#grove mansion

[the-home]

[mariocki]

The Nesting (Massacre Mansion, 1981)

"It may come as a surprise to you that a physicist could even contemplate the existence of paranormal phenomena."

"But you admit to the possibility."

"I admit the possibility of the unknown. I admit that science is only beginning to understand its own discoveries. But I do not believe in evil spirits or painted phantoms in windows."

[fuckyeahsteelydan]

A Private View: life through a colourful lens, with Jamie Hawkesworth

[larryshapiro]

sadly, this one was doubtful on arrival

[hardcoregamer]

Thankfully, gamers looking for a less frightening title to play that still blends in with the Halloween spirit have plenty of choices to pick from. Whether it be RPGs, platformers, puzzle games, or even fishing simulators, there's a perfect Halloween-time game out there for everyone.

[bazzys]

[confetti-critter]

Hopefully I can play minecraft today after work. Last time I was busy setting up a base by the woodland mansion cuz it looked like that result was gunna win on the poll I made, and I saw Freaks walking around in there. I Scare....

[cherienymphe]

Bite Marks & Bruises (Roman Godfrey x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, stalking, period sex + consumption, blood, compulsion

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​

summary: Roman Godfrey is spoiled and arrogant and rude...and he gets whatever he wants.

~

Your life was over the first moment you stepped into The Godfrey Mansion.

The dark, gothic, and imposing structure was a staple in Hemlock Grove for as long as you could remember, countless stories being passed around at sleepovers about all manner of horrors and mysteries that probably took place in the home. Tales of shadowy figures and howling wolves and low moaning wails like whispers on the wind. None of it was true, of course, lies made up by overimaginative girls with too much time on their hands, driven to pass around falsities out of an unquenched desire to see what the infamous house was really like.

As you got older, such stories became silly to you, aware that it was just a home like any other owned by some rich woman like any other. All of its intrigue lay in its exclusivity, its secretiveness, and with maturity came the lessening desire to see inside some fancy old home. Even as you walked the halls with its inhabitants—Shelley and Roman Godfrey—the Godfrey mansion was just something you thought about less and less.

Until about six months after you graduated.

…and Olivia Godfrey was offering you substantial compensation to tutor her daughter.

It wasn’t an answer that required a lot of thought on your end. After all, you would be relaxing in a beautiful mansion and helping some seventeen-year-old with her homework while getting paid for it. With no desire—and no money—to jet off to college anytime soon, it seemed like an obvious choice. Those silly stories that you and your friends would tell each other under the cover of darkness behind closed bedroom doors were the farthest thing from your mind.

It was cold the first day you walked to The Godfrey Mansion.

It was the middle of November in Pennsylvania—air biting, leaves crunchy, and breeze gentle. Olivia Godfrey greeted you with a smile, her dark hair looking like midnight against her fair skin. The mother of two didn’t look a day over thirty, and you remembered staring at her, feeling so hypnotized by her beauty and wondering how she was old enough to have two children of graduating age. Her thin statuesque frame swayed gently with her every step, hands gingerly flailing about as she gave you the grand tour.

“All of her tutoring will take place up in her room,” she told you, tone rich and poised. “Shelley is so very particular about her space…and I’m trusting you.”

That last comment was said slowly, and she turned to face you as she said it, hands clasped together as her umber eyes connected with yours. Silence followed, and you didn’t need to be a genius to know what she was getting at. You recalled how the kids at school would treat Shelley, how they would simultaneously fear and torment her. Her daughter was protective of her space, she was protective of her daughter, and she was allowing you access to both.

“I understand,” you eventually forced out, nodding.

It was quick, but her cold visage transformed almost instantly, that ever-polite smile on her pink lips. In no time, Olivia Godfrey had turned back around and was continuing to lead you through the mansion. She droned on about the different rooms, making a point to comment on your chances of getting lost should you need to use the bathroom or something.

“Shelley must get all of her rest as growing teens do, so you won’t be staying all hours of the night, but you will be welcome to join us for dinner should you ever choose to.”

You didn’t know if you’d ever take her up on the offer, but you welcomed the polite invite, nonetheless.

You’d been tutoring Shelley for four days when you finally came face to face with him. Roman Godfrey—tall and spoiled and possessing the kind of face every girl you knew would gush over. You’d been in the same graduating class, but you were sure that you’d never talked to Roman once, not until you were in his house and eating his food, at least. You recalled walking to and from school most days, your gaze catching sight of that bright red convertible.

Since graduating, you didn’t see it as much.

After reuniting in his dining room…you saw it all the time.

“Sweetheart, you remember Y/N, don’t you?” Olivia’s articulate speech filled the air as soon as her son stepped through the threshold. “I believe she graduated with you last year.”

She continued after looking to you for confirmation, smiling at her son when you nodded.

“She’s been tutoring Shelley, and she finally took me up on my offer to join us for dinner.”

The dark-haired teenager didn’t say a word at first, slowly making his way to the table. You had never known Roman to look…bad, always dressed immaculate even while wearing the simplest of things. Shelley—a much more outgoing individual than you’d initially believed—had smiled at her brother with his approach. Their mother had started up an entirely different conversation, one you tried to be involved in, but you felt trapped by Roman’s gaze instead.

If you thought Olivia Godfrey was hypnotizing and entrancing in every way, then Roman Godfrey was absolutely paralyzing.

It was hard to look away from him, trying everything in your power to but failing every time. His dark hair was neat and pushed away from his face, perfect and put together even within the privacy of his home. His green eyes didn’t look so green, and you wondered if it was the lighting in the dining room…or something else entirely. When he finally made himself comfortable next to Shelley and diagonal from you, only then did you find the strength to lower your gaze to your food.

Dinner was a talkative affair, Olivia dominating the conversation with the occasional commentary from her son. She pulled you into the dialogue here and there, but with an oppressing gaze weighing down on you, you felt…restricted. It was purely all in your head, you knew that, but you couldn’t fight the thought that Roman was watching your every move—judging you.

You really could not get out of the house fast enough when dinner was over, hoping that your sudden skittishness was not noticeable. Roman’s gaze was something you felt on you even as you insisted you’d make it home just fine. Olivia didn’t fight you too much on it, and you were grateful, and the darkness that met you was somehow less terrifying than vibrant green eyes. It wasn’t until the next day when you realized that Roman wasn’t judging you, at all.

What he was doing was much worse.

“I really don’t mind walking.”

You told him this as he sat in your driveway, that familiar fancy red car taking up residence in it. The sun was out, and he was wearing shades and a thick jacket that made him appear bigger than he actually was. His jaw slowly moved, some gum in his mouth you presumed, and after a moment or two, he slowly turned his head to stare directly at you. Your eyes briefly glanced at his tapping finger against the wheel.

“You’re tutoring Shelley. Why would I make you walk all the way to our house when it’s not like I have anything better to do, anyway?”

He said it so flippantly, almost like this whole ordeal annoyed him, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that his mother made him park in your driveway. However, Roman never struck you as the kind of guy to do something he didn’t want to do, so his attitude only served to confuse you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were fixated on you.

You could feel the heat of them despite the cold air that surrounded you.

After some time of your short impasse, a slow smirk danced along his lips.

“I could always make you…”

His voice was low, and there was something mirthful in his tone, like the idea of dragging you and forcing you into his fancy car was an entertaining one. Something in you told you that he would despite what you wanted to believe, and something else told you that he’d enjoy it very much. With that thought and a sigh, you finally conceded and made your way to his passenger side.

His eyes remained on you the whole way there.

