I have been working on my latest fanime "Moon Mansion Solitary"!!! (Please check it out, I'm happy on how it turned out!! ;w;.)

I will post the rest of the art I did before that point soon!!!

[littlefireball]

Request for a hybrid Yepsamg x hybrid reader smut where he knows her and it's her first time being knotted etc. But the rest of ATEEZ walks in on them knotted together and They get really Embarrassed?

Sorry for replying late 🤧

ʏꜱ|ᴡᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ (ᴍ)

ᴘᴀɴᴛʜᴇʀʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ᴘᴀɴᴛʜᴇʀ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ|ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇꜱ|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ & ᴅᴏᴍ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ (ʜᴏʜᴏ) |ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ᴋɴᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ|ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪꜱɪᴀᴄ (ᴏᴏᴘꜱ)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.7ᴋ

Prompt: your protagonist is an assassin and their newest assignment is their childhood crush. (ref)

The streets of the ancient city were dark and silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow that barely illuminated the shadows that lurked in every corner. In this world of shadows and secrets, one figure moved with the utmost stealth, their every step calculated and precise. This was Y/N, an assassin known for your unwavering precision and cold-blooded efficiency.

As a unique panther hybrid, you possessed remarkable agility and formidable strength, making you the go-to choice for tackling challenging assignments from your superior. You've yet to face any adversaries that truly test your skills. 

But tonight, your mission weighed heavily on your heart. 

"Kang Yeosang." Your boss said while pointing at his photo. "He is your target." Yeosang. The name echoed through your mind, familiar yet strange. 

Your mind raced back to a distant memory, one that you had buried deep within the recesses of your consciousness. Kang Yeosang was the boy who had stolen your heart with his mischievous smile and antics. In the back alleys of this ancient city, you'd roamed free, exploring abandoned ruins and scaling treetops like the wildest of cats. 

He'd taught you how to find joy in the simplest of things—a skipping stone across a still pond, the laughter of a group of children playing tag. And amidst it all, your feelings for him had grown, blossoming into an infatuation that lingered long after you'd parted ways.

The war tore you apart from him, leaving you no choice but to go your separate ways. You found yourself taken in by the Assassin's Guild, molded from a tender age into a lethal instrument, taught to execute your missions with unwavering precision and to vanish without a whisper. In the grueling hours of relentless training, it was the memories of your time together that kept you going, a solitary beacon of light in the shadowy depths of your otherwise grim life.

Only you had never imagined that fate would bring you face to face with him again, this time as his executioner.

"Why him?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though the question echoed loudly in the confines of your mind.

Your boss's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes hidden in the shadows cast by his hood. "He is responsible for gathering intelligence in ATEEZ," he said simply. "He caused too much trouble for our client." 

Now, years later, you stood outside the imposing gates of ATEEZ's manor, your heart heavy with the weight of your assignment. you had been tasked with eliminating him, a political rival of your guild's patrons. The orders were clear: no mercy, no hesitation. But as you gazed up at the mansion's windows, imagining Yeosang within, your resolve faltered.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed aside your doubts and slipped through the shadows, your movements as silent as a ghost. you made your way to Yeosang's chambers, your heart pounding in your chest. As you neared the door, you heard the sound of soft laughter, and your mind was filled with visions of their carefree childhood once again.

Your heart twisted in your chest as you saw him. The mischievous boy from your childhood was gone, replaced by a cold and calculating man. But even as you prepared to strike, you couldn't shake the memories of your past.

Yeosang's laughter faded as he caught your scent wafting through the air, his gaze locking onto yours. "Y/N…?" The memory of your sweet yet fiery aroma lingered in his mind. Initially, he dismissed the fragrance as a figment of his imagination, but as it intensified, he understood that the enigmatic figure outside was indeed you.

"The meeting has concluded for today. Everyone is free to rest," he announced with a smile, nodding as the others unfurled their wings and soared away from the window. Now, only the two of you remained.

This was the moment you had been waiting for.

With determination, you reached for the lock, poised to silence Yeosang and carry out your mission. But just as you were about to act, the door swung open, revealing Yeosang, his eyes wide with astonishment.

For a heartbeat, you both stood there, suspended in time. The echoes of your shared past clashed with the stark reality of the present, leaving you grappling with the dissonance. Then, Yeosang broke the silence, his voice a blend of disbelief and sorrow.

"Y/N? Is it really you?" he asked, stepping closer.

You faltered, your hand still hovering over the concealed blade. You longed to explain, to share everything that had transpired since your last encounter, but the words remained trapped in your throat.

"I'm sorry, Yeosang," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "I have to do this."

"Y/N…" "Stop calling me!" With a sudden burst of speed, you lunged forward, your knife arcing toward his chest. He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the force of the attack sent him stumbling back a few steps. You pressed your advantage, advancing with quick, relentless strikes, each one forcing Yeosang to retreat further. 

He gritted his teeth and focused his mind, using every ounce of his strength and agility to parry your attack. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the alley as you exchanged blow for blow, each strike growing more fierce and desperate. 

"Stop Y/N!" "What if I say no?" "You make me do this." Yeosang began to notice that your movement lost its rhythm and pattern. You were afraid, nervous; although you were a skilled assassin. It appears you've reverted to the delicate version of yourself, the one who can't bear to harm those you once cared for. Yeosang seized this moment, skillfully evading your strikes and slowly exhausting your resolve.

You swung your knife in a wide arc, aiming for his neck. But Yeosang was ready for you. He had anticipated your move and had already begun to pivot on his feet, using his momentum to spin out of the way. As your knife passed him by, he reached out with his free hand and grasped your wrist, locking it in place.

"You lose." His voice was soft but firm. You could hardly believe you were caught in such chaos. Once, you were the conqueror, the one who made others plead for your mercy. But now, everything had shifted. You fought against his grip, but he held you fast.

"I never meant to hurt you, but you pushed me to this point, Y/N." Yeosang used his strength to pull you closer, twisting your arm sharply until your knife fell from your grasp.

"Shit." You bit back a cry, turning your head to avoid his intense stare. You knew that if you met his eyes, you would lose your resolve. He locked your arms behind you, pressing you down against the table with a force that left no room for escape.

"I never thought we would meet like this, little one. Yeosang leaned closer, his breath a warm caress against your skin, igniting a tingling heat within you. You could sense the rise and fall of his powerful chest with each steady breath, a warmth radiating through you, enveloping you in a cocoon of intensity.

"Tell me. Are you trying to kill me?" His voice, though gentle, carried an undercurrent that sent a thrill of danger through your veins. He was tender and kind, yet beneath that softness lurked the spirit of a panther.

"It's obvious." You spat the words out, each one a shard of ice that cut through the tense atmosphere. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, but only for a fleeting moment before you forced them back down. The pain in your arm was excruciating, but it paled in comparison to the emotional turmoil raging within you.

Yeosang's grip tightened momentarily, as if he were weighing your response. "Obvious, is it?" he repeated, his tone hardening. "Then why, Y/N? Mind your words." He suddenly darted on you, colliding with your clothed lower core with his pelvis. As your back collided with the sharp edge of the table, a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips; yet, that sudden jolt ignited an unexpected sensation that radiated from your hips.

"It's complicated," You finally said. "It's better if you don't know. It's safer for both of us."

Yeosang's hold on you tightened, causing pain and reminding you of his dominance."Safer? How can it be safer for you to try and take my life?" Although his voice was firm, you saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes, and it was almost more than you could bear. 

"There are things you don't know, things I can't tell you." You whispered. 

"You know what, Y/N?" His voice dropped to a low whisper, his breath hot against your ear. "I've been searching for you for so long after we tore apart. I even joined ATEEZ hoping to track you down. But guess what? You tried to take my life." 

"No, Yeosang…I…" He cut off any attempts at explanation with a touch of his fingers to your lips. 

"I don't want to hear your excuses. I want the truth. Why did you come back?Why now?" He commanded, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. His aroma intensified, wrapping around you like a scorching tide. 

What's wrong? Why did his scent become that strong? And why did he become so rough?He was used to being kind and tender. It was nonsense but you couldn't figure it out. 

Each breath he took and every caress sent you spiraling deeper into a haze. Despite having taken inhibitors, your attraction to him remained potent; it was more than mere lust—it was a feeling long buried within your heart. Your mission was to end his life, yet your very essence craves his love. The clash of these emotions is intoxicating, and your body starts to respond in ways you can't control.

"Yeosang, please," You begged. "Let me go…" 

"Let you go?Huh?" He snorted, his hand landed on your neck, giving you a beautiful necklace. "You tell me to let you go after you try to kill me?You think it is your home?" 

"No, yeosang…" You shifted your thighs restlessly, brushing against him just enough to feel the heat of his desire. A wave of heat enveloped your body, and a pulsating sensation in your lower half intensified, creating an overwhelming discomfort that was hard to endure.

"Kitten, you're so hot." The pet name he gave you stirred your heartstring, it was how he called you when in youth. You liked it, actually. "Shouldn't you take an inhibitor before implementing the mission?" 

"I…I took…let me go…please…" 

"How can you just walk away when you're feeling this way?" Yeosang teased, a playful laugh escaping his lips. "Do you recall what you said back in the day, kitten?"

"What…?"

"You mentioned wanting to be my mate for life. Does that ring a bell?"

"I…uh…" Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and words eluded you completely. All you craved was someone to fulfill your desires, right here and now.

"Say it and I'll help you, hm?" His voice resonated like a siren's call echoing through the depths of the ocean, luring you closer to the seductive depths of longing. You found yourself unable to resist, surrendering completely to the overwhelming pull of your desires.

"Yes…please." Before your words came out from your lips fully, he caught your lips with a passionate kiss. The aroma of his presence, intertwined with the fresh fragrance of shower gel, enveloped your senses like a warm embrace. Each steady breath you heard became more pronounced, weighing down on you, as he gradually stole your breath away, leaving you gasping for air. Just when you felt the walls closing in, he released you, lifting his hand to brush away the crimson mark on his pale lips. His gaze locked onto yours, a smile playing on his lips, as if savoring the moment.

"Such a horny kitten." Yeosang gave you a smile before ripping off your clothes, leaving only your bra and underwear. He knelt down, his wet tongue skimming through your fine thigh. The coldness made you whine as your wet skin was exposed to the air. He grabbed your thighs, diving his face to your clothed clit. The way his hot breath pooled against your clit caused your juice to flow out, soaking your panties. 

"Sensitive af, little one." You suddenly his hand clenched hard on your pelvis, he dropped a broken kiss on your clit before sucking it hard. "Sangie…!" You gasped loudly, your hands found their way on his head, brushing his hair. 

Smiled, he pulled down your panties, leaning over to kiss you before aiming at your entrance. Once your lips met, he eased into you with a smooth motion. Your soft whimper was muffled by his tender kiss but there was no mercy in his throbbed thrusting. Each time his large, hard tip collided with your deepest part, you couldn't help but let out a loud moan. This crash gave you numbness as if an electricity passed throughout your whole body; your limbs went weak, head spinning in pleasure. 

"You still love me, right?" He thrusted with each word, making you throw your head at the back. "I've…always…love you…!" You confessed, catching your breath. Your nails dug into his skin, scratching his muscular back and even drawing some blood. Yeosang never felt pleasure and pain at the same time, he became more excited. Leaving your pelvis in the air, he grabbed your knees to press against his chest, thrashing into you without mercy. 

"Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Yeosang!!" Your screaming mixed with a loud skin slapping sound, filling the room and even the corridor. Each pang stole your breath away, yet an intoxicating pleasure coursed through your veins. Your awareness began to fade, lost in the haze of ecstasy. All you could do was moan loudly, surrendering to the desires of the man before you.

"I know you love me, dear." He smirked, pausing his thrust suddenly. Huffled, he leaned down to give you a kiss, lifting you up effortlessly. "So let me knot you." He placed you on the floor before flipping you over. Your hips were in the air and your head nestled into your arms, his big cock entered your soaked hole again. Grabbing your wrist as a support, he stared at slow pace but skyrocketed at a sudden. 

"Slow…slow…sangie…!" 

—-

"Hey, do you guys hear that strange noise coming from upstairs?" Jongho asked, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as an odd sound echoed in his ears.

"Could it be coming from Yeosang's room?" Yunho suggested, his curiosity piqued.

"But didn't he mention he was waiting for Y/N?" Wooyoung interjected. "Or maybe they had a disagreement and things got heated?!"

"What? If that's the case, Yeosang might be in danger!" San exclaimed, his urgency palpable as he prepared to dash toward Yeosang's room. "Y/N is a panther hybrid too. She must be just as formidable as Yeosang!"

"And remember, Yeosang said she was a skilled assassin! We need to rescue him!" Seonghwa declared, rallying the others as they hurried after San to Yeosang's room.

Actually, Yeosang was already aware of your arrival, even before you slipped into his house.

(One night before you slipped into his house)

"Y/N?" Hongjoong's gaze flicked over the report Yeosang had handed him. "Isn't she the one you had a crush on as a kid? And now she's an assassin?" 

