#Decorated Neo-Gothic

[rabbitcruiser]

Doors, Gates and Windows (No. 84)

St. Patrick's Cathedral, NYC

[vintagehomecollection]

An iron bedstead of delicately graphic silhouette sets the tone of this bedroom. Graphic too are the stripes of the wallpaper, the Neo-Gothic bench in front of the fireplace, and the arrangement of the pictures whose gold frames harmonize with the autumnal coloring of the room.

The French Touch: Decoration and Design in the Most Beautiful Homes in France, 1988

[archivisionary]

The 3 faces of the Sagrada Familia.

Did you know that 3 sides of Gaudi's masterpiece are symbolic to 3 events in the life of Jesus? The birth, death and finally,eternal life

[abandonedography]

Concealed within the city’s busy streets, a breathtaking architectural gem emerges, its neo-Gothic influences and hexagonal turret commanding attention.

This early 20th-century chalet-style palace, commissioned by a local resident, was designed by a renowned engineer, showcasing the city’s rich heritage. Adorned with verdant tiles and a beautifully adorned stairway, the building’s decorative elements hint at the Art Nouveau movement.

The fate of this captivating structure hangs in the balance, its future uncertain as the city grapples with preserving its rich heritage. Will this palace-like gem reclaim its former glory? Or will it continue to languish.

Source: Jeroen Taal

[apilgrimpassingby]

One of my favourite aesthetics is one I haven't seen a name for and I'm not quite sure how to describe; I call it "urban dark Abrahamicana". My best attempt to describe it is through things I associate with it:

Hebrew and Greek writing (in certain contexts)

Classic angels dripping blood

Creepy lamb imagery

Run-down churches in deprived neighbourhoods - the congregation is afraid of criminals, the police and things living in the night

Candles burning in the dark

Cemeteries empty of people, but full of graves

Weird angels like the living creatures of Ezekiel 1

Sleep paralysis demons

St. John's Apocalypse (a.k.a. the Book of Revelation)

Prayers uttered in dilapidated flats (if you're American, that's an apartment)

Books of esoterica disguised as mundane ones and hiding in libraries

Mundane objects decorated with pictures of saints

Home altars/icon corners in the houses of poor people

Cities that are a combination of Brutalist and Neo-Gothic architecture

Demoniacs living on the edges of the community, either homeless or in run-down dwellings

Christ appearing as a homeless man; look through the black curls poking out from His beanie hat and you'll see the forehead scars

Crucifixes

A wanderer from out of town, carrying a Bible and a case of strange things

Se'irim sightings in abandoned factories

Fearful people performing dark rituals behind closed doors and in ruined buildings

Otherworldly figures in long coats who come appear to the abused in their darkest moments, and disappear once their mission is done

Secret gatherings of believers in underground tunnels

If anyone can think of any media like this, let me know - the closest I can think of is the album David Koresh Superstar, especially the tracks "The Woman Clothed With The Sun" and "A Book of the Seven Seals".

Tagging @idylls-of-the-divine-romance for his opinions about a name for this aesthetic and other things to go on the list, since his blog's pretty close to this.

[escapismsworld]

The Royal Portuguese Cabinet of Reading, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil.

Built in the Neo-Manuel style (Portuguese Neo-Gothic) by the architect Rafael da Silva, the library houses about 350,000 books. The library is mainly decorated with carved wooden bookshelves.

[starscatteredsky]

may We get an inbox check?

hi there! sure!!

since our last check two days ago, nothing new has been queued but plenty of things have been worked on and finished! so while it might not look like its moving, i promise it is :D

ill put it under a cut because its very very long!! we're doing our best to keep up with everything

have a good day! we're so sorry for the wait, we know things are backlogged :(

-🩸

queued and ready to post (subject to very little change, in order of when they'll post)

Tips and fashion for a shapeshifter

Tips for draculara

Fashion for a satyr

Darkcore fashion for a feral black german shepherd

Tips for paldean woopers

Tips/gear for a neanderthal 

Tips for the untitled goose

Tips for tsunami (wof)

Tips for an aibo

Tips for a disabled vampire

Fashion for a weather angel

Tips for a dragon and shark

Carekit for a god/void

Neos and fashion for N (murder drones)

Tips for a raccoon

Tips for zim/an irken

Tips for an eldritch horror

Tips for questioning fictionkin

tips /fashion for a sheep

Tips and fashion for a robotic wolf

Tips for a wallace hawk eagle

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Tips for poodles/chinese crested dogs

Tips for buckets

Denboard for a ferret

Tips for a robot/eldritch being

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Fashionboard for oscar pine

Tips for a tv

Tips for ball jointed dolls

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Tips for raven from the raven poem