The ride was quiet, the walk from his car to the door even quieter.

Olivia’s voice rang through the house, inquiring as to if that was him coming through the door. The sound of his voice was answer enough, and you looked away from him when he slowly took off his shades.

“…and Y/N.”

Something about the sound of your name coming from his lips unnerved you. It didn’t exactly roll off of his tongue, something mocking in the way he said it, and you stared straight ahead as you walked down the hall in search of Shelley. You didn’t dare look back, afraid of what might be gaining on you.

Roman was the kind of guy that was impossible to ignore. Not only because he was just that imposing, but also because he simply wouldn’t let you. You’d gone to school with him for years, and it wasn’t until you both graduated did you learn that he was needy and constant in his want for attention. He was disturbingly honest, vulnerable to his desire to say the first thing on his mind no matter how inappropriate.

…and he was determined to get what he wanted once he decided he wanted it.

“So what? You didn’t want to fuck off out of this town and go to college or something?”

He asked you one day as you relaxed—as best as you could within his presence, anyway—in the passenger seat of his car. He wasn’t wearing his shades, and you almost missed them when you looked over to meet his green gaze. It was so intense, and there were moments where you were sure that Roman could see right through you.

“Don’t know what I would go for,” you replied, the cold air whipping against your face.

You could feel him looking at you as you stared through the windshield, and you got the feeling that he wanted you to elaborate on that. Even if you did know how to talk to Roman, you still wouldn’t. He made you uncomfortable in ways you couldn’t even explain, and the worst thing you did was allow him to know that.

There always seemed to be some sick pleasure in his eyes, the green of them glinting with something unknown to you. He watched you like a cat would a mouse, a wolf would a deer, a predator fully amusing itself with the prey it had in its line of reach. Only, Roman wasn’t some predator. He was some guy, you reminded yourself, and you were simply some girl.

At worst, you likened Roman to that of an asshole with too much free time on his hands.

The only person spared from that was his sister.

“You’re good with her,” he commented, turning his car off as it sat in your driveway.

Your hand was on the handle, seconds away from exiting the vehicle when he spoke. His voice had startled you, used to the silence of his unwavering gaze as he watched you exit his car and go into the house. You watched him place a cigarette between his lips, the flame from his lighter brightening his face in the night. The smell of smoke followed soon after.

“Shelley,” he explained, exhaling. “You’re good with her. She likes you.”

You glanced away, squirming in your seat when presented with an actual conversation you could have with the rich boy.

“I like her too. She’s very sweet…and…even funny, sometimes.”

You shrugged when he looked at you, pulling another drag, and the longer he stared at you, the more uncomfortable you started to feel. You looked away, gaze falling to your purse at your feet, preparing to grab it and wish him a good night when he spoke again.

“My mother thinks I stare at you too much.”

His words shocked you, and your eyes widened when you looked at him again. He wasn’t looking at you, now, smoking and partaking in his cigarette. Your own lips parted, unsure of how to respond to that, and he took another drag, loudly exhaling. Roman had a habit of saying anything that was on his mind, so that wasn’t what shocked you. You were shocked because it wasn’t all in your head…

…and that someone else had noticed too.

“She’s right,” he breathed, gazing at you, now, and you swallowed.

His eyes were taken with the action, lowering and resting on your neck for a few seconds too long. It was late and dark, save for the half moon in the sky, but something in his gaze seemed to shift as he stared at your throat, eyes tracing the very top of your chest before they met yours again.

You swore they weren’t as green, now.

“I do stare,” he murmured, looking away and taking another pull—a final pull—of the cigarette between his fingers. “You’re pretty…and I sometimes wonder if you were this pretty in school.”

You didn’t know if you liked where this conversation was going, straightening and looking away.

“School was only six months ago,” you mumbled, finally speaking after some time. “I can’t possibly look that different.”

Roman chuckled then, and it was a genuine sound, and so you didn’t know if he was laughing at you or himself.

“You’re right,” he relented. “I was probably just too busy fucking cheerleaders and paying already rich girls for sex.”

You grimaced, reaching for your purse, now when he stopped you. You were alarmed by the feel of his hand on your wrist, and when you looked up at him from your leaned over position, it seemed that Roman was somewhat startled by his own actions. Like he’d always entertained the thought but never imagined he’d go through with it. He quickly let you go like you’d burned him, and you slowly sat up as he cleared his throat.

“Shelley’s gonna be hanging out with our uncle tomorrow…” he looked away. “They’re close like that, but… That doesn’t mean I still can’t pick you up.”

He said a whole lot without saying much, and you felt your stomach twist. Roman was used to telling a girl he wanted her and then…well…having her. You’d seen it many times, the way they flocked to him and preened at the opportunity to fuck Roman Godfrey, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive…because he was.

…and he knew it.

Roman scared you. Everything about him seemed designed with the key purpose of repelling you. He was too observant, too sure of himself, too…creepy. These weren’t things you could overlook, and instead of helping him, you were sure that his looks didn’t help your feelings. Roman didn’t look real at times—genetically altered even—and it only made you think there was something…inhuman about him.

Something that told you he wasn’t like you…and you should be wary.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you honestly replied, and you didn’t stick around to look at his face.

You held your purse to you as you got out of his car, and you reluctantly looked at him, your sympathetic gaze meeting his even one.

“I’m just here to tutor Shelley…and…we should probably keep it that way.”

You kept your rejection soft, and you turned away from him before he could reply. You ignored the feel of his gaze boring into your back, wrapping your arms around yourself as some half assed protection against the cold. You couldn’t get in your house fast enough, and you swore that you’d been leaning against the door for at least half an hour, waiting to hear him finally drive off.

The first night Roman raped you, it was raining.

Storming, to be more specific. It was odd because it was winter, and Pennsylvania was known for its summer storms. It was why you were even at the mansion so late, Roman refusing to drive in the violent downpour and you unable to walk. Olivia seemed to care neither here nor there about the whole thing, almost annoyingly cavalier about your plight.

“Oh, darling, you know how unpredictable a bit of rain can be,” she’d said, a glass of wine in her hand. “There’s no shortage of guest rooms. Find one for the night. I’m sure Roman can be of some help in that department.”

You hadn’t missed her crooked smile, an almost wicked sight as she softly chuckled to herself. She clearly found her son’s attraction to you amusing, harmless even, while you found it uncomfortable at best. Shelley was the one to help you get sorted for the night, visible eye soft and smile even softer as she pointed out where the towels and such would be.

You hadn’t realized you’d forgotten the problem of clothes until you stepped out of the shower to find some on the counter.

You froze at the sight, sure that you hadn’t heard a soul come in. At least…no one who wanted to be heard, and you grimaced before putting them on. Walking the corridors of The Godfrey Mansion with clothes in hand felt weird, and when you made it to your chosen guest bedroom of the night, you still didn’t relax.

Nothing about the mansion was calming, and the raging storm outside only made it worse. You laid in bed for a long time, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, just waiting for your heart to stop racing and your mind to grow quiet. It felt like forever, but it happened, and when it did, you finally felt your lashes flutter.

Sleep was finally yours.

…and then you woke up.

The sharp stabbing pain had you sitting up in bed, hand pressed to your stomach at the ache you felt deep within it. The familiar ache, and you felt your heart sink, wondering how your night could possibly get any worse. You didn’t need to look at the bed to know that you’d left something behind, only searching for your purse, positive you had an extra pad or tampon or something.