"Yeah… I never saw this coming." Yeosang's shoulders slumped as he sighed, his eyes downcast. "Just yesterday, I managed to breach her guild's network and discovered her mission…" 

"And what's your plan? You've been on her trail for years, and now she's out to take you down." 

"I don't want to harm her, hyung." Yeosang's tone was resolute. "I just need to speak with her first." 

"Speak?" 

"Yes." Yeosang took a step closer, determination in his eyes. "I can handle this, please believe in me. I know her better than anyone." 

"Alright." Hongjoong rose from his chair, moving to the cabinet to retrieve a vial filled with a peculiar liquid. "I know I can't stop you, so here." 

"What is this…?" Yeosang asked, examining the vial. 

"It's an enhanced potion." Hongjoong gestured toward it. "It will boost your strength and speed after you drink it. Y/N is a formidable assassin. Use it if you find it necessary." 

"Thanks, hyung." Yeosang tucked the vial into his pocket. 

Unbeknownst to them, Hongjoong had mistakenly given him an aphrodisiac. Once again, he had mixed things up.

As darkness envelops the surroundings, Yeosang catches a fleeting glimpse of your shadowy form. Indeed, you possess great strength. Yet, remember, he is a Panther hybrid, intimately familiar with your every move and scent. Despite this awareness, he downed the entire potion without hesitation. 

Initially, he believed he had truly tapped into a newfound power. But soon, an intense heat coursed through his veins, and he sensed a shift within himself. To the outside world, he had always been the quiet, reserved type, often blushing when your name came up in conversation. The gentle soul he once was now felt a thrilling sense of freedom. The wild instincts that had long been suppressed surged forth, unleashed by the potent aphrodisiacs.

"Gotta mark you, little one." "Fuckkk!!" His tip reached your deepest part, pushing into the intimate space while his big knot rammed into your cunt. You screamed in pain as if your lower body was torn apart, tears streaming down your cheek, dripping onto the floor. 

"Is Yeosang killing Y/N?" Yunho asked with worries. "What did you give him?Hongjoong?!" Seonghwa shouted. 

"Just an enhanced potion!" 

"Did he drink too much?" Mingi remarked. 

"It doesn't matter now. Hey, hyung we're─" Jongho swung open the door, all of them finding him cumming in your cunt with a long-throaty moan. 

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKK!!!" "AHHH MY EYES!!MY EYES!!!" "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!" "WHY ARE YOU GUYS HERE?!" "AHHHH!!" A chorus of screams erupted all around, and you, who had been feeling lightheaded just moments before, snapped back to reality. Instinctively, you shielded your face and made a frantic dash for freedom. But you were unable to move as Yeosang knotted you. 

"Don't move, Y/N. HEY YOU GUYS!GET OUT!" They immediately closed the door, leaving you two silent in embarrassment. "Fuck…Y/N." Yeosang's moan broke the stillness as he finally finished the knotting. He pulled out, his hot seed filled you so full and the overflow seed dripped from your soaked hole and his fat cock. 

Shit, he loved it. 

"Y/N, are you okay?" He flipped you over gently, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I'm sorry. I…I don't know why…" It seemed that he returned to his soft self. 

"It's embarrassing…" You covered your face, not daring to look at him. "I wonder when you became so rough…" 

"I don't…I drink the potion…wait…" He took out the empty tube from his jacket that hung on the coat hanger. "What the…" 

"What's wrong?" You asked curiously. "No…nothing." He put it away immediately. 

"Y/N." Took a deep breath, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "Actually I've been searching for you for so long…and I know you will come for me." 

"You what?Then why you─" 

"I know you will never hurt me." 

"Don't you forget? I almost killed you?!" 

"But you didn't." He hugged you tighter. "Sorry to be that rough. It's because of the potion." 

"What potion?" 

"Uh…umm…" 

"Don't tell me that is an aphrodisiac." 

"Ahh…sorry…I don't know. Hongjoong gave it to me." 

"You have been so careless since you were a child." 

"What?Don't you the same?Never tell others when you have difficulties." 

His words brought you in a heavy silence. You would prefer that he despise you and suffer from your betrayal than pull him deeper into a perilous void. Thus, you choose to keep your secret hidden from him, even though fate has already revealed it to him in some way.

" I can't risk hurting you any more than I already have." You finally spoke. "I can't let you get too attached." 

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "I won't be scared, Y/N."

You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of frustration. "You don't understand. There are things about me, about my past, that would make you hate me if you knew. I can't risk that happening."

Yeosang's grip tightened once more, but this time it was more out of frustration than anger. "You're wrong," he said firmly. "I could never hate you. No matter what you've done, no matter what you've been through, I'll always be here for you."

You opened your eyes, looking up at him with a mixture of hope and skepticism. "Are you sure? Even if I've done things that are unforgivable?"

Yeosang leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. "I'm sure," he said softly. "Because I already knew what you did. You were forced, didn't you? You got caught up by them and you couldn't escape. Am I right?" Tears welled up in your eyes as he continued, you nodded at his words. 

"I knew everything you did but I never hated you." He wiped away your tears gently, a bittersweet playing on his lips. "The war split us up, but now that we're back together, I'm not letting you slip away again." 

You buried your face in his chest, letting out a sob of relief. You had been so alone for so long, and now, finally, you had someone who was willing to stand by your side, no matter what. Even with a multitude of unanswered questions lingering in the air, a sense of certainty washed over you as you nestled in his embrace, knowing deep down that you've chosen wisely.

"We'll face all the problems together, I promise." Yeosang said. 

"But what're we gonna do now?"

"Come to our gang, Y/N. I'll protect you." 

"No. I mean," You whispered softly, pointing at the door. "Your members. They're still outside." 

"Oh shit…I forget it is the first problem we have to deal with…" 

tag list:@angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615

[bite-sized-writing]

How Do Authors Start Their Story?

You finally have your outline or plot ready. You want to begin writing your story but you have no idea how you want it to start.

That's my problem right now, so I put down a few examples of the beginning of books as inspiration!

─────────────────────

Finvarra's Circus by Monica Sanz

Leanna Weston looked down at the age worn ticket in her hands and abandoned all prior belief that there was nothing worse than a broken heart. Her heart, however, was not one ruined by the unrequited affections of a boy, nor failure to secure a husband. It, in fact, had little to do with love at all. No, Leanna learned long ago that no man would ever want the sister with a damaged heart, not when there were two other healthy, lively ones in the stable.

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Voice of The Blood by Jemiah Jefferson

All the best tales begin with rain. In reality, this is the end of the story I am about to relate to you, but I begin here, because I'm sitting waiting in the pitch-dark parlor of my old house, bare feet with their long nightmare toes peeking out from beneath an appropriately literary white eyelet nightgown. The rain is picking up outside from a sleepy waltz to a tarantella, and often when it rains like this, my lover John returns to me for the night. My lover—the unfortunately feral and tragically beautiful—may join me here, for he hates being out in the rain in the mulchy graveyards and unwholesome underpasses where he ordinarily stays.

─────────────────────

The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real by Neta Jackson

The call of nature—Willie Wonka's, not mine—got me out of bed at the bleary hour of seven thirty, even though the New Year's Eve party upstairs had kept me awake till after three. Three a.m.! But Willie Wonka's bladder was on dog-time—old dog time at that—making sleeping in on holidays a moot point. Stuffing my feet into my scuffs and pulling Denny's big terry robe around me, I stumbled out of our bedroom mumbling thinly disguised threats at our chocolate Lab as he led me out the back door.

─────────────────────

Rosehead by Ksenia Anske

Lilith Bloom had a peculiar feeling that the rose garden wanted to eat her. She surveyed it through the open car window, unable to look away. The garden seemed to survey her back. It was enormous. Its red blanket surrounded a solitary mansion at the end of Rose Street, Rosenstrasse in German. No other houses stood in sight, only a distant forest. Apart from tires grating on the gravel, it was eerily quiet, too quiet for a hot summer afternoon.

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Mongrels by Stephen Graham Jones

My grandfather used to tell me he was a werewolf. He’d rope my aunt Libby and uncle Darren in, try to get them to nod about him twenty years ago, halfway up a windmill, slashing at the rain with his claws. Him dropping down to all fours to race the train on the downhill out of Booneville, and beating it. Him running ahead of a countryside full of Arkansas villagers, a live chicken flapping between his jaws, his eyes wet with the thrill of it all. The moon was always full in his stories, and right behind him like a spotlight.

─────────────────────

Appointment In Jerusalem by Derek Prince

The last glow of the setting sun had faded from the sky behind me, leaving the streets of Jerusalem dark and empty. The silence was broken only by the scuff of my shoes against the stones. The damp, wintry air felt raw against my cheek. Instinctively, I clutched closer to me the bundle that I carried.

─────────────────────

Below by Laurel Hightower

It came out of nowhere.

Addy’s hands shook, the band of her grandmother’s wedding ring tapping an erratic rhythm on the edge of the chipped porcelain mug she held so tight. The coffee within had long gone cold, but she couldn’t make herself let go.

It came out of nowhere.

She clutched the cup harder, knuckles whitening as they had around her steering wheel when the dark blue van appeared in the middle of the road, facing the wrong direction. Her fingers were stiff: she’d had to pry them from the wheel once she’d pulled into the truck stop parking lot. Her heart raced, her breathing erratic, stopping every so often until her burning lungs reminded her that no, she hadn’t died, so she still needed air.

[thedemoninme141]

Blade Of Miquella Chapter 4: Woe Is Mine.

Summary: Wednesday recalls the moments before disaster. Warnings: MoreEmotionallyConfusedWednesday! ANGST Previous Chapter 👉 HERE.

After Wednesday left your room, You threw the glass of water away, You broke down. The demon inside you was winning, You knew you didn't have much time left before she takes full control of you. You knew no matter how many times you win a fight against her she return until she won the battle. You knew you were going to cause this world's demise.

No, you cannot give up, if you do, your brother's sacrifice will be for nothing. He will come back, you will wait until he comes back. He asked you to be brave, you will be brave. 

"Don’t worry, Edgar Allan. I see your sanctimonious smirk. But I will get the last laugh. Your penchant for riddles was legendary. And this might be your cleverest yet. Because it’s not a single riddle. Rather, each line is its own separate one.

“The opposite of moon.” Sun.

“A world between ours.” Nether.

“Two months before June.” April.

“A self-seeding flower.” Pansy.

“One more than one.” Two.

“Its leaves weep to the ground.” Willow. 

“It melts in the sun.” Ice.

“Its beginning and end never found.” Circle.

“Every rule has one.” Exception.

“The answer will give a sharp cracking sound.”

Snap Twice.

Secret societies. Hidden libraries. My mother staring at me in a judgmental way. These are all things I’ve come to expect.

Hundreds of books, which one was she looking for? Dust was everywhere, This place isn't very visited, so Wednesday looked where dust wasn't. Some dust was wiped away in front of one particular book, a subtle sign that someone had recently accessed it Possibly Rowan. She opened it and found the ripped edges of a page, where the page was missing, this is the one.

She sat in her room, matching the other piece of the ripped page with the book. It was clear,  She wasn't getting out of the school after burning it down, she was defending it from a pilgrim. But who? 

However, her curiosity was further piqued by the page that followed. A chilling sketch depicted a winged woman, her ethereal beauty contrasting sharply with her savage actions. The illustration showed her gripping the pilgrim by his neck, while the delicate petals of her wings tore into his flesh mercilessly. This enigmatic depiction added another piece to the puzzle, one that held no readily available information or context.

Birthdays aren't a thing for Wednesday, and she would rather swallow razor blades than celebrate her surprise party, But one good thing came from it, Her vision.

"Crackstone is coming."

Wednesday woke up in front of the gate of an abandoned mansion. She saw Goody right in front of her.

"You're the raven in my bloodline."

 In an instant, she stood beside her.

"Wednesday," she called.

"I was told you could teach me how to control my ability.

"There is no controlling a raging river. You must learn to navigate it without drowning. Time is not on our side. To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek. Not only the fate of nevermore rests in your hand, but the whole world's does."

"Do you always speak in riddles?"

"Do you always seek simple answers?"

"The path of a Raven is a solitary one. You end up alone, unable to trust others, only seeing the darkness within them."

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"It should."

That is how she found herself and her friend Enid escaping for their lives from the Hyde. Tyler injured. And Xavier showing up at the exact time the monster was gone, She doesn't need any more proof. Whenever she witnessed the monster before twice and as soon as it was gone, Xavier appeared, perhaps you put your faith in the wrong friend. 

As the sheriff dropped her back to Nevermore and she was going up the stairs of Nevermore, she heard Weems's voice.

"You directly violated my explicit order and left campus during a lockdown. Not to mention putting your peers and yourself in danger." Weems admonished.

"Which is grounds for expulsion. I know. And you have every right to exercise that option."  Wednesday said. "I do believe it would be a great error on your part."

Weems let out a disbelieving scoff.

"I think contrition might be in order right now, Miss Addams. Not hubris."

"I’ll never apologize for trying to uncover a truth." Wednesday asserted, holding her ground. She took out the pages she took from the book and gave them to Weems.