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Tips for dave miller

Tips for scp-049

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Tips for jasper

Tips for cerberus

Tips for an albino american cockroach

Fashion for cerberus

Tips for frost

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Fashion for a burmese mountain dog

Tips for eevee

in drafts/wip/finished but not queued (in no order)

Tips and playlist for a warden (done, not queued)

Tips for bill cypher

Tips and fashion for a great horned owl

Fashion for an african wild dog (done, not queued)

Fashion for an orange persian cat (done, not queued)

Denboard and fashionboard for a vancouver island coastal wolf

Black cat and shark tips (done, not queued)

Punk fashion kit and tips for a pine marten

Tips  and den inspo for a wood mouse

Moodboard and tips for shadow demon

Tips and fashion for fern the human (adventuretime)

Fashion and home decor for the old web

Fashionboard for an angel

Sweater fashion kit

Tips and fashion for lilac (Orin Ayo)

70s/80s fashion for an incubus

Home inspo for yeerks

Tips fashion and recipes for a zim

tips for a corvid (done, not queued)

tips for a nightfury (done, not queued)

Tips and neos for quetzalcoatlus

tips and fashion for shadow the hedgehog (done, not queued)

Tips for space divines (done, not queued)

Tips for c!tubbo without explosions

Tips for a tiger with connection to space

tips for a border collie (done, not queued)

Tips for sparrows

Tips for lions

tips for an angel (done, not queued)

Tips for zekrom (done, not queued)

Dysphoria relieving tips for a general nonhuman (done, not queued)

tips for princess (done, not queued)

tips for qsmp philza (done, not queued)

vibes for a hobbit and vampire, moodboard for a hobbit and vampire

tips for an evil ocean deity (done, not queued)

tips for a cheagle (done, not queued)

tips for huldra (done, not queued)

tips for zelda (done, not queued)

tips for guiding lights (done, not queued)

tips for glimmer (done, not queued)

tips for kyouka izumi (done, not queued)

selfcare for a hobbit and room cleaning tips for a hobbit/vampire

tips for hell hounds, ghosts, and cyn (done, not queued)

tips/denboard for a gryphon

questions for connecting to hobbit kintype (done, not queued)

tips for connecting to clownpierce(done, not queued)

vampire and gothic fashion for scourge (done, not queued)

goth and alt fashion for an enderman (done, not queued)

colourful fashion for a moth 

fashion for a coyote (done, not queued)

Tips for C1tubbo

tips and outfit ideas for c!technoblade

tips for a purple blooded troll (done, not queued)

Tips for a halforc/elf humankin (done, not queued)

names and tips for a femme scott summers (done, not queued)

Tips for an otter (done, not queued)

Tips for a natural history museum and school lab

Tips for eleven

Tips for a shark kemonomimi (done, not queued)

Tips for mothman

fashion board for cole (done, not queued)

Grounding tips for fnaf sourced alters

Tips for raoul (done, not queued)

Tips for connecting to feeling catlike (done, not queued)

Tips for a service dog (done, not queued)

Tips for dragons (done, not queued)

Tips for husk

Tips for donnie

Colour neopronouns and tips for dressing masc and grunge

Tips for sebastian solace

Tips for a doglink with POTs

Pronouns for a calico cat

Tips for domestic dogs (done, not queued)

More tips for enderman

Tips for an enderman

Tips for a wolfthing

Tips for red foxes and housecats 

Tips for a centipede

Fashion for a coastal wolf

tips/fashion for the companion bots from stray

Tips for vampires

not started/inbox (in no order)

Tips for a space-man (KISS)

Tips for mark heathcliff (mandela catalouge)

Tips for scarlet (pearlecentmoon) and nihachu (genloss)

Tips for aven (worldless)

Tips for flippy (htf)

Tips for persecutor unicorns

Tips for micheal afton

Tips for dib membrane (invader zim)

Tips fpr a nextbot

Tips for ronja (robbers daughter)

Tips for deimos from madness combat

Tips for barney calhoun from half life 2

Thin man vibes

Tips for fan (inanimate insanity)

Tips for tardis

Tips for jordie holmes

Tips for jane doe

Tips for v1 (ultrakill)

Carekit for an alien

Carekit for venus (solarballs)

fashion for a scene cougar

fem fashion for a crow

names for a hobbit and recipes for a hobbit

fashion for the heart 

neos and xenos for even hansen

fashion for red heeler dog (REDO)

stimboard and masc fashion for a saarloos wolfdog 

fashion and moodboard for a harpy

Tips for Vee

Carekit for will graham

Tips and fashion for a robot

Tips for a fae and doormouse

Masc and neutral genders for foxes/canines

Tips for cats and batearred foxes

Tips for dating retro/vintage graphic cards

Tips for P03

Tips for Link

Fashion for Draven Kondraki 

Tips for Sherlock Holmes

Angel and void tips 

Tips for beetlejuice

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Tips and fashion for a horned black kite

Fashion for reginald copperbottom

Fashion for black wolves

Tips for zim and 2D

Fashion for a remnant

Fashion and info for raccoons

Tips and fashion for saihara

den board, tips and/gender ideas for German Malinois

Tips and carekit for N

Moodboard and stimboard for infected

Tips and fashion for harrison and preston

Marble hornets tips!