Relief filled your heart, and product in hand, you made your way into the hall in search of the bathroom. So focused on your pain and finding the bathroom, you didn’t mind the dark corridor, at all. Any other night, and you might have been hypervigilant with fear, but as it were, you could only focus on stopping any more ruin of the pajamas you’d been given.

It was a noise from behind you that gave you pause, and as you turned around, all those childhood stories about the fearful Godfrey Mansion came to mind. Every manifestation of what goes bump in the night filled your mind, but as you stared into the darkness, darkness was all you were met with. Telling yourself that an old mansion was bound to creak and groan, you turned away.

…and straight into Roman.

His very presence forced a shriek from your lips, and in your panic, your hands pressed to his chest. His bare chest. You didn’t register it, at first, so focused on trying to calm your heart and relax again. Your hands were empty, your saving grace of the night on the floor, and when you took a step back to pick it up, Roman took one forward.

You paused at the action.

“Roman-.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

The question came out somewhat harsh, and you squinted at him in the darkness. It threw you off for several reasons, but mostly because you didn’t understand what he meant. As best as you could make it out in the darkness, his face seemed contorted, pinched actually—eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and gaze riddled with accusations.

“…what? Roman, what are you-.”

Your words died in the air when he forced himself closer, a strange look on his face as he eyed you. You watched his nostrils flare, another step forward from Roman, and you finally took another back. He was so close, too close, and when you blinked, you remembered that you didn’t have time to try and understand Roman tonight. Ignoring him, you reached down, and as soon as your hand was around what you so desperately needed, another hand was coming down on your wrist.

You reacted harshly, flinching and crying out, and you registered that Roman’s grip was actually…painful.

You were both standing now, Roman still holding onto you, and his nose brushed against yours as he leaned in. His hair, normally so neat and perfectly in place, was kissing his forehead. The dark strands were going every which way, and when his lips parted, a soft exhale escaping in time with a flutter of his lashes, only then did you say his name again.

As if waking up from a dream, you watched his eyes focus in on your face, really focus, and it took him some time to let you go.

Your wrist ached, his phantom touch lingering, and you held it to you protectively. You felt that you could really see into Roman’s eyes, now, and the mansion lit up from a brief flash of lightning. His own eyes glinted, and you recalled that the last time you and Roman were this close, he was trying to spend time with you outside of his sister’s tutoring.

…and you’d turned him down.

When he took a step back, he finally spoke again.

“Looking for the bathroom?”

You wondered how he knew that, but you surmised that it was a good guess. After all, it was the middle of the night, and you were roaming the corridors with a tampon in hand. At your nod, he slowly smiled at you, something mocking in it as he reached out to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s over here,” he told you. “You’ll get lost without me.”

His voice was smooth, tone almost gentle, and it was like that awkward and startling moment had never even happened. His touch was light on your arm as he guided you through the darkness, and as uncomfortable as Roman made you, in your predicament, you didn’t have much choice but to follow his lead. The muffled sound of rain was all that surrounded you, and when Roman finally reached what looked like the bathroom, you relaxed.

“They say sex helps with that…”

You paused, looking at the rich boy, and his visage was serious.

“The cramps,” he continued with a raise of his brows as if you didn’t know what he was getting at.

“So, I’ve heard,” you said after some time, unsure of how to even respond to that.

When you walked into the bathroom, you were shocked by the feel of Roman ripping the tampon out of your hand. The light from the bathroom lit up the hallway behind him, the darkness on the edge of the doorway making him look…ominous. His gaze was unreadable, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, reaching for it, but he only held it out of reach. “Roman…”

You stumbled back when he crossed the threshold, blocking the doorway completely, and irritated and in pain, you were losing your patience for his game. He could be such a child sometimes, demanding attention at the worst moment possible, and you grabbed the tampon with a quickness. Only, Roman held onto it too, and he pushed at your hand, forcing you back in the process.

His green irises glinted under the light.

“Roman…”

You words died in the air when his hand slid to wrap around your wrist like earlier, and you felt your heart…drop.

The way he stared at you, something about it was terrifying, and his eyes started to appear almost unfocused. His hand tightened, and you winced, and you were just about to say his name again when the sound of the door clicking shut reached your ears. You blinked, looking behind him, unaware that he’d forced you both so far into the bathroom with enough room to kick the door shut. Like the first day you came face to face with him again, you felt paralyzed, trapped under the crushing weight of his gaze, and you could feel your heart speed up.

His hold on your arm prevented you from moving when he kissed you.

You were in shock, feeling wholly out of control that you just stood there, unable to quite feel his lips on yours. You felt crowded by him, forced to hold still lest you provoke something impulsive, and you didn’t even register just how painful his hold on your wrist became. You only blinked when the stabbing pain deep in the pit of your stomach reminded you of your plight.

Pulling away, you pushed at his chest.

“Roman, what the hell?”

Your lower back painfully met the sink, and you simultaneously tried to lean away and push him away too. His other hand snaked around your neck, your head harshly pressing against the mirror, and you whined in frustration. His lithe frame found a home between your kicking legs, and your panic seized you when he kissed you again.

Fighting against Roman felt like a lost cause—he was stronger than he looked.

The kiss felt hungry, like he was trying to devour you, and you whined again as he pressed you against the sink more. The hand on your wrist kept your arm outstretched, and he let out a sound in between the kiss that sounded somewhat like a hiss. His breathing was heavy too, and when he finally let your neck go, there was no sense of relief.

You pushed at him as he pulled at your pants, and they were barely to your knees when Roman suddenly dropped. One hand on your leg kept you from moving, the other preoccupied with getting the other out of the borrowed pajamas. Horror and confusion were battling within you, and all you could manage to do was hit at the wall when he dipped his head between your thighs.

Horrifying and bloody circumstances aside, you didn’t want this.

You cried out his name, throat tightening, and your free leg banged against the sink cabinet. One of his hands had a death grip on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin so harshly you knew it would bruise. He kept it pushed away, practically flat against the counter, the stretch burning in a way that made you wince. However, the feel of his tongue between your legs made for a confusing reaction.

Your head was spinning at the feel of his tongue sliding along your bloody folds, lips completely covering your mound as he sucked at you. Your eyes rolled, and it was hard to focus on the true nature of what was going on. Your toes curled under his ministrations, and your nails scraped against the wall and counter top.

“Roman, stop,” you choked out, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You finally pushed at his chest, whining in both pain and pleasure when he refused to move, only lapping at you harder. Your stomach was tightening for more reasons than one, now, and despite the cold season and cold mansion, you felt so hot. Too hot.

Roman hooked his arm under your thigh, yanking you down further, and you were in too much of an awkward and painful position to properly fight back. When your nails dug into his face, his other arm wrapped around your free leg, forcing that one where he wanted it to be too. You couldn’t even grapple with the full circumstances of Roman with his face between your legs during that time of the month, reaching out at the wall and counter in panic when he fell back, taking you with him.

Unable to move, you were forced to sit on his face, hands pushing against the wall behind him as a means to get free. That tightening in your gut was accompanied with a pleasant burn, now, and  your breath hitched, lashes fluttering at that tightening coil, shrinking more and more until it had no choice but to release, making you gasp when it did.

The moan you let out was unlike anything you’d heard from yourself, shocked at the strain in your voice. You couldn’t breathe fast enough, sucking in air with a swimming vision. In Roman’s greedy consumption of you, his hold loosened, and you didn’t hesitate to push yourself off of him. You were still shaking, the remnants of your orgasm gripping you, and your eyes were wide as you looked at Roman. He laid on the floor with parted lips, slowly blinking in wonder as he ran his hands through his hair.