"What is this?" Weems asked.

"It's a warning from Rowan," Wednesday explained. Weems's expression changed as she looked at the first page, which depicted Wednesday defending the burning school against the pilgrim. However, when she turned to the next page, her hands went numb, and the paper fell before Wednesday picked it up again. The winged woman, Does it scare her more than the school burning down? 

"Is this why he tried to kill you?" she asked.

"His mother drew them before she died. Said I was destined to destroy the school." She said. "But I think I’m meant to save it."

Weems was silent.

Wednesday wanted to ask about whoever the winged woman is, but right now, she needed to prolong her stay at Nevermore first.

"Now you know what’s at stake. Everything you vowed to protect, no less. I think I deserve another chance." She said

With all her willpower, she added one final word.

"Please."

Weems let out an angry huff.

"One more infraction… One more step out of line and you will be expelled. No ifs, no buts."

"Enid and Xavier are spared as well." She said.

"And no more negotiation. Good night" Weems snapped before walking away. 

However, she didn't expect to see Enid packing her bags when she entered her room.

"Where are you going?" Wednesday inquired.

"Yoko’s room," Enid replied without even looking back at Wednesday, her voice missing the cheerfulness she always has.

"Thornhill said I could crash there for a few nights," she added.

"There’s no need. I spoke with Weems. You and Xavier won’t be punished."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Enid turned around, her eyes revealing her disappointment and anger.

"I already apologized. It’s over."  Wednesday replied, trying to sound unbothered.

"Over? Tonight was the icing on the birthday cake you couldn’t even be bothered to cut. You’ll use anyone to get what you want, even if it means putting them in danger. Even if it meant hurting them emotionally, and digging into their traumas. We could have died tonight because of your stupid obsession."

"But we didn’t," Wednesday replied emotionlessly. "And now I’m one step closer to solving this case. That is what is important." She said.

"I’ve tried really, really, really hard to be your friend. Always put myself out there. Thought of your feelings. Told people, “I know she gives off serial killer vibes, but she’s just shy." "

"I never asked you to do that."

"You didn’t have to because that’s what friends do! They don’t have to be asked. The fact that you don’t know that says everything. If you want to keep playing with lives for your investigation, Go ahead, You want to be alone, Wednesday? Be alone. " Thus she left.

And for the first time ever, Wednesday didn't feel good to be alone. Questions flooded her mind,  Was this the emotion you wrestled with every single day? Could it be the reason why anyone who encountered you was effortlessly embraced by your unwavering acceptance, devoid of any doubts?  And just as every new feeling she faces comes on because of you, this time she felt sorrow, for you. Why were you doing this? Why were you making her feel? 

Maybe that is why she found herself running away from you while being pulled towards you at the same time.

Maybe that is why she found herself outside of Dr Kinbott's office after she was butchered by the hyde. Making a promise to herself that she will put an end to this.

Maybe that is why she found herself inside Xavier's art shack confronting him about the murders, finally putting him in jail as the proof was right in his shack. However, her mind couldn't help but worry for you, knowing that you would be affected when you found out about your friend's arrest.

Maybe that is why found herself in her room looking at you outside her window, waiting for her on the balcony. All the ways, lead to you. She made her way over to the balcony making sure her footsteps were inaudible however as she was a few feet away from you, she couldn't help but be captivated by how divine you looked illuminated by the moonlight. 

"Are you happy now Wednesday?" You broke the silence without even looking back at her as if you could sense her presence. 

Wednesday didn't answer, voice seems to be an issue with you around these past few days. 

"You took whatever remained away from me. My love, my trust, my best friend,"  you whispered, your words cutting through the air like a knife. Wednesday's heart sank as she heard the hurt in your voice, realizing the impact of her actions on your life.

"I caught the killer, I made the school safer for everyone. Xavier might be your friend, but that doesn't give him the right to freely murder anyone, He also could've hurt you." she tried to reason with you, hoping you would understand her perspective.

"Xavier would never hurt me, he protected me, he was here when I needed him the most. And look what I gave him in return, I betrayed him for you." You finally looked into her eyes, as if your eyes could send death rays Wednesday blinked, but she never blinks. 

"Why can't you understand? You didn't betray him; you merely did what was necessary by providing me with the crucial evidence. You aided me in saving countless lives from a dark fate in the future. Look what he did to Eugene." Wednesday could see the tears in your eyes, she could see the pain of losing everyone right through your eyes. As if you were a magnet and she was metal, she felt drawn to you, she felt the urge to touch you, grab your hands, your shoulder, she felt the urge to do what she didn't let anyone do to her. She wanted to hug you. Maybe if she did you might feel what she feels for you, as you went out of your way for her, she finally was ready to go out of her's for you, 

But you didn't accept her.

As she tried to grab your shoulder, pulling you in for the so-called "hug", you pushed her away. You pushed her away and ran.

Wednesday doesn't have any right to feel hurt after what she did to you, yet she does.

Maybe that's why she found herself in  Weathervane Cafe. Kissing Tyler and having a vision of him murdering Dr Kinbott. Finally regretting her choices, and getting used as a pawn to frame Xavier.

Maybe that's why she found herself in the police station, after her attempt of torturing Tyler into confession failed horribly, as he stood before her,  "The sound of their screams, the panic in their eyes, and a fear so primal I could taste it. And it was delicious." He whispered in her ears. "And I cannot wait to taste HER'S, You have no idea what’s coming." Tyler knew about what you mean to her, and he will use it against her. Maybe that's why she found herself in Weems's office, hoping she would trust her, trying to convince her that Tyler is the Hyde. But of course, she doesn't.  Maybe that's why she found herself in front of Xavier. To get any help, any proof to use against Tyler, "I’m… glad you were getting some action while I was falsely accused." He said, his voice filled with sarcasm. "I should’ve believed you," Wednesday said, wanting to make amends.  "But since you seem to have some psychic connection to the Hyde, I was curious if you’ve drawn anything that might shed light on this?" Wednesday was willing to beg for any help, any proof. Not because of the school, but because of you, your life was on the line. "You want my help? You ruined my life! No. I tried being your friend. Look where that got me. You used my friend against me." "It is about her too, if I can't stop whatever is coming, her life would be in danger too." She took out the pages to show him too, hurriedly, however, the winged woman's sketch fell from her hands in front of him. "Tyler warned me something bad was coming. I think…" "Where did you get that? You didn't show it to me last time." Tyler said pointing at the sketch. Wednesday picked up the sketch from the floor. She didn't expect Xavier to know anything about it as he didn't know much about the first sketch. "Who is it?" she asked. He couldn't say the truth to Wednesday, even if you helped her, he won't do the same, He doesn't trust Wednesday with you, if the way leads to you getting hurt, he won't do it.  "It doesn't matter, if you really think this is premonitions of the future, then the future is already doomed." He said. "I can stop this. I"  Xavier didn't let her finish, "No, you can't, All you ever do is make things worse. Do you want to stop this? Then leave. Go far away and never come back. Do you understand?"

Maybe that's why she found herself thinking if Xavier was right, maybe whatever she touches, Rots away. Whoever she comes in contact with, gets hurt. Maybe she would be sparing you, by getting away from you. Yet her heart couldn't bear thinking of not seeing you ever again for her entire life.

Maybe that's why she found herself falling for Thornhill's trap as she finally found out about who Tyler's master was through Eugene, yet she couldn't do anything as Thornhill cuts the palm of her hand and awakens the deceased pilgrim from his slumber.

Maybe that's why, even with a knife in her stomach, she only thought about getting up, using all her remaining strength to save you. Maybe that's what made her worthy enough in Goody's eyes to be saved and given a second chance. "Just know, once I do, you will never see me again. The school needs you, She needs you. Wednesday."

Maybe that's why she found herself between Crackstone and the school, fighting her last stand,  As she was defeated against Crackstone's power, being choked by his invisible force, she wondered about the one single piece of the puzzle she couldn't fit in any of this, who was the armored woman in Xavier's painting? who was the winged woman in the sketch?

"Get away from her." she heard the familiar voice.

Then she realized the answer was always with her, helping her from the start, making a permanent residence in her stone-cold heart, as she looked behind to see, in the elegant armor from the painting, a long sword attached to the right hand, She saw You.

Larissa's body trembled as she struggled to rise from the floor, her determination outweighing the weakness the poison had inflicted upon her. With every ounce of strength left, she willed her shapeshifting abilities to work in her favor, mending the damage the toxic substance had caused. The pain was excruciating, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on.

Using the table beside her as support, she managed to stand on her shaky legs. Her heart raced as she patted her pockets, the gun and the unalloyed gold bullet still securely tucked away. PART 5 👉 HERE

[luminous-jinx]

Hello!

I've posted the link to the first chapter of my Solas x OC fanfic, but I decided to post the first half of it here for everyone. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: What's your name?

The melodic strains of her singing reverberated throughout the courtyard and garden, a serene symphony that danced in the night air, its audience silent save for the vigilant guards. Sitting by her open window, she gazed upwards, beholding the twin moons casting their radiant glow upon her, while her voice drifted softly into the stillness, its ethereal tones meant for no one in particular. This nightly ritual was her solace, a private communion with the heavens.

In her chamber, surrounded by an array of musical instruments left at her disposal, she indulged in her nocturnal pursuits, whether it be song or the delicate caress of strings or keys. The night belonged solely to her; a sanctuary away from the prying eyes of the world.

Her master, ever keen to display her talents, would parade her at gatherings, a prized possession to be admired but never touched. "Behold my exquisite crystal doll," her master would declare, before compelling her to perform pieces that stirred envy and longing in those who beheld her. Yet, the true nature of her existence remained shrouded in uncertainty, a beautiful anomaly born of clandestine experimentation.

There existed no memory of her origins, only whispers of a deity meddling where mortal hands dared not tread, ultimately bringing her into existence. This supposed god, in their hubris, tampered with forces beyond comprehension, birthing her into a world where she stood as a solitary anomaly. Despite numerous attempts, the god failed to replicate their initial success, each subsequent experiment yielding naught but failure, some dire enough to necessitate the extinguishing of demonic entities.

“I'm a perversion of this world; I am not natural. I should not be as I am ” she would ponder on occasion, grappling with the existential weight of her existence. Yet, despite her misgivings, she found herself tethered to this world, an unwilling participant in the grand scheme of creation. With the realization that she was immortal and immune to the ravages of time, she resigned herself to a life of solitude, perpetually ensconced in the quiet routines she had cultivated over the passing years.

She couldn't fault the care she received, though it came with a heavy dose of isolation. Her quarters, secluded from the rest of the mansion, were furnished to her every whim, equipped with an assortment of instruments to satiate her creative impulses. Three square meals a day sustained her, and occasional strolls through the manicured gardens offered fleeting moments of freedom, albeit under watchful eyes.

Her master, though possessive, kept his distance, revering her like a precious artifact. "My pure crystal doll, untouched and sublime," he would remark, his words falling upon deaf ears even as he would fiddle with her hair. She remained indifferent to his affectionate moniker, her emotional landscape barren save for the echoes of her music. It was through her compositions that she found solace, allowing her emotions to weave into the melodies, transporting her to realms beyond the confines of her reality.

In the realm of her dreams, she found a profound sense of liberation, an inexplicable freedom that transcended the confines of her waking reality. Each night unfolded like a new chapter in an ethereal adventure, whisking her away to realms both fantastical and serene.

She wandered through landscapes that defied imagination: sandy shores kissed by the gentle lapping of waves, expansive meadows adorned with a kaleidoscope of blooms stretching to the horizon, and verdant forests teeming with vibrant life. Here, in this dreamscape, she encountered creatures of myth and lore, their presence evoking wonder rather than fear, as if drawn to her by some unseen connection.

Amidst the verdant depths of the forest, she often stumbled upon a hidden clearing, where a piano crafted from the resplendent ironbark awaited her touch. Though unconventional for musical instruments, its beauty captivated her, its melodies resonating through the tranquil stillness of the woods. With each note she played, she felt a deeper connection to this dream realm, a place where her spirit roamed free and unencumbered by the constraints of her reality.

In the tranquil sanctuary of her dreams, the forest creatures gathered around her, their presence a silent testament to the beauty of her music. They nestled among the verdant foliage, their eyes fixed upon her with a quiet reverence as she poured her heart into the melodies that flowed effortlessly from her fingertips.

Among her cherished audience, a solitary figure stood out—a majestic black wolf, its imposing presence tempered by a sense of gentle curiosity. Positioned on the outskirts of the forest clearing, it observed her with a cautious yet unwavering gaze, as if hesitant to intrude upon the serenity of the moment.

Despite its enigmatic demeanor, she harbored no fear of the wolf's presence. On the contrary, she welcomed it as she did the other creatures, sensing a shared connection that transcended words or gestures. With each passing dream, the wolf returned, its silent vigil a comforting presence amidst the symphony of her music.