Golden retriever service dog moodboard 

Pink computer and candy moodboard

Fashion for a mimic

Playlist for erik

Moodboard for erik

Tips for a natural history museum 

Playlist for a fallen angel and otherkin term for past life memories 

Gordon freeman tips/carekit

Tips and fashion for a nightmare deity

Fashionboard and moodboard for major player

Tips for eldritch shapeshifters

Tips and fashion for an angel

Fashion for a cryptid

Fashion for a zombie

[whizzinpast]

Lord, Give Me One More Chance

Chapter 1: Requiem

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)

Chapter Warnings: Drug Abuse, Implied/References Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide Mentions

Chapter Summary: Till experiences an unusual chain of possibly unrelated events after the sixth round.

A/N: So, uhm, that Round 6 Behind The Scenes Patreon post, huh?

Anyway, give me your flower emojis below if you want to give that one design of Till in a black turtleneck + harness a big smooch and a fancy bouqet.

Read on AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

Till’s god died in the fifth round.

The last he had seen of her face was a beastly display of shrieks and torn Mercurian silk. Her long, lithe arms struck her fellow contestant, Luka of Guardian Heperu, hands clasping around his slim neck like a serpent’s jaw. She had beaten the man bloody. Sentinels dragged her and her wild tendrils of pink hair, kicking and screaming.

Then the stage was invaded. Amidst the red, flashing lights and blaring sirens, Mizi was taken out of the competition.

Ivan believed she was not dead. Till wasn’t nearly as certain. Heperu prayed she wasn’t— only so she could be brought back and have several holes burned into her skull, then have it screened live across the entire Virgo supercluster.

Regardless of her fate, something broke out of her skin that day. On the curated stage of a deceased segyein’s ossuary, something ripped its way out of her chest and left behind the dead skin of a depraved, grieving Mizi. Something too raw and too bloody to be worshiped.

Ivan knew it would not kill Till’s faith, but it was tested.

“No, no, I understand. As soon as the round is over, it’ll be off your shoulders. He can be very sweet, I promise, he’s just shy.” Ivan explained saccharinely over the phone. “Thank you. I wish you the best.”

His face fell as soon as he hung up.

Ever the opportunist, Ivan’s guardian sent him off to deliver gifts for Luka before he could make his way to Till’s containment chamber. Last he heard, Till’s hysteria was so loud he had to be collared, muzzled and accompanied by two sentries. If Ivan intended to keep his privileges, including his visits to Guardian Urak’s sector, he had to play his part.

And so, with his gloved hands clenching the package and flanked by two henchmen, he was driven to his guardian’s most sought-out business associate.

Guardian Heperu’s sector boasted a distinct luxury compared to Urak’s. Its expansive alabaster interior housed multiple floors exclusively adorned with trophies of diverse kinds. Ivan was greeted by a receptionist, who marveled at his absence of a collar. One polite smile and a compliment later, he was directed to the escalators.

Luka’s enclosure was at the top, a stunning cage of bone and glass. He was kept in a neo-Gothic chamber, with pointed arches and spinal columns holding up a dome of hazy glass panes. Ivan found him in a gazebo below the great oculus, propped up like a doll in a round, oversized bed and surrounded by cables and pale machinery. Against so much paleness, the bruises on his face can be seen from the entrance.

Ivan and his escort’s entrance was announced by an approving, tinkling sound when they crossed the doorstep. Their black attires broke the bleached monotony, capturing Luka’s and Heperu’s attention.

“If victory came at this price, I’d hesitate to congratulate you.”

Luka acknowledged his presence with a curious tilt of his moonlit head. He seemed otherworldly, as if he were never fully present in this world, the next, or any that followed—somewhere beyond reach.

Guardian Heperu stood by the bedside, his small mouth curling in displeasure. “Nonsense! All victories of the Alien Stage are bloody. This— this is—“ He vented all too eagerly, gesturing aimlessly at his prized possession, decorated with bruises instead of medals. “Absolute animosity. Unacceptable. Shine should be ashamed of herself.”

“All the more to perpetuate the true virtue of the victor,” Ivan said. “And all the victories to come.”

Heperu was pleased enough with his comfort before his bulbous, violet eyes were drawn to Ivan’s package. “You bring gifts?”