The entire bottom half of his face was covered in your blood.

You felt frozen, unsure of how to even process what had just happened. You were so confused and disturbed and scared, staring at Roman like he was something not of this world, and when you finally shifted, that’s when he seemed to remember your presence, green eyes landing on you with a quickness that made you freeze up, as if trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Your scream rang throughout the bathroom when he lunged for you.

Roman’s bloody face was all you could focus on as he hovered over you, pushing his cock into you over and over again. Every time his hips met yours, your chest arched up against his, back curving and eyes rolling. Roman was so silent that you would’ve swore he was possessed, but there was an awareness in his green gaze that told you he was anything but.

His hands held yours down, dark brown hair hanging into his forehead. On the off chance that he smiled, it was a bloody one, and it scared you more than anything. The bathroom floor was cool against your naked back, and through the haze of Roman’s assault, you realized—with reluctance—that the feel of his cock driving in and out of you was indeed helping with your cramps.

The inside of your thighs were a bloody mess, much like his face, and as disgusting as it was, it was the least of your worries. Roman was a lot of things, annoyingly arrogant above all else, but you never pegged him for a rapist. A freak, maybe, yes, but a rapist? No. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the bathroom, and so focused on the feel of him plunging into you, you couldn’t even pinpoint when the storm had ended.

You cried out, tears spilling over as you pressed your hands against the hood of his car. You kept trying to push yourself up, but Roman’s determined hands kept shoving you back down. The moon was hidden by the clouds, no visible light shining down on his assault, a hand of his twisted at the nape of your neck.

You pressed your nails against his vehicle, and that was when he yanked you back, lips at your ear.

“Don’t scratch the fucking paint,” Roman spat, sounding very mad by the mere thought, and you insulted him several times over behind closed lips.

You’d tried to quit after that horrific stormy night in which Roman raped you on the bathroom floor. You’d given Olivia Godfrey every excuse in the book and tried to gently let Shelley down many times over, but the single matriarch simply wouldn’t hear it. She rolled her eyes in that coquettish way she tended to do, a soft smirk on her pink lips. Or she’d simply laugh you off, a sharp ‘nonsense’ soon to follow.

“Am I not paying you enough? Do you want more?”

“It’s not about the money,” you’d replied.

No amount of money in the world could possibly make up for the sick deviant that was her son.

After he came inside of you, breathless and satisfied, he’d dragged you crying and kicking all the way to his room. Any fight from you was immediately squashed down, and you didn’t know if Roman had snorted a few lines of coke or what, but no one was more shocked than you when he pushed you onto his bed, determined to continue what he’d started in the bathroom.

You’d been a dazed and abused mess when you snuck out in the early hours of the morning, half dressed and still bleeding. It hadn’t been Roman that came for you, but Olivia instead, talks of obligations and Shelley. No amount of refusal had deterred her, and you got the strangest feeling that the older woman fully knew the extent of just how her son felt about you.

You felt trapped.

By kind and sweet Shelley who broke your heart to leave, by Olivia who wanted to spoil her son with his new plaything of choice, and most of all by Roman who decided he had to have something once he wanted it. The last time you’d tried to quit, Olivia merely waved you off with a soft laugh, and when you turned around, none other than Roman had been at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was how you found yourself in his car, no choice but to let him drive you home. You hadn’t uttered a word to him since that night, and as you very well knew… Roman hated to be ignored. He was going to command your attention one way or another, and you hadn’t even heard him open his door after you, following close behind until his hands were on you and pushing you down onto his car.

Your forehead grazed the vehicle as he plunged his cock into you, stretching you out in your driveway for anyone to see. The embarrassment of such a thought was what kept you quiet, tears kissing your cheeks as you were forced to take his thrusts. His jeans were pulled down just enough to give him room to fuck you as he wanted, your own pants down around your ankles while he rutted into you.

When Roman came, he pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in with deep inhales. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, and you sniffed, shakily reaching up to wipe your face. Roman remained where he was for a few moments too long, just basking in the feel of you wrapped around him, and after some time, he let out a low chuckle.

It was a disturbing sound.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about this pussy since that night…” he breathed, finally pulling away.

You felt him right himself, and he was rough in doing the same to you, pulling your pants up. Once done, he rested his hands on your hips, remaining close and leaning in.

“Quit trying to quit,” he harshly said. “My sister really likes you, and if you hurt her feelings, I’ll make you choke on it.”

You stumbled back when he finally pulled away to make his way to the driver’s seat. You wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to swallow as you accepted the truth in his words. You believed him wholeheartedly, and you trembled from more than just the cold as you watched him speed away in that fancy red car.

You knew that you wouldn’t be getting much sleep, and you hated how right you were when you were staring at your ceiling hours later. Like the day after that night, you’d scrubbed yourself until you felt raw, but even still, you could feel his hands on you. Those long fingers that were more reminiscent of spider legs than limbs.

Roman Godfrey was equally rotten inside as he was beautiful.

You discovered just how rotten only a week later when he was holding you down for the umpteenth time, a wicked smile on his lips just before leaning down. The sharp pain where your shoulder and neck met made you jerk beneath him, and beneath the cover of darkness, you just knew that the strong smell that hit your nose was blood.

You didn’t think it was possible for Roman to horrify you any more.

…but he did, and you screamed, and he only held you tighter. He was resting comfortably between your parted legs, fitting snuggly inside of you as he made a pulling sensation with his mouth. You squirmed beneath him, fighting and pushing back as much as you could, but he wasn’t deterred. You could feel his hips jerk, a gasp escaping you as he thrust into you to the hilt.

Your hands clawed at his bedding, the sound of tearing fabric reaching your ears above the low moans that left Roman. When he got his fill, you were a sobbing mess, reaching up to clutch your neck as he curved his hips into yours. You could feel some of your blood drip onto you from his mouth, and when his bloody lips met yours, you gagged.

Your disbelief was forced to be suspended with the unfortunate truth that was right in front of you. You didn’t really care about what was possible or not in that moment, only wanting to get away from him. Roman seemed entertained with your struggle, fighting with your hands as he fucked you, a tight grip on your wrist. The other hand danced down your body, light touches and skin grazes along the way.

“Look at me,” he murmured, drunk off the taste of you. “Look at me.”

His bloody hand on your face forced you to do just that, and his calm voice stopped you from shaking. Even in the dark, it was like his green irises were all you could see, and the color was so calming—so soothing—that when he told you to relax…you did.

You felt so at ease as he slowly thrust into you, pulling out until only the tip of him remained before pushing all the way back in again. The feel made you sighed, and Roman sighed too, a soft hum escaping him. Deep in the back of your mind, you were still terrified of the dark-haired boy, but despite that, you just felt so calm.

“Good,” he softly purred. “Good girl.”

One of his hands rested on the headboard above you, the other pressed into the pillow beside your head. You were so relaxed that all you could do was stare up at him as he surged over you again and again, retreating with every pull of his hips and driving forward with every thrust. Relaxed, you were more able to focus on the sound of his cock sinking into you, the squelching noise reaching your ears as your body fought to cling to him and keep him from leaving each and every time.

Dazedly, you reached up to touch your neck again, the smell of blood strong, and as you lifted your hand to look at it, Roman leaned down to cover your fingers with his mouth. The hum that met your ears was one of appreciation, and when you came for the first time that night, you were met with another.

“You’ve had enough?” he wondered, hand pressed into your stomach as he drove his hips against yours. “…or you want more from daddy?”