As her performance drew to a close and the tendrils of wakefulness began to tug at her consciousness, she would cast a lingering glance toward the wolf, only to find it vanished into the depths of the forest once more. Though its departure signaled the end of her dream, she carried with her a sense of peace, knowing that in the realm of her imagination, even the most unlikely companions found solace in her melodies.

As the anticipation of encountering the mysterious wolf in her dreams tonight took hold of her, she found herself contemplating whether to craft a melody tailored expressly for its ears. "Should I select a tune just for you? " she mused softly into the night, her voice carrying a hint of intrigue.

Yet, her reverie was abruptly shattered by the distant clamor that pierced the tranquility of her chamber. Shouts and the echoes of strife reached her ears, drawing her attention to the turmoil unfolding beyond the confines of her sanctuary.

Unfazed, she remained steadfast, her gaze unwavering as she continued to cast her eyes skyward, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of the celestial expanse. Though the sounds of conflict threatened to encroach upon her serenity, she refused to be swayed, a bastion of calm amidst the storm.

Amidst the crescendo of battle cries and the encroaching chaos, she remained steadfast, her ethereal voice weaving a haunting melody that seemed to echo through the night. With each note, she felt a strange connection to the music, as if it were a part of her very essence, an echo from a distant past she couldn't quite recall.

As the sounds of conflict drew nearer, she closed her eyes, allowing the music to envelop her in its embrace, seeking solace in the ethereal dance of her song. Even as the clamor of battle reached her very doorstep, she continued to sing, her voice a beacon of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

When the attackers breached her chamber, their urgent voices imploring her to flee, she remained unmoved, her gaze fixed upon the celestial bodies that watched over her in silent vigil. Though they pleaded with her to escape, she remained inert, her thoughts shrouded in a veil of introspection.

"Why have they not just killed me as well? " she pondered silently, her mind awash with questions that remained unanswered. Despite the chaos that threatened to engulf her, she found herself paralyzed by a sense of resignation, her existence tethered to a world that had never fully embraced her presence.

And so, she continued to sing, her voice a lament for a life she never asked for, a melody that echoed through the night as the world around her descended into chaos.

As the palpable presence of another figure infiltrated the room, a ripple of anticipation coursed through the air, prompting swift movements from the men at arms. From their urgent exchanges, she deduced the arrival of another authority figure, their commander perhaps, a harbinger of uncertainty amidst the chaos.

Ending her song, with a measured breath, she allowed her eyes to drift towards the source of the disturbance, where an elven man with long dreads and shaven sides awaited, clad in attire that mirrored his position of authority. He wore a commanding suit of armor, meticulously crafted with interlocking plates of metal that provided ample protection while allowing for agility and ease of movement. Adorned with intricate designs reminiscent of elven craftsmanship, the armor bore symbols of his leadership and wisdom.

Draped over one shoulder was a regal wolf pelt, a striking contrast against the metallic sheen of his armor. Meticulously preserved, it bore the proud markings of a wolf, its fur a mix of silver and gray. It was a symbol of both his connection to the wild and his position as a leader, embodying the strength, cunning, and loyalty he exemplified.

With every movement, the wolf pelt swayed gracefully, adding an aura of majesty to his presence. Combined with the imposing armor, it created an image of a leader both formidable and noble, ready to guide his allies through the trials ahead.

Unblinking, she turned her head back towards the sky and stared up at the moons. Suddenly, the man she saw before sat beside her on the windowsill. She turned to look at him, her expression neutral. She could see clearly now that his man had beautiful gray-blue eyes that showed a hint of violet, and freckles that seemed to lightly kiss his face on his cheeks, over his nose, and up the way between his eyes. She tilted her head as she noted the small indent on his chin and the faded scar on his forehead, near his right eyebrow.

He offered her a small smile, his tone gentle as he addressed her. "Dareth, Da'len. I come in peace."

Her response was one of stoic contemplation, her gaze meeting his with an unyielding resolve before she offered a subtle nod, returning her attention to the outside world.

"Do you not desire to depart from this locale?" His inquiry was laced with a gentle earnestness, suggesting a genuine yearning to comprehend her innermost sentiments.

Her response was steeped in resignation, delivered with a quiet resolve that belied the weight of her words. "It matters not where I traverse. From one master to the next, my fate remains immutable—a mere object to be showcased, unless, of course, you deign to indulge in the fantasies the guards so fervently discuss, yearning for an opportunity to partake."

As she spoke, she detected a fleeting moment of tension, almost imperceptible, emanating from him—a telltale sign of inner turmoil momentarily laid bare. With a soft exhale, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed, her head angling slightly in a gesture of contemplation. In that brief pause, she swore she caught the faint whisper of an elvhen curse, a subtle indication of his frustration before it vanished into the ether.

His response was measured and sincere, devoid of artifice or deception. "I harbor no intention to ensnare you further," he affirmed, his words imbued with an earnestness that resonated with her on a visceral level. "Instead, I extend to you the rarest of gifts—freedom. The autonomy to shape your destiny according to your own desires, liberated from the confines of servitude. You need not entertain another soul unless it is your heart's fervent desire."

In his earnest declaration, she sensed a glimmer of hope, a flicker of possibility amidst the darkness that had long enveloped her existence. And though uncertainty still loomed on the horizon, she couldn't help but entertain the notion of liberation, a beacon of light illuminating the path to a future unfettered by the chains of bondage.

Her gaze shifted to him, a flicker of hope illuminating her features before fading into the shadows of uncertainty. As she contemplated the prospect of freedom, a myriad of doubts and fears clouded her mind, casting a pall over her newfound optimism.

"I would very much want that," she began, her voice tinged with a mixture of longing and trepidation. "But I am ignorant of the ways of this world—the intricacies of survival and self-defense elude me. Without such knowledge, I fear that my liberation may be short-lived, leading me once more into the clutches of captivity. Can you truly claim to have freed me if I remain vulnerable and dependent on the mercy of others?"

Her words hung in the air, her gaze unwavering as she sought reassurance in his eyes. "If I depart from this place, can you offer me the assurance that I will never again find myself ensnared in the chains of bondage?"

He met her gaze with a steady resolve, his expression inscrutable as if attempting to convey his response through the silent language of his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he closed them in contemplation before meeting her gaze once more, his countenance softened by a glimmer of understanding and compassion.

"I can offer you sanctuary and guidance in navigating the intricacies of life beyond these walls," he offered, his voice imbued with a sense of conviction. "I will teach you the art of self-reliance, including the use of magic in combat, though the path will be arduous."

Leaning forward, he sought to convey his sincerity through proximity, his gaze locking with hers. "Should you choose to accept, I will personally oversee your instruction. And know this: at any point, you retain the freedom to depart. You are not bound by chains of obligation, but rather empowered to chart your own course."

As he leaned back, a subtle smirk graced his features, hinting at a confidence born of experience. "Your decision holds weight, for our circumstances may change swiftly," he cautioned. "Rest assured, your choice will be honored, regardless of the path you choose to tread. However, time is of the essence, for we may soon find ourselves in the company of unwelcome guests."

As she pondered the myriad of possibilities that lay before her, a cascade of thoughts flooded her mind, each one bearing the weight of uncertainty and hope. The prospect of freedom beckoned to her, offering a chance to explore the world beyond the confines of her captivity. Yet, amidst the turmoil of her deliberations, a singular question lingered, casting a shadow of doubt upon her newfound optimism.

"What of my music?" she mused silently, her thoughts drifting to the cherished melodies that had long been her solace and sanctuary. "Would I be permitted to indulge in the joy of creation, to lose myself in the symphony of sound?"

As her gaze returned to the man before her, she posed her question with a sense of trepidation, uncertain of the response that awaited her. His surprise was palpable, his expression momentarily taken aback before softening into a gentle smile.

"If that is your desire, Da'len," he replied, his words a soothing balm to her apprehension. "You shall have the freedom to pursue your passion, to immerse yourself in the melody of your soul."

Her heart swelled with gratitude at his affirmation, tears of joy glistening in the corners of her eyes as a radiant smile graced her lips. In that moment, she felt a surge of liberation unlike anything she had ever known, a sense of boundless possibility unfolding before her.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she embraced the promise of a future unbound by the shackles of oppression.

The man's expression softened, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding as he beheld her newfound resolve. With a small cough to conceal his own emotions, he returned her smile, his demeanor a testament to the genuine compassion that resided within his heart.

As Solas gently clasped her hands in his own, a sense of warmth and reassurance enveloped her, grounding her in the present moment. "Now that our course of action is decided, it is prudent that we make proper introductions," he began, his voice calm and measured. "I am Solas, known to some as Fen'Harel. And you are?"

Her smile waned, replaced by a furrow of confusion as she regarded him with uncertainty. "I do not possess a name," she admitted softly, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation.

Solas' expression betrayed his disbelief at her revelation. "How can it be that you have no name? What have they called you all this time?" he inquired, his tone laced with a mixture of concern and incredulity.

Her solemn gaze met his, her expression tinged with a sense of melancholy. "I have been known only as the Crystal Doll," she confessed, her voice carrying the weight of years spent in anonymity. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, a stark reminder of the dehumanizing label that had defined her existence for far too long.

As Solas' features momentarily hardened before softening again, he let out a sigh of resolve. "We shall not be referring to you as such," he declared firmly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "It is imperative that we bestow upon you a name befitting of your true essence."

With a nod towards his companions, Solas directed his attention to the room at large, his expression inscrutable to her. She sensed a subtle undercurrent of concern in his demeanor, tempered by a patient understanding of her plight.

When his gaze returned to hers, she felt a reassuring pressure as he tightened his grip on her hands. "I believe I may have a suggestion for a name, if you would entertain the idea."

Her curiosity piqued, she awaited his proposal with bated breath. "Already?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening with anticipation. "What have you come up with?"

Solas' smile was tender as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Eralin," he murmured, each syllable infused with meaning. "Dreamer of Music."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you enjoyed that, you can read Solas's POV which is also part of Chapter 1 on my Ao3 account, here.

Thanks for reading! 😄

[bala5]

Camille Monfort, The 1896 Legendary Tale of "The Amazonian Vampire”.

Camille Monfort, The 1896 Legendary Tale of "The Amazonian Vampire”.

In 1896, Belém became rich by selling Amazonian rubber to the world, making the farmers overnight millionaires who built their rich mansions with European materials, while their wives and daughters sent their clothes to be washed in the old continent and imported mineral water from London for their baths.

The "Theatro da Paz" was the center of cultural life in the Amazon, with concerts by European artists. Among them, one especially caught the public's attention, the beautiful French opera singer Camille Monfort (1869-1896), who provoked indescribable desires in the rich gentlemen of the region and atrocious jealousy in their wives due to her great beauty.

Camille Monfort also caused indignation for her behavior, which was free from the social conventions of her time. Legend has it that she was seen half-naked, dancing in the streets of Belém while refreshing herself in the afternoon rain. Her solitary night walks also aroused curiosity when she was seen in her long, black, and vaporous dresses under the full moon, on the banks of the Guajará River, towards the Igarapé das Almas.

Soon, rumors began to circulate around her, and malicious comments were made. It was said that she was the lover of Francisco Bolonha (1872-1938), who had brought her from Europe and that he bathed her with expensive imported champagnes in the bathtub of his mansion.

It was also said that she had been attacked by vampirism in London, due to her paleness and sickly appearance, and that she had brought this great evil to the Amazon, having a mysterious craving for human blood, to the point of hypnotizing young women with her voice in her concerts, making them fall asleep in her dressing room so that the mysterious lady could reach their necks. Curiously, this coincided with reports of fainting in the theater during her concerts, which were simply explained as the effect of the strong emotion that her music produced in the audience's ears.

It was also said that she had the power to communicate with the dead and materialize their spirits into dense ethereal mists of ectoplasmic materials expelled from her own body in mediumistic sessions. These were undoubtedly the first manifestations in the Amazon of what would later be called spiritualism, practiced in mysterious cults in Belém palaces, such as the Palacete Pinho.

At the end of 1896, a terrible cholera outbreak devastated the city of Belém, turning Camille Monfort into one of its victims, who was buried in the Cemetery of Solitude.

Today, her tomb is still there, covered in slime, moss, and dry leaves, under a huge mango tree that makes her grave sink into the darkness of its shadow, only illuminated by rays of sun that penetrate through the green leaves.

It is a neoclassical mausoleum with a door closed by an old rusty lock, from which a white marble female bust can be seen on the wide lid of the abandoned tomb, and attached to the wall, a small framed image of a woman dressed in black.

On her tombstone, you can read the inscription:

"Here lies Camila María Monfort (1869-1896) The voice that captivated the world."

But there are still those who say today that her tomb is empty, that her death and burial were nothing more than an act to cover up her case of vampirism, and that Camille Monfort still lives in Europe, now at the age of 154.

[enigmaxcx]

Gothic Chronicles: Midnight's Veiled Secrets

This is a collection of poems that explore themes of loss, love, and the supernatural. Each piece offers a unique perspective on the complex emotions that accompany these experiences. As you read through this anthology, you may find yourself connecting with the universal truths that resonate within these lines.