His voice was low and gruff, strained with emotion as he basked in the tight and warm feel of you. It didn’t really matter what your answer would be for Roman had already decided to fuck you well into the night as he wished. When you came for a final time, his hands were leaving bruises into your hips, and you were ripping his sheets apart.

The woods of Hemlock Grove seemed extra thick and hazardous tonight, as if it was their sole purpose to slow you down and trap you for him.

Bite marks and bruises littered your skin for months before you finally cracked. Months of walking into The Godfrey Mansion with fear, tutoring Shelley and distracted the entire time by thoughts of Roman. Wondering when he’d come to collect you, what corner he might pop out of, when you might feel the brush of his touch along your shoulder. You didn’t stay for dinner anymore, unable to sit across from Roman and have him stare you down as he reminisced on the feel of you coming around him, bleeding and broken.

Olivia Godfrey pretended not to notice Roman shadowing you like a ghost, like a grim reaper come to collect what he felt he was owed. She smiled that coy smile and waved around those waifish arms, all the while nursing a cigarette or a drink, fully aware of what her spoiled son got up to under the cover of darkness when no one could see your abuse at his hands.

Your last period had been your last straw, shuddering at the memory of Roman keeping you prisoner on top of him as he ate you out so long that it started to grow painful at some point. When he finally sank into you—in more ways than one—you couldn’t even try to enjoy it, too overstimulated to the point where you kept trying to get away.

Roman was sound asleep when you ran.

…but he was wide awake in time to run after you.

You truly didn’t even know where you were going, so set on just getting away from the terrifying boy that you just let your feet carry you. The biting air cut at your skin, and the leaves crunched beneath you. It was only moments ago when his voice had rang through the trees, your name bouncing off of the trunks as he desperately called for you.

“I can smell you!”

That fact did not deter you, sure that you could escape him. Every whip of a branch cut into you, and you knew the blood that you felt was the very same blood he smelled. The steep inclines and downward slopes of Hemlock Grove slowed you down, tiring you out, and your chest hurt from your harsh sobs. You had just pulled yourself up a small hill when you fell to the ground.

You were not alone.

“Y/N,” Roman snarled, a guttural edge to his voice that made you cry harder. “Get back here!”

He screamed it so passionately and loudly that it actually made you wince, and your vision was blurred from your tears as you clawed at the ground, fighting to get away from him. His fingers dug into your pants, preventing you from moving as much as you wanted, and despite the fact that you knew no one would come, you screamed for help when he crawled up your body.

He slammed your head into the ground, impulsively, and you saw stars in your vision. He succeeded in what he wanted, halting your movements for a time as you fought to collect yourself. In that time, Roman had already covered your frame, chest completely pressed down on your back. His hand closed around your throat, pulling your head back some.

“Don’t be stupid,” he roughly told you, lips at your ear. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

You clawed at the dirt and leaves as his other hand reached beneath you, sliding into your pants with ease and cupping you. He made a noise of appreciation at the feel, and as Roman told you that you’d never escape him, he sank his teeth into your neck.

In your despair, you accepted this truth.

[magalhaessims]

BJERGSEN FAMILY HOME - MAXIS-MATCH CC BUILD

This is not the first, not second, not even the third time I'm doing this family home! LOL. Maybe this time I'll stick to it!  If you'd like to check out the building process, you can watch the YouTube video linked below.

NOT CC FREE 

Lot Type: Residential

Size: 30X20

World: Windenburg

Enable bb.moveobjects before placing in your game!

📺 WATCH THE SPEED BUILD HERE ✨

Origin ID: MagalhaesSims (remember to enable custom content on!) DOWNLOAD

CC USED IN THIS BUILD:

NOTE: For convenience, some of the CC is included in the Download Folder. Please put it in your Mods Folder along with the CC linked below. Thank you to all CC creators!

Charly Pancakes: Chalk (Clutter + Tiles) | Miscellanea | Smol | Soak | The Lighthouse Collection || TheClutterCat: Baby Boo | Busy Bee | Dandy Diary | Farm Friends | iCare | Mellow Moods | Mermaid Mansion | Snuggle Set | Sunny Sundae || Felixandre: Berlin | Chateau | Colonial (2022) | Fairylicious | Fayun | Florence | Gatsby | Grove | London | Paris | Shop The Look: 01 - 03 | Soho || Harrie: Brownstone | Coastal Collection | Country Kitchen | Klean | Shop The Look 01 || House Of Harlix: Baysic + Bathroom | Harluxe | Jardane | Kichen | Kichen 2Point1 | Livin'Rum | Orjanic | The Bafroom | Tiny Twavellers || KKB-MM: Citrus Room || LittleDica: Chic Bathroom | Country Sleek | Delicato Living | Delicious Kitchen | Eco Kitchen | Rise&Grind Cafe | Sleek Slumber | Summer Party || Max20: Child Dream | Classic Kitchen | Closet Collection | Garden At Home | Happily Ever After | Master Bedroom | Poolside Lounge || MLys: Pufferhead Stucf Pack || MyshunoSun: Arrie Office | Dawn Living | Flow Storage || Peacemaker-ic: Bowed Bedroom | Bowed Living | Creta | Elise Basics | Hinterland Kitchen | Post Modern | Tasteful Tots || Pierisim: Auntie Vera | Coldbrew | Combles | David Apartment | Domaine Du Clos | MCM House | Oak House | Outside Lunch | Pantry Party | Stefan | Teeny Weeny | The Office | Woodland Ranch || S-imagination: Japandi Dining Room | Rutland Kitchen || SixamCC: Home Improvement | Home Office | Tiny Playrooms || Syboulette: Neighbourly | Painter Studio || Tuds: BEGIN | Cave | SHKR

The CC Sets above are the main ones I used to decorate this specific building and you can find all the links to the creators’ sites on my Resource Page. However, if you can’t find something specific, you can send me a WCIF and I’ll try to help you find it!

My content will always be free and right away available to everyone, but if you want to, you can show your support through my Ko-Fi Page. Your donation will always be much appreciated!

Thank you for reblogging: @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @s4realtor @coffee-houses-finds and everyone else for helping me boost this post!

[limbolanegames]

Gotta show love to some press ❤️ Thank you StartMenu for the great review! You can read it here. (also, likening GREAT GOD GROVE as the weird baby of Disco Elysium and Luigi's Mansion is insane but makes full sense, kudos)

[naaattie]

Only 12 days till Party on Hallow Grove launches on STEAM! Wishlist and play the DEMO! Wishlist in bio! And don't forget to check it out at #SteamNextFest!