1st poem: **Crimson Manuscripts**

In ancient halls where silence reigns,

Dust-laden tomes breathe secrets, unrestrained.

I walk the edge of lore, long since forgotten,

My heart inscribed with desires begotten.

With quill in hand, my constant guide,

Into the well of night, I confide.

A scribe of echoes from the void,

Crafting words, in melancholy alloyed.

"Unveil your stories, O manuscripts of red,

Your vellum skin to my soul is wed.

A nomad I, charting celestial designs,

In the margins of sonnets, my spirit aligns."

Shadows dance in the candle's fickle glow,

Over leather-bound legacies of long ago.

My pen bleeds ink, as if it were life,

Carving my essence amidst existential strife.

Epochs lost, their essence I distill,

In a whirlwind of memories that time can't kill.

An alchemist of words, in the arcane I delve,

Turning longing into verses, transiently shelved.

"Speak, O crimson tomes, your veins wide spread,

Upon your pages, my yearnings are said.

A wanderer am I, through constellations I roam,

In the forgotten verses, I find my home."

Gargoyles stand guard, stoic and grim,

At the gates of forever, their visages dim.

Their stone-cast gaze, the moon's sorrow reflects,

As I seek comfort in ancient dialects.

The piano's lament, the violin's cry,

And the cello's deep thrum under centuries lie.

On the brink of the void, I dance alone,

My steps resounding in a timeless tone.

"Reveal your depths, O manuscripts of hue,

My longing etched on your surface true.

A traveler of the stars, in your words I'm dressed,

In the forgotten poetry, my journey's expressed."

As the last note into silence wanes,

Within these lines, my spirit remains.

A ghostly minstrel serenading the night,

On eternity's parchment, my soul takes flight.

2nd poem: **Eternal Shadows**

In this manor, I wander, through silence and gloom,

Footsteps echo softly in each abandoned room.

Moonlight bathes me gently, as I softly tread,

Among the living's memories, I whisper with the dead.

In the moon's soft glow, my secrets unfold,

A phantom in the night, a story left untold.

Eternal shadows, where I roam free,

In this house of spirits, it's just the ghosts and me.

Through halls of mystery, where silent echoes play,

We're the souls of forever, in the night we stay.

Dust dances in the beam, time seems to freeze,

In this place of stillness, where moments cease.

Portraits watch silently, as I pass them by,

In the manor's heart, where old secrets lie.

Shadows cling to my steps, as I tiptoe through time,

In this spectral dance, where memories chime.

In this realm of silence, where I drift unseen,

Amongst the echoes, a solitary queen.

In the mansion of whispers, where secrets sway,

We're the timeless wanderers, in the shadows we play.

Feel the past's chill, as it draws near?

In the wind's whisper, it's our voices you hear.

Shadows stretch eternal, in this spectral ballet,

With the phantoms, my companions, in the night we sway.

Through corridors of enigma, where muted stories say,

We're the everlasting echoes, in the twilight's gray.

In the moon’s waning light, I catch a fleeting glimpse—a face unfamiliar, yet tethered to my soul.

The manor murmurs secrets, and I am but an echo, lost in its labyrinth of forgotten moments.

3rd poem: **The Raven's Whisper**

Beneath the silver veil of moonlight's kiss,

Where shadows merge and secrets intertwine,

I wander through the garden of forgotten dreams,

Seeking solace in the petals of night-blooming flowers.

The moon, a silent witness to my yearning,

Whispers ancient verses to the restless wind.

Its luminescent fingers trace delicate patterns,

Weaving tales of love and loss across the sky.

In this nocturnal sanctuary, memories bloom,

Each petal a fragment of a fractured heart.

I pluck them one by one, like fragile confessions,

And scatter them upon the dew-kissed grass.

The nightingale, perched upon a moonbeam,

Sings a requiem for love's ephemeral dance.

Its melody weaves through the jasmine vines,

Echoing the ache of longing in every note.

I trace the constellations with trembling fingers,

Mapping out our celestial rendezvous.

Did you once stand here, beneath this same moon,

Whispering promises that time has now erased?

The night wears on, and I become a ghost,

Drunk on moonlight and the fragrance of roses.

Perhaps, in this enchanted hour, you'll return,

And we'll dance once more in moonlit reverie.

4th poem: **Whispers from the Veil**

Beneath the moon's soft veil, we gather,

In the dim-lit chamber, secrets tethered.

A séance of souls, both lost and found,

Where spectral echoes dance, unbound.

The crystal ball, a portal spun,

Holds reflections of lives undone.

Its facets catch the flicker of stars,

As we seek communion beyond the bars.

The medium's breath, a whispered plea,

Invites the unseen to speak with glee.

Their voices rise from shadowed past,

A chorus of memories that forever last.

"Tell us," we implore, "of love's sweet pain,

Of promises broken, of longing's refrain."

And the room trembles with their reply,

A symphony of whispers, reaching sky-high.

The air thickens, charged with their essence,

As they recount tales of love's evanescence.

Their fingers brush ours, a spectral touch,

And we glimpse eternity in moments such.

The séance chamber hums with cosmic threads,

Binding us to realms where time unweds.

In this dance of spirits, we find solace anew,

As moonlight weaves stories, both old and true.

5th poem: **Portrait Of Despair**

Whispers haunt the hallowed space,

A gallery where time's embrace

Has left a mark on every face,

Each portrait tells of sorrow's trace.

A viscountess, her gaze so stern,

Her lover's touch she did spurn.

Now in her eyes, the cold fires burn,

For his return, she'll always yearn.

A captain, lost to ocean's wrath,

His ship did stray from charted path.

In stormy seas, he met his fate,

His portrait speaks of storms innate.

A child, with eyes so wide and clear,

His innocence was held so dear.

Yet fate was cruel, the night unkind,

His story leaves tears behind.

A maiden fair, with golden hair,

Once danced with grace, a pair so rare.

But love was lost, the dance did end,

Her silent song, it does transcend.

A poet's quill, now still and broke,

His verses lost, like vanished smoke.

The inkwell dry, the parchment torn,

For his muse, forever mourn.

A duelist with rapier drawn,

Stands proud and fierce, yet all forlorn.

His honor kept, his life forsworn,

In morning's light, he lies forlorn.

A widow's veil, her somber shroud,

Her whispered grief, it speaks aloud.

Her heart entombed, her love enshrined,

In painted form, her woes confined.

A jester's laugh, forever mute,

His mirthful mask, a grim dispute.

Behind the paint, the tears dilute,

His joy's facade, now destitute.

Each frame, a window to the past,

Holds echoes of a spell once cast.

The gallery, a somber host,

To each despairing, silent ghost.

So tread with care through memory's lane,

Where painted eyes live on in pain.

For every tale the portraits share,

Reflects a soul once trapped in despair.

The gallery grows, the walls extend,

New portraits join, old stories blend.

In this domain where spirits send

Their silent pleas, their hearts to mend.

Here, time stands still, the world outside

Fades to a whisper, hushed and wide.

Each canvas breathes, each shade confide,

The depths of pain they cannot hide.

So linger long, and gaze upon

The faces here, not truly gone.

Their silent mouths may yet respond,

In this gallery, they live beyond.

6th poem: **Cryptic Alchemy**

Shadowed chambers, whispers weave,

A blend of dark synth and mysterious chants,

Forbidden knowledge etched in cryptic runes,

Where secrets stir and ancient echoes dance.

No sun's embrace, no moon's soft kiss,

Only shadows' veiled embrace and moonless nights,

The alchemist, a weaver of enigma, chants,

Arcane melodies that pierce the void's veil.

Ebon potions simmer in onyx cauldrons,

Their essence distilled from forgotten realms,

Each drop a tincture of forgotten memories,

A concoction of lost dreams and starlight's breath.

The astral symphony crescendos, spiraling,

As darkness and light entwine, seeking balance,

The alchemist, eyes ablaze with ancient fire,

Unravels the cosmic threads, seeking truth.

Glyphs etched on obsidian tablets sing,

Their meaning veiled, yet yearning to be known,

For Cryptic Alchemy weaves the fabric of existence,

Where shadows birth illumination, and silence speaks.

So listen, mortal seeker, to the whispers of the void,

For within their echoes lie the keys, the ciphered codes,

Unlock the gates, step beyond the mundane,

And become the alchemist, weaver of mysteries.

7th poem: **Whispers from the Attic**

Creaking floorboards, distant voices,

A symphony of past choices,

Echoes of steps that once did pace,

Through corridors of time and space.

Above, where dust motes dance in light,

The attic holds its court at night,

A realm of silence, still and deep,

Where secrets their sacred vigil keep.

What tales are etched within these walls?

Of grandeur's rise and empire's falls,

The gentle touch of a lover's hand,

A sailor's journey to distant lands.

Here, the whispers are not of dread,

But of life's tapestry, finely thread,

A dressmaker's needle, a writer's pen,

Moments captured, again and again.

The attic, with its musty scent,

Is a treasure trove of times spent,

A chest of memories, locked away,

Awaiting the light of day.

Photographs in sepia tones,

Love letters in heartfelt overtones,

A child's toy, long forgotten,

In this space, nothing is rotten.

Each creak a word, each shadow a story,

A chronicle of both joy and worry,

The attic speaks to those who hear,

Its whispers clear, its message dear.

So venture forth, if you dare,

To uncover the mysteries waiting there,

For in the whispers from the attic's heart,

Lies a world set apart.

8th poem: **Gargoyle's Serenade**

I was supposed to be sent away,

To lands where stone figures don't sway,

But here I stand, a guardian grim,

Upon the cathedral's highest rim.

Carved from the earth's own rugged bone,

I watch the city, silent and alone,

A sentinel in the sky's expanse,

Overseeing the human dance.

My gaze is fixed, my purpose clear,

To ward off evil, to calm the fear,

With guitar in hand, I play my part,

A serenade from the stone heart.

The melody weaves through spire and stone,

A song of ages, through winds blown,

It tells of battles, of love, of strife,

Of the endless ebb and flow of life.

The chords resonate, deep and profound,

In every corner, the notes resound,

A testament to the watch I keep,

While the city below lies in sleep.

By day, I'm still, a figure austere,

By night, my music, the heavens hear,

A symphony for the stars above,

Played with a touch of eternal love.

The moon bathes me in silver light,

As I play on through the quiet night,

A gargoyle's serenade, pure and true,

For the cathedral and for you.

So let the guitar's voice rise and swell,

Let it break the night's silent spell,

For in this song, you'll find ensnared,

The spirit of the guardians paired.

And when the dawn paints the sky anew,

And the city stirs, life to pursue,

Remember the music that filled the air,

From the gargoyle's perch, high up there.

9th poem: ** Midnight Masquerade **

Under the moon's silver gaze, the night unfurls its cape,

A ballroom emerges in the forest's embrace.

"Midnight Masquerade," whispers the wind's soft escape,

Where shadows and starlight waltz in silent grace.

Masked figures glide, their steps a silent plea,

To the rhythm of hearts, to the pulse of the night.

Each turn, a story, a hidden fantasy,

Faces veiled in mystery, souls alight.

The moonlit sky, a witness to their dance,

Casts a glow on masks of velvet and lace.

In the masquerade's enchanting trance,

Time dissolves in the dancers' harmonious space.

A clock strikes twelve, the spell gently breaks,

But the dance lives on in dreams it awakes.

For in the night's tender, fleeting sweep,

The masquerade's magic is ours to keep.

10th poem: ** Fading Candlelight **

Quiet whispers linger in the room's embrace,

Where the last candle's flame begins its trace.

"Fading Candlelight," it hums with grace,

A tale of twilight, in the evening's chase.

Its flame dances with a tender, wistful air,

A ballet of shadows in the dimming lair.

Each flicker, a memory, each spark, a sigh,

A symphony of moments, as time ticks by.

The wax drips slowly, a river of tears,

For the passing days, the fleeting years.

The light wanes gently, a golden hue,

A silent sentinel in the dusk's purview.

Around the flame, the darkness creeps,

A cloak of obsidian, where daylight sleeps.

Yet in its warm embrace, the candle stands,

A beacon of hope in the night's vast lands.

The room breathes softly, a lullaby's tune,

As the candle's aura fills the cocoon.

Stories unfold in its radiant bloom,

A dance of life in the encroaching gloom.

The flame leans low, a lover's caress,

Against the night, a silent confess.

Its brilliance wavers, a faltering heart,

A sign that soon, it must depart.

But oh, the tales it could tell,

Of love and loss, of heaven and hell.

In its light, life found a stage,

A book of hours on an ephemeral page.

Now the candle's breath grows thin,

A final flicker from within.

The shadows lengthen, reaching out,

Embracing all in a silent shout.

And as the last ember takes its bow,

The room is shrouded in the now.

"Fading Candlelight," a whisper's trace,

Leaves behind a darkened space.

Yet in the black, a new day stirs,

For life persists, it still endures.

The candle's gone, but in its wake,

A new dawn blooms, for us to take.

So let the night claim its due,

For with the morn, we start anew.