[dandelionjack]

an essay about Rogue, The Chimes of Midnight, and how i believe all this ties in to the overarching themes of the series EVEN IF the inside-a-tv-show theory proves untrue

“Rogue” named himself after a stock character. he is the archetypal Handsome Rogue because there has to be a Handsome Rogue role in a period drama story set in Austenesque Regency England.

it’s all theatre — smoke and mirrors. just like the war waged against imaginary foes in boom (because there needs to be an Enemy in a wartime story) was theatre; the creation of the Bogeyman in space babies (because there needs to be a Scary Monster in a children’s bedtime story) was theatre; The Woman following Ruby in 73 yards (because there needs to be a Ghost in a folk horror story) was theatre. dot and bubble less so, but it’s wise to note — the dots created the slugs after all. they invented the slugs so that there would be a tangible Creature for the finetimers (and the Doctor) to fear, rather than simply being betrayed by their own technology. because that’s exactly what the false, harmful narratives colonialists tell themselves — stories of taming and conquering a wild Mother Nature and her ferocious beasts — have trained them to expect from the world. the dots were telling a story too, or rather putting on a play.

the penultimate episode of any doctor who series, if not always leading directly into the two-parter finale, will typically begin to tie up loose narrative strands that have stretched across the entire season. at a first impression rogue doesn’t seem to be doing that. but then you take a closer look at the antagonists: creatures that play a role for fun without the slightest regard for those around them. lethal LARPers. cosplayers out to kill. to put it pretentiously, a hyper-realistic theatre of cruelty.

to nobody’s surprise, i’m bringing up my favourite eighth doctor audio drama — the chimes of midnight. edward grove gives every person trapped in the time loop a designated role: the chauffeur, the doctor-detective, the plucky young lady of the house, the lady’s maid, the scullery girl, the housekeeper. they keep playing these roles, over and over, until they begin to forget their original identity, until the part they’re playing takes over their entire sense of self. the servants keep dying over and over because they cannot transcend their roles, because they believe themselves to be “nothing but a scullery maid”. they are reduced to the parts they play in the narrative until they become nothing outside of it, until they become confined to a single location.

the chimes of midnight is set in Edwardian-era England, a time of restrictive, prescriptive class, status and social roles which defined a person’s life and career trajectory — this strict delineation is driven to its logical conclusion and deconstructed under the unnatural conditions of Edward Grove. similarly, rogue is set in a Regency-era mansion — another historical period defined in the popular imagination by its complicated social rules, elegant courtship dynamics, strict class barriers, gossip and elitism. these two doctor who stories don’t have any intentional watsonian connection, but they are deeply linked on a thematic level.

high society is forced theatre. a 24/7 LARP. play your part, put on your costume, don’t interrupt the performance. the audience is waiting. they’re oh so hungry for tragedy.

the biggest part of them all, the most sought-after role, of course, is The Doctor. a standard to live up to. a name to wear like a banner, a pledge, a promise. he has to be like this because this is what he’s like.

the Scullery Maid scrubs the kitchen floor. The Detective searches for clues. the Chauffeur starts up his car. the Duchess hosts a glittering soirée. the Rake hides a secret fling with the Wallflower. the Rogue breaks hearts and broods on the balcony.

and the Doctor? the Doctor dances. “onwards and upwards”. forever in perpetual motion, spinning and spinning and spinning across the stars. never pausing to breathe. never stopping.

p.s.: so, pray tell, what is Ruby Sunday in all this? “The Companion”, of course. smart, funny, sassy, quick-witted, brave, cheeky, curious, self-sacrificial. she almost feels generic because she’s meant to be. she wasn’t born. she was written. an essential part of the story too. circling the Doctor like a satellite forever.

[velvetdesir3s]

Tutoring sessions: Roman Godfrey x Reader (Prologue)

Summary: Reader goes to the Godfrey mansion for her first day tutoring Roman Godfrey.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: none (for now)

Author’s note: This is the first part of a little series I’m writing. Second part is out! I hope you enjoy!

As you drove up the winding, tree-lined road, the towering silhouette of Roman Godfrey’s house came into view. The mansion stood ominously at the top of the hill, its dark, gothic architecture stark against the sky. You could feel your heartbeat quicken with each turn, a mix of anticipation and unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

The iron gates creaked open as you approached, revealing a sprawling driveway that seemed to stretch endlessly towards the house. The gravel crunched under your tires, the sound echoing in the stillness of the evening. You glanced around, taking in the meticulously maintained gardens and the eerie statues that dotted the landscape, their stone faces frozen in time.

The house itself loomed larger as you neared, its windows dark and uninviting. You parked your car and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady your nerves. The front door, massive and foreboding, seemed to beckon and warn you simultaneously. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the car, the cool air brushing against your skin, and made your way to the entrance, each step bringing you closer to the unknown that awaited within.

Olivia Godfrey, Roman's mother, hired you to tutor him. At first, you were skeptical, of course. You didn’t like him at all. You thought he was arrogant, spoiled and a pathetic excuse for a trust fund baby. But you needed the money. If you wanted to get out of Hemlock Grove, you needed to start somewhere, and she was paying you a great amount of money.

It was surprising how she managed to track you down. You hadn't advertised your services; sure, you had mulled over the idea of tutoring to make some extra cash, but you envisioned helping little kids with algebra, not Roman Godfrey. But when you got the call from her, offering a crazy amount of cash per study session, you couldn’t resist. You had to put your pride aside and get it done.

You thought of a few possibilities as to how she could’ve found you but didn’t like to dwell on it since it freaked you out. This whole family gave you weird vibes; every time you passed by the mansion or the Godfrey Institute, you got shivers down your spine. Ironic, since now you’re technically working for them.

You pushed your thoughts aside and walked up the steps to the front door. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, amplifying your unease. As you reached the top, you paused, taking in the grandeur of the entrance. The heavy wooden door loomed before you, ornate and intimidating. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and then raised your hand to knock, the sound resonating through the silent mansion.

It didn’t take long before a butler answered the door, gesturing you to come in and wait in the living room. You made your way into the room, setting your backpack next to you on the couch before sitting down. A maid came in immediately, asking if you wanted something to drink or eat. You politely declined, concerned at her anxious expression. After she left, you took in the grand living room, with its plush furniture and elegant décor.

As you waited, you noticed a few framed family photos on the walls and a large window letting in soft, natural light. You couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances that had made the maid so uneasy.

A few minutes later, Olivia Godfrey came in. She reeked of cigarettes and floral, expensive perfume. She gave you a warm smile that seemed a bit insincere. “Hello, you must be the tutor I hired. Nice to finally meet you,” she said, extending her hand. She shook it quickly, her discomfort not so apparent, before letting go.

“I trust you’re well-prepared for this,” she said, her tone sharp and formal. “I’m somewhat out of touch with modern education, and I’m concerned about ensuring my son receives the best guidance.”

You gulped, somewhat uncomfortable with her tone. “Oh, yeah— you don’t have to worry about that. Today we’re going to start with the basics of calculus and then we’ll move on to—”

“That’s great, honey. Let me just get Roman,” she said, quickly dismissing you.

And just like that, you were all alone again. You leaned back on the couch, sighing to compose yourself.

“She’s such a cunt, isn’t she?”

Roman’s voice cut through the quiet as you stirred on the couch. You blinked awake to find him standing over you, his eyes cold and distant. He sank down beside you with a sigh, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. With a practiced flick, he lit one, the glow of the flame briefly illuminating his face as he took a long drag, the smoke curling around him.

Where the hell did he come from?

You snapped out of your thoughts when he glanced at you with a piercing gaze, removing the cigarette from between his lips with deliberate nonchalance. With a subtle, inviting gesture, he extended it toward you, offering a puff.

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” you replied awkwardly. He smirked, “Of course you don’t,” he muttered, placing the cigarette back between his lips. You rolled your eyes, thinking he hadn’t noticed, but he did and simply smiled to himself.

Then, you heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor as Olivia entered the room. She stood in the doorway with an air of poised authority, her gaze fixed on Roman. “Roman, dear, I specifically asked you to be in the living room after lunch,” she said, her tone sharp and controlled, with irritation concealed behind a carefully maintained veneer of sophistication.

“I was taking a shit; I’m here, aren’t I?” he quipped back, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke deliberately toward Olivia.

Olivia narrowed her eyes, maintaining her composed exterior. "Charming as always, Roman," she replied coolly. “Do try to behave for your tutor.” She then turned her gaze to you. “I trust you can handle things from here?”

“Uh, yeah—” Before you could continue, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Roman smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, blowing the smoke into the air. “She’s always got a stick up her ass.” He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So, what’s this supposed to be about, anyway?”

You turn to him, your confusion evident. “I was hired to tutor you. Didn’t your mom tell you?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Not exactly. She said I’ve been failing my classes and she’d find a way to fix it,” he explained, taking another drag of his cigarette and flicking the ash into an ashtray. “I figured she’d bribe the school or something.”

Of course he did.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. We should get to work—”

Roman cut you off with a casual tone, “What if we do something else instead?” His smirk suggested he had something more intriguing in mind.

“What do you mean?” You asked, a little more guarded. You knew about Roman’s reputation for being unapologetically promiscuous. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was suggesting that he wanted to sleep with you right now.

Roman raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Relax, I was just thinking of a change of scenery,” he said with a chuckle. “But if you’re really set on studying, I suppose we can stick to it.” His tone was teasing, but he made it clear he wasn’t pushing further, at least for now.

“Oh, well. Is there anywhere else we could go to start? A couch isn’t really the best place to get some studying done,” you suggested, looking for a more practical setup for your session.

Roman leaned closer, his smirk widening as he set his arm casually on the couch, resting it near your side. “What do you have in mind?” he asked with a teasing tone, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Maybe your kitchen?” you asked, trying to maintain your composure despite the closeness.

Roman leaned back, his smirk softening slightly. “Yeah, the kitchen’s fine,” he said nonchalantly as he rose from the couch and began walking towards the kitchen.

You quickly grabbed your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders, and walked briskly to catch up with him. As you followed Roman through the mansion, the opulent surroundings were hard to ignore. The grand hallway was lined with dark wood paneling and ornate, vintage portraits, casting an almost eerie glow under the soft lighting. The floors were polished marble, echoing with the sound of your footsteps as you walked briskly to keep up with him. Roman’s stride was confident and deliberate, each step resonating with a casual authority.

As you reached the kitchen, the contrast was striking: the space was modern and functional, with sleek countertops and stainless steel appliances. The ambiance was more casual from the mansion’s formal elegance.

“So, what school do you go to?” Roman asked, strolling over to the countertop where a coffee maker sat. He grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee, then turned around, leaning casually against the counter as he looked at you with a curious expression.

You softly scoffed, incredulous that he hadn’t even paid attention to you before. “We go to the same school. I’m actually in multiple classes with you,” you replied, your tone tinged with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Roman raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “Oh, really?” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “Guess I didn’t notice.”

You walked up to the kitchen table, setting your backpack on it with a sigh. “I guess not,” you muttered, feeling a bit exasperated. Settling down on one of the chairs, you looked up at him and said, “Let’s get to work.”

Roman took another sip of his coffee, watching you with a bemused expression. “Alright, let’s get to it then,” he said, pushing off the counter and walking over to join you at the table. “What’s first on the agenda?”

[tylermileslockett]

Chthonic Descent (#4 in my Orpheus and Eurydice series)

The Roman poet Virgil, in his poem “Georgics”, gives a lush description of Orpheus descent into Hades;

“…entering the grove gloomy with black horror, he approached the Manes (dead spirits), and the tremendous king, and the hearts that know not how to relent at human prayers. But the thin shades being stirred up by his song from the lowest mansions of Erebus moved along, and the Ghosts deprived of light… mothers and husbands, and the departed bodies of magnanimous heroes, boys and unmarried girls, and youths laid on funeral pyres before the faces of their parents, whom the black mud and squalid reeds of Cocytus, and the lake hateful with stagnant water encloses around, and styx nine times interfused restrains.”  (-translation from the Latin by John Martyn.)

         The word Chthonic in my title is an adjective describing something belonging to the underworld. This would be an apt time to discuss the structure and details of the ancient Greek underworld; the realm of Hades. Our oldest literary source in Homer’s “Odyssey” (700 B.C.) portrays the realm as dark, gloomy, and frightening. A place where all souls go, and lacking skin and bone; have no physical form. The shades (spirits) wander mindless, and without memory.

         In Virgil’s “Aeneid” (25 B.C.) we get a much more detailed account of the geography. Our hero Aeneas pays the boatman Charon to ferry him across the river styx, and after passing the three headed guard-hound Cerberus, they eventually come to a crossroad leading to two important realms; Tartarus (an invincible fortress guarded by one of the Furies, where sinners are punished) and Elysium (a sunny paradise where pure souls pursue leisure activities).

As always thanks for looking and reading. Please share this post and I'll toss charon a coin for you. Xoxo

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in march to kickstarter. Please check my links in my linktree in my bio to join the kickstarter notification page. 🤟❤️🏛

[hypnos333]

Changing Fate

Eros x Goddess reader

Synopsis: Fate had it easy for you as you were a goddess of fate until you got in the away with another’s fate

You were the daughter of Hera and Zeus, you were the third born after Ares and Hephaestus. Of course your parents adores you especially your mother. Being the goddess of Fate was easy then one, two, and three.

You were as beautiful as Aphrodite but you were no goddess of beauty.

“U-Uhm ___?” Eros called out holding your golden paged journal.

“Oh my Zeus! Thank you so much Eros” You said excitedly holding the book with delicacy. His wings flutter in shyness.

“Of course my cupid” He said back making you blush before hold the journal close to you.

“I should be calling you that Cupid” You flirted back making him blush again. He always haded feelings for you and since you lost your fate book you didn’t see that his fate now changed.

“So what should I call you? Oh! How about my love?” he asked excitedly making me agree instantly

“Whatever you like my cupid but right now I have to do my job” you said your goodbye. “Bye my love” Eros said back dreamily making you giggle as you turn back to your mansion.

You reread the journal to make sure everything was in shape in normal but it wasn’t….

See with the journal you can see everyone’s fate even gods or goddesses with Eros it holds a sparkling pink thread around his fate. It’s fading…. And not for the right reasons it should.

Eros fate is about love…

A king and queen has three daughters, all three of the girls are attractive but one of them is absolutely gorgeous- Phyche was her name. People would come all over to check out how beautiful she was. neglecting the proper worship of Aphrodite, instead prayed and made offerings to her. It was rumored that she was the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus from an unseemly union between the goddess and a mortal. Venus is offended, and commissions Cupid to work her revenge. Cupid is sent to shoot Psyche with an arrow so that she may fall in love with something hideous. He instead scratches himself with his own dart, which makes any living thing fall in love with the first thing it sees. Consequently, he falls deeply in love with Psyche and disobeys his mother's order. Although her two humanly beautiful sisters have married, the idolized Psyche has yet to find love. Her father suspects that they have incurred the wrath of the gods, and consults the oracle of Apollo. The response is unsettling: the king is to expect not a human son-in-law, but rather a dragon-like creature The transported girl awakes to find herself at the edge of a cultivated grove. Exploring, she finds a marvelous house with golden columns, a carved ceiling of citrus wood and ivory, silver walls embossed with wild and domesticated animals, and jeweled mosaic floors. A disembodied voice tells her to make herself comfortable, and she is entertained at a feast that serves itself and by singing to an invisible lyre. Although fearful and without the proper experience, she allows herself to be guided to a bedroom where, in the darkness, a being she cannot see has sex with her. She gradually learns to look forward to his visits, though he always departs before sunrise and forbids her to look upon him. Soon, she becomes pregnant.