In the heart of darkness, find the light,

And hold it close, through the longest night.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

They Did The Monster Mash 🎃 | TGM Halloween Imagine

Set in an AU where the characters of TGM are classical and mythology monsters/creatures

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: mad scientist!Bob Floyd x mad scientist!reader (romantic), Dagger Sqaud (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, light profanity | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.4K

Premise: it’s All Hallow’s Eve, a night where ghouls and monsters alike awaken from every inch of the globe. What better way to celebrate the spookiest night of the year than gathering all those lurking in the shadows to the party everyone wants to be.

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a fluffy, spooky little imagine for y’all as a treat 🎃

——————-

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the cemetery. Not a creature was moaning, as they basked in solitary. The pumpkins were lit, with carved faces to stare. In hopes the monsters of the night, soon will be there.

“Bob!” Y/n shouted, frantically searching for her coat. It was a quarter till midnight on October the 30th. Soon it would be Halloween. And with a full moon high in the sky it was the perfect moment to test out their newest creation. “It is almost time! We must make haste!”

“I’m right here, darling,” her coat in his hand, Dr. Floyd dimmed the lights on his way into the lab. The woman exhaled in relief, kissing his cheek before placing the coat over her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, my love?”

Bob adjusted his goggles over his prescription glasses, chuckling, “Probably half as mad as you are now.”

Any other woman would be offended by the comment, but Y/n, the mad scientist she embraced herself to be, only giggled. The two had met during their doctoral program, falling in love and conducting research as a duo. Before long they were blacklisted for unethical experiments, moving underground to hide from society.

But what the world didn’t know, was they uncovered a world beneath their own. Where monsters heard in legends and fairytales roamed freely. Living amongst humans to the naked eye.

Since forming partnerships with fellow outcasts like themselves, the couple have traveled every Halloween to Transylvania, Romania. There the infamous vampire Pete Mitchell, descendent of Dracula himself, hosts an annual Halloween festival with monsters and ghouls alike.

The party always started around sunset on Halloween night. So the two had plenty of time before gearing up their transportation pod to zap them to Pete’s mansion. Y/n placed her own goggles on, brushing away her dyed jet black hair with white streaks, mischievous smirk painting her lips, “Shall we begin?”

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. (One-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater). A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. Sure looks strange to me.” The party was in full swing when the couple arrived. Creatures in every corner, a werewolf howling in the distance, bats flying overhead. They were home.

“Doctors!” They spun around to find the monster of the mansion sporting a cheshire grin, fangs threatening to poke out. Lord Pete Mitchell, having recently fed by the bright color of his eyes and lack of under eye bags, wore a snazzy black pinstripe suit with a blood red tie. The handkerchief in his breast pocket, as well as the soles of his shoes, were the same color. “It is so wonderful to see you. I’m always amazed by your entrance every year. God forbid the governments of the world discover you’ve cracked the code of transportation.”

“Don’t forget time travel,” Y/n winked, causing Pete to laugh.

“Of course,” he flashes his pearly white teeth before frowning after peering around them, “Where is your--.” Y/n gently cuts him off.

“Oh at the lab. Ever since we created his bride he refuses to leave the basement” Pausing she gives a knowing look, “You know how young love is, my Lord.”

Pete makes an ‘ah’ sound, “Yes, yes, I understand. When you return, do let him know he is missed. And that I cannot wait to meet his bride next Halloween.” He winks, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves, “Please make yourself at home. We’re still waiting on a few more before the festivities of the night fully begin. Until then, the bar is open--as always--and do let me know if you need any more necessities for your upcoming projects.”

“Thank you, Lord Mitchell. My wife and I appreciate your hospitality and generosity greatly.” Bob shook his gloved hand, still able to feel the cold dead skin that laid beneath it. The vampire made his departure, moving to greet other guests. Y/n weaved her arm through Bob’s open arm, letting him guide her to their group of friends they spotted in the distance by the bar.

“Well look at what the wolves dragged in.” Jake Seresin, an incubus famous in both the underground and real world, was the first to notice them. With his ability to seduce and mentally bend people to his will, Jake succeeded in becoming a high profile Hollywood actor. Making it accessible for him to feed on the blood of men and women alike. Unlike Pete, who was a vampire, Jake appeared human and only took the form of his demon counterpart when he hadn’t fed in a long time.

“Seresin,” Bob nodded, glaring when the blonde creature approached to take Y/n’s hand and kiss her knuckles. He had nothing to worry about of course. Y/n was immune to Jake’s charms, threatening to experiment on him the first time he attempted to swoon her.

That had him running with his (literal) tail between his legs.

“Careful, Jake,” Came a teasing feminine voice from the side, “I hear the mad scientists have been searching for Incubi blood on the black market.” Jake sent a glare in the direction of the voice, the couple following it to find Natasha perched on a bar stool, stroking her black cat seated in her lap.

A witch, with family dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, Natasha was the type of woman people couldn’t help but fear and desire. In the small village she lived deep in the forest surrounding, rumors of the witch swarmed with many believing her responsible for the curse on the town's most corrupt and wealthy families.

Well, to them they were rumors….

Y/n slipped past Bob, opening her arms to the woman, “Lovely to see you again on this Holiday, dear Natasha.” The hug was brief, Y/n making sure to offer a light pet to the cat, piercing her with its stare.

“As to you, Madam Floyd.”

“Tell me,” Y/n leaned closer, “Were you successful?” Natashe smirked at the question, whispering under her breath.

“We shall find out once the sun rises. But I can assure you the Supreme Court will think twice before bringing forth groundbreaking cases to overturn.”

“Marvelous,” the doctor awed. She moved along to say hello to their other friends. There was Javy, a werecoyote and Jake’s best friend. The full moon affects him like it does werewolves, but he’d already consumed his monthly dose of Wolfsbane to prevent the transformation from happening.

There was Mickey, a hellhound who served as a guard for the Underworld. Tasked with keeping the secret of the supernatural hidden. One can imagine the headaches Jake gives him with being a celebrity in the real world. When Mickey became his hellhound persona, cracks in his skin appeared like molten lava.

Reuben was present, and thankfully Y/n remembered to wear her iron jewelry. The tall, handsome fairy sipped on his usual cocktail. Like Jake he was the most ‘humanlike’ of the bunch where he could easily walk amongst mortals without causing suspicion. His golden eyes were a stand out, however, often covered by contacts. Of the group he had known Mickey the longest, the two meeting centuries prior during a war between fae and goblins.

“I’m not late am I?” came a booming sound from the main entrance, all heads turning. Jake instantly groaned, the others pleased to see the Alpha werewolf, Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh with his typical Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You’re right on time,” Pete announced from the top of the steps, raising a glass of red liquid. Bradley gave a two finger salute, strutting over to the group and ordered his go to--a pitcher of beer.

“Greetings, fellow myths and legends,” he drank half of the pitcher in a single gulp, winking afterwards, “at least to the humans that is.”

“What took you so long, Bradshaw?” Jake twirled his pue cue, “too busy brushing your winter coat? Or did you have to get one last howl at the moon?”

Used to the jabs, Bradley rebutted with, “Jake, good to see you again as always. You’re looking a little pale though--Did you not have time to drain a virgin before coming? I’m sure Pete can find someone in the nearby town.” Reuben whistled under his breath, Javy letting out a fool blown laugh.

“C’mon you gotta admit that was good,” he nudged Jake, who was very much offended.

“Men,” Y/n muttered, Natasha clicking her glass against hers in agreement. “They’ll never change.”

After several minutes of small talk and drinks, Pete tapped his spoon against his glass. The action is loud enough for supernatural hearing to get everyone's attention. For the mad scientists, they saw the reactions of their friends and followed their direction.

At the top of the mansion's grand staircase, Pete stood beside his wife Penny. The beautiful siren, infamous in Greek mythology for luring shipwrecked men to their death, was stunning in her black gown. Along her arms and neck, rimming her hairline were seafoam green scales, reflecting under the dim gaze of the lights.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve traveled from near and far, let my wife and I be the first to say Happy Halloween!” cheers broke among the crowd. Well really they were howls, moans, and chaotic laughter. “It truly is the best night of the year. And what better way to kick it off than to toast.” Penny was handed a glass of her own red liquid. To the human eye it’d be believed as wine. But to those witnessing below, they were well aware of what its contents contained.

Speaking of those in attendance, they all grabbed their own drinks and brews. Pete lifted his first, “Let us toast to the one time of year we get to leave the shadows. Where the world looks at us as more than creatures of night. They dress up as us,” chuckles echoed, “they consume everything in relation to us. They walk their streets oblivious to the fact we roam behind their shoulders.” Pete pauses, sending a sweet gaze to Penny. “To All Hallow’s Eve!”

“To All Hallow’s Eve!!’ glasses raised, everyone cheersing before downing whatever was left in their goblets. Bradley finished his first pitcher of beer, the bartender sliding down the next one. Natasha poured something out of her flask into her goblet. Leave it to the Witch to travel with her own brew.

“Alright,” Bradley raised the pitcher, “Let’s get this party started!” As if on cue the DJ, who happened to be a mummy, started to play the Halloween classics. Lights flashed on every corner, the dance floor glowing a spooky fluorescent green. Dry ice from the massive cauldron flooded the area.

Ghosts bogeyed during the Ghostbusters theme. Zombies got down and dirty to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The children had a blast with ‘This is Halloween’ and ‘Time Warp’. Later on Nat and Y/n let loose to Rockwells ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’.

Bob kept his eyes on his wife during that one. Lowkey thinking about ending the party early.

Poker was played amongst the men. Pete even joined alongside two Harpys, Beau and Solomon. During this Y/n and Natasha conversed with Penny. They spoke of Y/n’s experiments, Natasha’s feud with the village she resides by, and Penny’s travels back to Greece earlier that year.

“Oh it was fascinating,” Penny boasted, finishing off her third glass of ‘wine’. “Still as beautiful as I remember, although it still takes time getting used to the fact they now call Anthemoessa ‘Cape Pelorum.’”

“Did you visit the Parthenon?”

“I tried,” the Siren scoffed lightly at the memory, “at night of course when no one was around, but I couldn’t get past the damn door. I’m not surprised though,” she rolled her eyes, “Athena never liked us.”

As Midnight approached the crowd began to gather on the dance floor. Of course the night could not end without playing the couple’s favorite. Once the DJ announced it was time for the grand event, Bob took Y/n’s hand, “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Why of course, husband,” she smirked. “This is our song after all.”

The others had already made way, forming their own little circle and grabbing partners of their own. There was a reason this particular song was favored over the rest. Starting from the very first verse.

“I was working in the lab, late one night. When my eyes beheld an eerie sight. For my monster from his slab, began to rise. And suddenly to my surprise.”

“He did the mash,” the moves Y/n and Bob started to do a twist, similar to Vince and Mia in the iconic dance scene of Pulp Fiction. “He did the monster mash.”

“The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash.” Natasha shimmied with Mickey. “He did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Penny was spun by Pete. “He did the mash. He did the monster mash.”

A stunning succubus had managed to pull Jake under her spell. How fitting.

“From my laboratory in the castle east. (Wa-ooh) To the master bedroom where the vampires feat. (wa-wa-ooh) The ghouls all came from their humble abodes. (Wa-ooh) To get a jolt from my electrodes.”

Bob pulled Y/n to him, dancing chest to chest, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.” Javy, Bradley, and Reuben were having a dance battle in the middle of the circle. “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash. They did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Y/n giggled, letting Bob twirl her in a circle, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.”

It was a total spooky vibe. Monsters doing the Mash. Each time Dracula was mentioned everyone pointed to Pete, who rolled his eyes. He did, however, do the Transylvania Twist during its name drop, causing them all to hype him up.

The sun would rise at dawn, they’d all go back to living in the shadows. Back to a place where they were the villains of every story. Subjected to demise by the hero. No longer idolized and embedding fear in everyone who dared think of them. Once the sun rose, another Halloween had come and gone.

But until then, creatures of the night thrived in the darkness to the graveyard smash.

………

[gissyfanime]

Moon Mansion Solitary Gifset!!!

(Containing eps 1 &2)

[industrial-horror]

In 1896, Belém became rich by selling Amazonian rubber to the world, making the farmers overnight millionaires who built their rich mansions with European materials, while their wives and daughters sent their clothes to be washed in the old continent and imported mineral water from London for their baths.

The "Theatro da Paz" was the center of cultural life in the Amazon, with concerts by European artists. Among them, one especially caught the public's attention, the beautiful French opera singer Camille Monfort (1869-1896), who provoked indescribable desires in the rich gentlemen of the region and atrocious jealousy in their wives due to her great beauty.

Camille Monfort also caused indignation for her behavior, which was free from the social conventions of her time. Legend has it that she was seen half-naked, dancing in the streets of Belém while refreshing herself in the afternoon rain. Her solitary night walks also aroused curiosity when she was seen in her long, black, and vaporous dresses under the full moon, on the banks of the Guajará River, towards the Igarapé das Almas.

Soon, rumors began to circulate around her, and malicious comments were made. It was said that she was the lover of Francisco Bolonha (1872-1938), who had brought her from Europe and that he bathed her with expensive imported champagnes in the bathtub of his mansion.

It was also said that she had been attacked by vampirism in London, due to her paleness and sickly appearance, and that she had brought this great evil to the Amazon, having a mysterious craving for human blood, to the point of hypnotizing young women with her voice in her concerts, making them fall asleep in her dressing room so that the mysterious lady could reach their necks.

Curiously, this coincided with reports of fainting in the theater during her concerts, which were simply explained as the effect of the strong emotion that her music produced in the audience's ears.

It was also said that she had the power to communicate with the dead and materialize their spirits into dense ethereal mists of ectoplasmic materials expelled from her own body in mediumistic sessions. These were undoubtedly the first manifestations in the Amazon of what would later be called spiritualism, practiced in mysterious cults in Belém palaces, such as the Palacete Pinho.

At the end of 1896, a terrible cholera outbreak devastated the city of Belém, turning Camille Monfort into one of its victims, who was buried in the Cemetery of Solitude.

Today, her tomb is still there, covered in slime, moss, and dry leaves, under a huge mango tree that makes her grave sink into the darkness of its shadow, only illuminated by rays of sun that penetrate through the green leaves.

It is a neoclassical mausoleum with a door closed by an old rusty lock, from which a white marble female bust can be seen on the wide lid of the abandoned tomb, and attached to the wall, a small framed image of a woman dressed in black.

On her tombstone, you can read the inscription:

"Here lies Camila María Monfort (1869-1896) The voice that captivated the world."

She embedded fear and share power to her subordinates by selling rubber to the people of Europe and the world at large but when are in her home she always gave you a new kind of fear

But there are still those who say today that her tomb is empty, that her death and burial were nothing more than an act to cover up her case of vampirism, and that Camille Monfort still lives in Europe, now at the age of 154.

[soulofapatrick]

Whispers in the Night - Greyson Hawthorne x Reader

Summary: You and Greyson are in a secret relationship and one night leads to you two deciding you want to tell to everyone

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut (p in v); fingering

Notes: I hope this is what the anon who requested Greyson spice was looking for! feedback is always welcome

Y/N’s POV

I had been living in the Hawthorne mansion for a few years now, ever since I was taken in by that man - Tobias Hawthorne - and became a part of their peculiar everyday. Adjusting to this new life had been a whirlwind, and I fund myself spending most of my time with Greyson Hawthorne, the enigmatic and brooding second eldest. His charm, mysterious aura and those smouldering grey eyes never failed to captivate me. 

Our relationship had evolved beyond friendship over those years. The intense chemistry between us was undeniable, and there was an unspoken understanding that went beyond words. We would steal secret glances when no one was looking, share playful smiles and engage in conversations that would leave our hearts racing. 

In the dead of night, we would meet in secluded corners of the mansion, hidden away from prying eyes. The library, the conservatory, the labyrinthine hallways – they all became the backdrop of our secret rendezvous. It was in these stolen moments that our connection deepened. We would talk about our hopes, fears, and dreams, laying bare our souls under the moon's gentle gaze. Our relationship flourished in stolen kisses, tender touches, and lingering embraces that spoke of longing and desire. Greyson's lips were a temptation I couldn't resist, and his kisses left me breathless, wanting more. Each stolen moment we shared was a testament to the powerful attraction between us, the magnetic pull that we couldn't ignore. 

Tonight was a sleepless night for me, I tossed and turned in my extravagant bedroom, unable to shake off the unsettling feeling that something was missing. A quiet longing had settled within me, leaving me restless and uneasy. My heart raced as I contemplated what to do, and before I could overthink it, I’m slipping out of bed. 

With determined steps, I navigate the familiar corridors of the mansion, avoiding the creaky floorboards that could betray my late-night escapade. My destination was always clear in my mind, even though I had never shared my intention with anyone. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand before Greyson’s bedroom door, hesitation for a moment.

What if I wake him? What if he’s not alone tonight? These thoughts whirl in my mind, but the pull is too strong to resist. I press my ear to the door, straining to catch any sign of movement or sound within. Only silence greets me. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the handle and let myself inside. 

As I enter Greyson’s room, I find hi at his desk, bathed in a gentle, silvery light of the lamp on his desk. He’s engrossed in a book, his attention fixated on the pages, and he doesn’t immediately notice my presence. His incredibly handsome features are illuminated by the gentle glow of the lamp, his tousled light blond hair catching the subtle highlights. His strong jawline and intense gaze remains fixe on the words before him. 

I watch in fascination, my heart pounding, as he flips a page with careful deliberation. His long fingers gracefully turn the parchment, and I can see the slight crease in his brow, evidence of the concentration he pours into his reading. His sharp cheekbones cast captivating shadows in the soft light, and the subtle curve of his lips hold an unspoken story, a secret that only I seem to know. 

The room is filled with the scent of old books and the quiet rustling of pages, a backdrop to Greyson’s solitary world. The way he immerses himself in the story, the way his grey eyes dart across the text, absorbing every word, it’s as if nothing else exists for him in this moment. 

A sense of  vulnerability washes over me as I stand in the doorway, feeling like an intruder in his private sanctuary. Yet, that same vulnerability is what makes me yearn for him more intensely. I long to be a part of his world, to share in his passions, to be the one who captures his attention in a way that no book ever could. 

The room remains silent, save for the soft rustling of pages as I approach Greyson's desk. My footsteps are a mere whisper, barely registering in the dimly lit space. When I reach his desk, I extend a hand and rest it gently on his shoulder, my touch a delicate caress meant to draw him away from the written world and into the reality of our desires. Greyson’s pale gray eyes, bordering on silver, finally lift from the pages, and they lock onto mine. There's a glimmer of surprise, quickly giving way to a slow, sensual smile that sends a thrilling shiver down my spine. The air between us is charged with unspoken longing, and in that moment, the world outside ceases to exist. 

His book is placed aside with deliberate care, his attention now fully on me. Greyson pushes his chair back just enough to allow me to straddle him. As I settle onto his lap, his hands, strong and confident, find my hips, their warmth a contrast to the cool, silvery light that bathes the room. 

The gray of his eyes darkens, deepening with an intensity that mirrors the desire building between us. We’re locked in unspoken understanding, the energy in the room palpable. I lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, our connection deepening as our tongues dance in the silvery glow, and the lines between our desires and the mysterious world we live in blur, fading into the background. 

The moment our lips meet, it’s as if a spark ignites, setting us both ablaze with a feverish, pent-up passion. Greyson’s mouth is warm and inviting, and the taste of his desire is an intoxicating elixir. As our tongues entwine in a fervent, hungry dance, a fiery heart simmers within me, spreading like wildfire through my veins.

His hands on my hips are a potent combination of strengths and gentleness, guiding me and holding me close. The tension between us is palpable, the weight of our shared longing making each touch, each caress, feel charged with electric energy. I feel his desire growing beneath me, a firm, urgent need that matches the favour of my own. 

Our kiss deepens further, becoming a passionate symphony of desire and yearning. The lines between our desires and the enigmatic world of the Hawthorn mansion blur into nothingness. In this stolen moment, we are bound by our love, our insatiable attraction, and the silvery glow of the room, casting shadows that echo the secrets we’ve kept hidden for far too long. 

Finally, Greyson breaks the kiss, his lips parting from men with a sated smile that speaks of longing fulfilled. His hands find their way back to my hips, and with a strength that leaves me breathless, his lifts me from his lap. As he stands, carrying me effortlessly, the silver light dances around us, adding an almost ethereal quality to the moment. 

He gently places me down on the bed, and before I can react, Greyson is hovering over me, his desire and intensity palpable. Our eyes lock, a connection unspoken yet deeply understood, and I see the same longing mirrored in his grey-silver orbs. His hands slip under the fabric of my pyjama shirt, his touch feather-light as his fingers trail softly up my sides. With each delicate caress, he raises the fabric, his intent clear. As my shirt gradually slides upwards, he helps me pull it over my head, leaving me exposed and vulnerable under the silvery glow. 

Once the shirt is discarded, Greyson looks down at me, his gaze intense and filled with desire. His eyes, a mesmerising blend of grey and silver, seem to devour every inch of me, as if I am a forbidden treasure he’s longed to explore. As I lay there, exposed, a shiver of vulnerability washes over me. It’s as if I should hide, cover myself up, but Greysons intense gaze holds me in place. His eyes roam my body with an intensity that makes my heart race. 

I can feel his desire, his longing, and it’s both electrifying and terrifying. But then he’s speaking, his voice a soothing balm to my insecurities, “You’re so beautiful,” He says, his words a declaration that carries more weight than mere compliments, “Every single part of you is perfection.” 

In that sublime moment, bathed in the soft embrace of silvery light, my heart leaps with joy as Greyson and I share a profound and deeply intimate revelation. It's the very first time we've allowed those three powerful words to slip from our lips, unburdened by the secrets we've held for far too long. This utterance isn't merely a declaration of love; it's a testament to the extraordinary bond that transcends the confines of the enigmatic world we inhabit. 

Greyson, overcome with the same emotions that swirl within me, leans down, his lips capturing mine in a passionate and loving kiss. The connection we share is ignited with a heat that mirrors the years of desires we’ve harboured. Our moths meld together in a passionate dance, a promise of unquenchable love and longing. His hands, like explorers of undiscovered territory, glide along my bare skin, leaving a trail of electric sensations in their wake. I gasp into the kiss, each touch a testament to his unwavering affection, every caress a confirmation of the intense desire that binds us. 

As we lose ourselves in our passionate kiss, the air around us becomes heavy with longing, and I can feel the undeniable proof of Greyson’s desire pressing against my thigh. His hips grind down against mine, creating an exquisite friction that leaves no room for doubt about mutual want. My hands slide up his shoulders and into the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck while he leans on his elbows, the rough pad of his thumb caressing my cheek and a look of adoration crossing his face. It makes me feel shy and I’m flushing which has him leaning down and capturing me in another sweet and loving kiss that leaves me breathless. The kiss is slow and gentle, filled with tenderness and affection as we try to express what we can’t say. My body relaxes under his, feeling his body against mine and feeling how fast his heart is beating as he nibbles at my bottom lip

“I am so in love with you,” He murmurs, voice low and rich, barely above a whisper and has my breath catching in my throat at those words. His gray eyes are filled with honestly and love and it all feels so cliche as it feels like the rest of the world fades away. I’m having to clear my throat before I choke out those three words back, my heart swelling with happiness and love for this man hovering over me. 

He’s kissing me again, deepening the kiss as his hands move from my face to my hips, fitting perfectly in the dips as if his hands were made to sit there. As if my body was sculptured just for him and his hands, the way his fingers dip into the waistband of my panties with a silent question that has me lifting my hips for him. They’re on the floor with my shirt in seconds and his fingers, long and elegant are ghosting over my already soaked heat, gathering the arousal on them before circling my clit gently. A whimper of his name escapes my lips which he swallows in a searing kiss, fingers moving faster against my clit as his mouth drags hot and open mouthed kisses down my neck. 

“G-Grey…” I’m tugging at his shirt and jeans, needing him more than I ever could imagine. He soothes me, his mouth hot against my skin as he trails them down my neck. His teeth scraping against the skin as he sucks bright purple hickeys into it, as if he no longer cares about the secrecy of our relationship. As if he wants everyone to know I’m his and his alone and oh fuck, my head is falling back to hit the pillows in bliss. 

“Fuck baby,” He’s whining, pressing himself flush against me and capturing me in another breathtaking kiss, this one wanting more and it doesn’t take long for me to tangle my hand in his hair and tug experimentally. The breathy moan he lets out has me tugging harder, wanting to hear more and his hands grip my hips tightly, “You keep doing that…”

Before I can fully process the fervour of our intimate moment, Greyson’s urgency propels him off the bed. In a swift, almost effortless motion, his clothes begin to fall to the floor., revealing the breathtaking sight of his naked form in front of me. 

As he stands there, his pale skin is flush with desire and hear, an exquisite canvas brought to life under the silvery glow of the room. His every contour, every line, and every muscle are an embodiment of passion and yearning. The room seems to pulse with anticipation, mirroring the intensity of our desires. 

Lips are on my thighs, kisses scattering their way up, unshaved stubble burning the sensitive skin a little and as much as I’d love for him to eat me out, having seen the way he eats ice cream I need him. My hands reach for his blond locks, pulling him away from my aching core and back over me, drawing him for a slow and passionate kiss while wrapping my legs around his waist. He gets the hint, chest rising and falling quickly as he murmurs in my ear, “You need prepping baby.” It has me whining, back arching with need when he circles a pad of his finger around my wet heat. 