One night after Cupid falls asleep, Psyche carries out the plan her sisters devised: she brings out a dagger and a lamp she had hidden in the room, in order to see and kill the monster. But when the light instead reveals the most beautiful creature she has ever seen, she is so startled that she wounds herself on one of the arrows in Cupid's cast-aside quiver. Struck with a feverish passion, she spills hot oil from the lamp and wakes him. He flees, and though she tries to pursue, he flies away and leaves her on the bank of a river.

The rest of his fate was faded

You stood there shocked, this never happened before… this should’ve never happened. Why is it fading?

The ink was supposed to stay as it should so why is his fate changing?

You couldn’t say that you were glad his fate was changing, you were falling for the cupid after all but that did not mean he couldn’t be happy.

All she could do was watch the ink disappear like his fate was never there, and hope a new fate can appear for him. You slammed the book shut and rush to make sure Eros was safe.

When you saw him getting an apple from a tree you immediately rushed to him with a hug. Eros almost fell from the rush of someone.

“Woah My love, are you alright?” he asked gently not wanting to trigger you.

You put your hands on his cheek to make sure he has no injuries. “Of course, Are you okay?” you asked worriedly.

“Yeah? ___ we saw each other ten minutes ago, what’s wrong?” he asked making you hesitate on the question it’s self. It’s not like you can hide his dying fate from him but know something could be wrong is killing you.

“Y-Your fate changed and I couldn’t do anything about it and I thought something was wrong” You admitted making him nod.

“My fate with a human girl?” he asked making you instantly nod.

“Yeah a-and wait how did you know?” You asked making him chuckle awkwardly before clearing his throat to explain.

“W-Well I look in the journal and saw how my fate went and honestly I don’t want that to happen because ___ goddess of fate i’m in love with you” He confessed making you blush in shyness.

“W-What?” You whispered.

“I got approval from you family especially Ares and Zeus even though they’re scary as hell but I was willing to do it for you and I have been falling for you for decades but you were to busy in your work” He explained

“Well Eros of love and sex I will happily be yours” You said making him spin you around in joy.

“I’ll definitely make you the most happiest goddess in this earth my love” he stated making you hum as you leaned in as you both kissed passionately.

[12thperigeeball]

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful mansion in the forests of Alternia. Perched on the banks of a heart shaped lake, this hive spent it's nights and days in relative peace. It was secluded and sparsely lived in - and within its walls it held a beauty that many a poet would sing songs about. Locked within it's walls, the beauty spent his time among the gardens tending to the roses and trees and speaking to the birds and rabbits that came to visit. Every living soul who came across this long lost princess adored him, whether they be troll, animal, or lusii.

But the fairy tale of the lost, secluded princess couldn't go on forever. Every story has it's beginning, it's troubles, and then it's end - and the princess's story was no different.

The moment the first snows touched the tips of the dying leaves of the mansion's woods, the princess locked himself in his chambers and began to plan. To end this story, to free him from his self imposed imprisonment, he must plan and throw the loveliest ball that Alternia has never seen and locate himself a King, Queen, and Couturier to reign over the winter courts.

And so it begun! Invites were sent enmasse - every troll that had a name, an inbox, or even stood still long enough for someone to find them had an invite in their hands! Dyed parchments with hand-lettered illuminated text told every citizen of the world of the princess's troubles, his desire to seat new royalty upon the 12th Perigee Ball throne.

Come one, come all, in your finest livery, to showcase to everyone that you have what it takes to become a divine ruler.

While trolls were hard at work preparing for the competition with dreams of gold and rewriting history, the princess beseeched the finest magicians he knew to come and glamor his hive to match the occasion. Almost overnight the mansion was transformed! Castle ramparts replaced plastered walls, golden molding framed each window and deep purple and gold carpets lined the halls - and the finest craftsmen the world has ever seen came to staff his kitchens and halls, turning even the sleepiest, quietest woodland hive into a bustling castle.

When the day of reckoning came, it was almost as though the princess had picked up her castle and placed it in another magical world. The closer guests came, the less snow there was. Dead plants transformed into vibrant living trees, dusted with ice and snow yet kept alive through the magic of the druids he beseeched in honeyed words to help. Magical beasts roamed through the trees, unicorns were glimpsed through the bushes as they watched the guests and even a small dragon flew overhead - guiding each guest through the timeless woods to the castle within.

Even the courtyard itself seemed as though it was from another, more divine world! The fountain was resplendent with glittering, gold water, a delicate tree made of silver and bearing ruby red apples stood as its centerpiece. A troll draped in loose white robes perched on the edges of the pond offered the apples to select passersby, promising them with a wink that a single bite will afford them the beauty and immortality of the gods if they were brave enough. Wizened storytellers entertained the guests with dramatic tales of the gods, of trolls with wings who flew too close to the sun, of trolls so brave to defy the gods that they sat in eternal agony in their punishments. Glided foods passed through the crowds on silver platters carried by trolls with wings on their feet and no troll was turned away from being treated like nobles.

But this was just a taste of what was to come! It wasn't long before the hidden magical grove had hit it's capacity - and it was time to allow the guests entrance to the castle. Knights formed at the castle entrance to welcome the Princess as horns announced his arrival and the crowds parted before the opening doors.

The Princess Kilran Barbas, in all his glory, stood behind the carved wooden doors as they opened flanked on both sides by knights in full gilded armor. Dressed in a tyrian pink dress dripping with clear crystals and gold, one would almost mistake his own caste! Gone was his normal orange and even his eyes were tinted the royal pink of Alternian royalty and his round face was framed with fins that even fluttered in the cool night air.

His powdered cheeks dimpled as he took in the crowds of the ball and he spread his jeweled hands to address them all. “Welcome, guests!” Kilran called out. “To the 12th Perigee Ball! I am yet again honored to host again this sweep, and I am excited to see the enthusiasm everyone has brought to my hive. Nothing brings me more joy than seeing your smiling faces! This event isn’t about wealth, or notoriety, or connections - but rather, the warmth we all share by being together this time of the sweep. Whether you came with a date or if you came alone, know that you are what makes this night truly special.”

“So please, come inside - and enjoy the Majesty and Mythos I’ve prepared for you this evening.”

With a wave of his hands and a delicate bow of his head, Kilran and his guards stepped aside as the guests surged forward to enter the mansion.

Guests entering the mansion may have thought they stepped into another world on the drive up to the grounds but they truly were not prepared for how they were transported into another realm entirely when they entered the halls. The normal ceiling of the ball was gone - replaced by clouds and constellations that seemed to hang and change in real time above their heads. Plush velvet carpets edged in gold lead the guests through the brick castle walls and knights stood at the ready as the crowds were guided through the lavish and rich decor of the castle. The grand gallery was the first place they were taken. The halls were framed with large, oil paintings of the Kings and Queens and Couturiers of sweeps past, resplendent and lit with torches that burned brighter than the passion of those who viewed them. They were a story long since told - and at the end of the hall stood two blank canvasses, painters waiting at the sides, ready to write the end of this tale. Next to these canvasses sat the prizes of the night: the crowns of the King and Queen and the resplendent royal cape of the Couturier, standing upon spinning pedestal so they caught the light from the foyer's torches in their glittering jewels.

The story was just beginning, the myth just starting to be told - and at the end of the night, it will have it's finest ending with three trolls ascending from the masses to join the history books, to be recognized and loved and have their story told from now until the end of time.

So how will this story end? What kind of king or queen will free the princess from his cursed solitude?

Well, that remains to be seen, wouldn’t it? But until the ink finally dries on the storybook, why not enjoy yourselves?

What will your character do?