Any sound I make is swallowed by those addictive lips when he finally pushes a finger in, my walls immediately trying to clench around it and it draws a guttural sound from him. His lips trail down my neck and chest, teeth grazing my nipples before he’s sucking while beginning to move his finger inside me. All of it has my slamming a hand over my mouth as I try to stay quiet, especially when a second finger joins the first and he’s stretching me out. He’s rocking his hips into my leg, trying to be patient to make sure I’m comfortable but if he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to come

I know he can feel me fluttering around his fingers, a cheeky smile on his lips where they’re not biting another hickey into my skin, fingers curling and hitting that bundle of nerves that steals the air from my lungs. It’s as if he already knows my body with the way he has me teetering on the edge of bliss, my walls trying to keep him in and my thighs slamming shut around his arm. His thumb comes up to rub teasing circles into the hard bud and it has my body tensing as I cry our his name, wave after wave of ecstasy shuddering through my body and my mind blanks of everything except Greyson. 

“Grey… Fuck, Grey I need you.” I should feel embarrassed at how much I’m whining but the man is taking me apart like he knows my body and the way his lips curve into a small smile against my collarbone he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. His left hand finds mine as he teases me, his right hand reaching between us and grabbing his dick, his tip tapping against my clit a few times before he lines himself up. 

“Baby, are you sure?” He asks softly, pulling back enough to see my face and I’m nodding so fast I think I might get whiplash. I’ve never been so sure about anything else, needing Greyson here and now or I might die. It’s all the encouragement he needs to slowly begin to slide in, my eyes squeezing shut as he’s thicker than he could have prepared me for but he’s murmuring sweet nothings in my ear, lips ghosting my neck, “Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay baby I’ve got you sweetheart. It’s alright. Deep breaths. Relax baby girl. I’ve got you.” 

The whispers accompanied by his fingers gently working on my clit has me relaxing enough to accept him all the way, the moan he lets out when buried to the hilt makes me almost come again there and then. He holds himself still until the uncomfortableness turns into burning hot want and need and I’m cautiously rolling my hips against him, his gray eyes flying open to meet mine with a hungry look in them. He draws me into a hot and heavy kiss as he pulls out so just the tip is still in before he slides back in, filling me up and drawing whimpers and gasps from me. 

His other hands finds mine, holding both my hands either side of my head as my legs wrap around his hips to pull him in even further as he begins to gently rock his hips against mine. His body is pressed flush against mine as he captures my lips in such a gentle yet hot kiss, both of us gasping and moaning into the others mouth as he sets a slow and sensual pace. The coarse curls of his v-line catching my clit in such a way that has my legs tightening around him and my back arches as my hips roll to meet his slow thrusts. 

I can feel every bump and ridge against my walls with every pull out and his tip presses deliciously into that spongey spot every time he bottoms out. Low and guttural sounds rumble in his chest as our bodies shine with a thin layer of sweat, his tousled hair sticking to his forehead, pale skin flushing as he makes love to me. The sound of our panted breaths and soft whimpers and whines drowns out the sounds of the house staring and settling and all I can smell is Greyson, the earthy musk and woodsmoke clinging to him even after the shower I know he had earlier. It all adds to the slowly building tightness in my stomach and I’m moving my hips down to meet his, my back arching when he hits that sweet spot that has me seeing stars. 

“Grey… G-Grey…” I’m whining and his teeth are grazing my chin, adding to the pleasure as it feels like every fibre in my body is on fire, that coil tightening almost painfully as he drags against my g-spot with every thrust until I’m tensing up and my eyes roll back into my head. His hops begin snapping against mine, face buries in my neck and hands tightening on my hips where they’ve settled back to hold me in place as I ride out my high, thighs trembling, heels pressing into his back, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders and tugging almost painfully at his fluffy hair. 

“W-where-“ He’s gasping out a moan, his beginning to stutter and dick twitching against my walls, “Where can I-“ 

I’m cutting him off by wrapping my legs tighter around his hips, drawing him even deeper than either of us thought possible and that’s all it takes for Greyson to follow my climax. He pants against my neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts a few more times before he’s filling me up, teeth sinking into skin to muffle his moan before he’s collapsing on top of me and I’m untangling one hand from his to bring it to his hair. 

“I’m in love with you too.” I speak it so quietly I’m not sure he hearts it as he presses soft and loving kisses to my neck, his hips still moving in gentle circles of overstimulation against mine but then he’s pulling back enough to lean on his elbows over me, a beautiful smile gracing his face. 

“You’re mine darling.” He murmurs, voice low and rich and it sends a thrill though me as he slips out, standing to grab a bowl and clean us, a loving grin breaks out on his face. He’s grinning the while time he’s wiping away the mess sliding down my legs as I’m too spent and tired to move. He helps me into a pair of his boxers and a shirt of his that is baggy. My cheeks burn with an intense blush as Greyson stands there, his eyes locked on me with unwavering admiration. It's an intensity that sends a thrill down my spine, yet it also makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. The overwhelming attention becomes too much to bear, and I have to turn my body away, my embarrassment causing me to hide my face. 

With a tenderness that speaks of deep affection, Greyson climbs into the bed hind me. He moves with grace and strength that makes me feel safe and cherished. Gently, he rolls me over to face him, his touch as soothing as a whispered promise. His fingers caress my cheek, brushing my hair from my face, and in the soft silvery light, his gaze is a mixture of love and admiration. 

“You are so beautiful.” He reassures me, his voice low and filled with a depth of feeling that matches the emotions reflected in his eyes, “There's no need to hide. You are perfect just the way you are.” 

In his arms, under the embrace of the silvery glow, I feel a warmth that goes beyond physical desire. It’s the warmth of acceptance, of love, and the unbreakable bond we share. In this moment, we are free to be our true selves, shedding the masks we wear in the world outside. Our connection, marked by trust and affection, becomes more profound than ever, and I’m overwhelmed by a sense of belonging that has been a long time coming. 

“Can we tell the others?” I ask quietly, burying my face in his chest, feeling a warm rumble come from him. 

“I think we already did.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[spookieypookie]

"Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon." Journal | Solitary Confinement | "Make it stop."

Authors note: fuck i basically already wrote about this for prompt 2. I dont want to repeat the same ideas over and over even tho I could write about the Captain's universe alone on the ship or Mark being alone in the warp core but I just feel like it would be too repetitive. It might still be repetitive with what I'm planning but hey.

"This'll work I promise."

Those were the last words I ever heard. And they were lies.

I was lied to by the person I trusted the most… by the person I loved.

I was betrayed by every single person at that party. The actor organized the tragedy, involved people who had nothing to do with his quest for vengeance and damned us all. The detective cursed me by making me his partner. The colonel killed me. The seer manipulated me and the mayor. The mayor lied to me. And the seer and the mayor sealed my fate by stealing my body and leaving me trapped in this stupid broken dimension.

I watched them walk away with what was once mine.

At first I thought it was a temporary mishap. That they would figure out a way to save me. That they would come back for me.

But I've waited.

And waited.

And waited.

They left me.

I can hardly see. I can't sleep or breathe or feel. I'm left in a hell they put me in. This solitary confinement with no room for me. I'm not alive. I'm not dead.

I hardly know who I am anymore.

I'm not even the shell of who I used to be because that was taken from me. I'm just what's leftover of a life that was taken again and again.

What did I do wrong?

Wrong place. This evil mansion, this broken mirror.

Wrong time.

All I did was attend a party of old friends.

And now where are we?

Who have we become?

[canadianabroadvery]

Camille Monfort, The 1896 Legend of "The Amazonian Vampire”.

In 1896, Belém became rich by selling Amazonian rubber to the world, making the farmers overnight millionaires who built their rich mansions with European materials, while their wives and daughters sent their clothes to be washed in the old continent and imported mineral water from London for their baths.

The "Theatro da Paz" was the center of cultural life in the Amazon, with concerts by European artists. Among them, one especially caught the public's attention, the beautiful French opera singer Camille Monfort (1869-1896), who provoked indescribable desires in the rich gentlemen of the region and atrocious jealousy in their wives due to her great beauty.

Camille Monfort also caused indignation for her behavior, which was free from the social conventions of her time. Legend has it that she was seen half-naked, dancing in the streets of Belém while refreshing herself in the afternoon rain. Her solitary night walks also aroused curiosity when she was seen in her long, black, and vaporous dresses under the full moon, on the banks of the Guajará River, towards the Igarapé das Almas.

Soon, rumors began to circulate around her, and malicious comments were made. It was said that she was the lover of Francisco Bolonha (1872-1938), who had brought her from Europe and that he bathed her with expensive imported champagnes in the bathtub of his mansion.

It was also said that she had been attacked by vampirism in London, due to her paleness and sickly appearance, and that she had brought this great evil to the Amazon, having a mysterious craving for human blood, to the point of hypnotizing young women with her voice in her concerts, making them fall asleep in her dressing room so that the mysterious lady could reach their necks. Curiously, this coincided with reports of fainting in the theater during her concerts, which were simply explained as the effect of the strong emotion that her music produced in the audience's ears.

It was also said that she had the power to communicate with the dead and materialize their spirits into dense ethereal mists of ectoplasmic materials expelled from her own body in mediumistic sessions. These were undoubtedly the first manifestations in the Amazon of what would later be called spiritualism, practiced in mysterious cults in Belém palaces, such as the Palacete Pinho.

At the end of 1896, a terrible cholera outbreak devastated the city of Belém, turning Camille Monfort into one of its victims, who was buried in the Cemetery of Solitude.

Today, her tomb is still there, covered in slime, moss, and dry leaves, under a huge mango tree that makes her grave sink into the darkness of its shadow, only illuminated by rays of sun that penetrate through the green leaves.

It is a neoclassical mausoleum with a door closed by an old rusty lock, from which a white marble female bust can be seen on the wide lid of the abandoned tomb, and attached to the wall, a small framed image of a woman dressed in black.

On her tombstone, you can read the inscription:

"Here lies Camila María Monfort (1869-1896) The voice that captivated the world."

But there are still those who say today that her tomb is empty, that her death and burial were nothing more than an act to cover up her case of vampirism, and that Camille Monfort still lives in Europe, now at the age of 154.

[legendarycupcakemusic]

It's you~

I can describe you in so many ways,

So, I don't know where to start from.

Your embrace can pacify,

Even the mightiest of storms.

When I was a lifeless solitary desert,

You have brought me rolin.

You're melted my frozen heart,

And burnt it in the sweetest pain.

You have turned my tranquil dark night,

Into a radiance,merry full night.

Before I had you,I never knew my life could be so bright.

The stars doesn't seem to dazzle now,

When I look up at the sky,

For Ive discovered a whole universe

Deep inside your eyes.

The sensation of your touch,

Reminds the day to me

When we shared something passionate;

And the me becomes we.

Your presence have lit up my dark forest;

Like a swarm of fireflies.

You have turned my mansion haunted by bats,

Into a garden full of butterflies.

You are the reason why the skylark sings.

You are the warmth and vibrance that the spring brings.

Do you know whom I can see whenever I stare at the moon?

If somehow you foolishly forget;

Let me remind you-

It's you~

[theink-stainedfolk]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you @drchenquill for the tag!

My words are :dagger, candle, stone and sword

Dagger

In the dimly lit chamber, the glint of a silver dagger pierced the shadows. It rested on the ornate mahogany desk, a relic of a bygone era, its hilt intricately carved with symbols of power and secrecy. It was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of authority, wielded by those who danced on the edge of darkness. Whispered tales spoke of its origins, tracing back through centuries of intrigue and bloodshed. Now, in the hands of a reluctant heir, the dagger became both a burden and a key to unlocking the mysteries of their lineage.

Candle

As the night deepened, casting its cloak of obscurity over the ancient mansion, a solitary candle flickered in the drafty corridor. Its feeble glow danced upon the walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach out like ghostly fingers. In the room beyond, the dagger lay illuminated by its wavering light, its steel surface reflecting the flame's soft glow. The candle, a beacon in the sea of darkness, whispered secrets to the night, revealing fragments of forgotten stories etched into the dagger's blade.

Stone

In the heart of the forgotten catacombs, amidst the echoing whispers of centuries past, a stone altar stood in solemn silence. Carved from the rugged earth itself, its surface bore the marks of time, etched with ancient runes and symbols long faded from memory. Atop the altar, the dagger rested like a slumbering beast, its steel blade cold to the touch, yet pulsing with an otherworldly energy. Legends spoke of rituals performed upon this very stone, of sacrifices made to appease dark powers that dwelled in the shadows beyond mortal comprehension. And now, as the moon cast its pale light through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, a lone figure approached, drawn by the silent call of destiny.

Sword

High atop the windswept cliffs, overlooking the churning sea below, a lone warrior stood, the hilt of a mighty sword clasped tightly in their weathered hand. The sword, forged in the fires of ancient wars, gleamed in the fading light of the setting sun, its blade honed to a razor-sharp edge that promised swift justice to those who dared to oppose its master. Yet, it was not the clash of steel against steel that brought the warrior to this desolate precipice, but rather the weight of a solemn oath sworn upon blood-stained battlefields. With every step, the warrior moved closer to the edge, the sword a silent witness to their unwavering resolve, as they prepared to confront the shadows that lingered on the horizon, knowing that the path ahead would be paved with both triumph and sacrifice.

Your words will be : Moon, Forest, Whisper, Enchantment

This was very fun. I'll tag @cssnder @finickyfelix @awordchemist @ascotwriting and anyone who want to join 😁