Ivan smiled cordially, then handed the steel box to one of his escorts so it could be carried to Heperu’s small, grabby fingers. He took off his white gloves, their purpose fulfilled now that the package was delivered without a trace of human contact.

“Guardian wishes Luka a speedy recovery. This is something you could use to keep yourself nourished and entertained before Luka’s next round. They’re the best on the planet.”

Heperu eagerly unlocked the box’s mechanism and peered inside. “Ah, Gara. Excellent, excellent! He knows how to sort his specimen well. I myself never had the patience.” He looked up at Ivan with a critical eye, and once again, seemed pleased with what he saw. “But you’ve turned out the finest I’ve ever seen. Are you certain you’re not homegrown?”

Ivan shook his head with a little laugh. “No. My qualities are my master’s.”

“Then your master has potential.” A bot was dispatched to take the package, so Heperu could fix the sleeves of his robe. His focus didn’t last long when his appearance demanded his attention. “Send him my regards, I cannot keep you here any longer. My child requires rest.”

Ivan bowed as he was shooed off by flicking gestures of Heperu’s hands.

“Poet.”

Luka’s need for oxygen was so desperate it sucked all breathable air out of the room. Ivan paused, and so did his escorts.

Mizi’s hand prints painted his neck a vicious pink. Heperu had the money to fix it before his next round, but until it was dealt with, it cracked Luka’s acclaimed baritone. “When should I be expecting your requiem?”

It was a better acknowledgement than his dull, absent-minded gestures— and a challenge. Ivan recognized it, and responded in kind, his shoulders squared.

“Soon.” He outstretched his hand in good will. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Instead of shaking it, Luka’s icy fingers took hold of his own. He pressed his lips against his knuckles, dried blood brushing against Ivan’s skin.

“I know,” he rasped, his blue lips stretching into a slow, sordid smile.

Ivan rarely believed in bad omens, but when he left the sector, he made sure to ask for wet wipes instead of contaminating his suit.

Till’s god died in the fifth round. The last he had seen of her face was when tin-cans gathered to keep her on her scratched knees and pointed a rifle at the back of her head.

Her dress was torn. Her fists sore. Mizi’s face was a twisted, alien grimace that showed the strained wrinkle of her skin and the vicious cut of her brow. Seeing her bathed in red lights made him think of Anakt flowers in full bloom, and it was terrifying. Till was terrified. Despite the distance, he could see it clear as day— he drew her jaw wrong. Not only the jaw, but the lips, too. The teeth. The eyes.

Ivan was right.

She was gone. Gone. Gone.

And Till was left all alone as a finalist, which called for celebration.

Urak rented a VIP lounge to a group of gold diggers. They lifted him up on a pedestal to sing them his woes. Till didn’t— sing his woes, that is. He sang whatever came on screen. They asked for Black Sorrow five times in a row. The most recent addition, Cure, seven. A mogul with two planets under his belt, whose name Till remembered only because of how it was growled against his neck, mentioned how he had more flavor than the previous reigning champion and the brand ambassador combined. Till barely processed that he was talking about Ivan, too.

Brand ambassador. Child protege. Model. Musical powerhouse. Titles spat at his face like he was supposed to know what it meant. Like he was supposed to know who Ivan was.

Ivan was.

He was.

That was it. He was; no longer is. What is— is a drenched corpse. Dried and cleaned. Displayed in a museum or hidden in the back of his owner’s freezer, right next to some bougie extract or segyein champagne. He was too expensive to be dumped. What is— is the white coat that Urak let him keep.

Urak’s associates laughed at his fortune, their spittle on his face, and pushed blue pills into his hands. No, it was the spindly one. The one on his neck. Karlak. He was no longer a mere pet, he said. Now, he could party like a segyein.

A dead part of Till, the one with the collar, would’ve told him to go fuck himself on a pike.

What remained of Till, the unshackled one, downed it like it was candy.

And it was easier—so much easier—when he was another famous acid freak, puppeteered by the bourgeoisie. Everybody could have a piece of him, the old money dickwads and the nouveau riche. Till was spun around, weightless, and brought back to the stage, where he sang and swayed for them. Even out of his mind, they thought he sounded like a fucking angel.

Till grunted, his pulsing temple pressed hard against the mic while he waited for the chorus, grasping ecstasy before it slipped through his fingers, like the blood, like the rain—

Ivan is— was— is—

Till’s voice cried out the lyrics and the room boomed. Thunder and lightning. Blazing trails streaking the sky.

Twisted freak. Snaggletoothed bastard. Handsome corpse.

Till knew the shape of his fist better than he knew him. He knew his dead-eyed gaze and the fake quirk of his lips, and the swathe of his pale skin plastered across every holographic billboard. Of course he wasn’t scared of dying. He was immortalized on every commercial Till came across. It would take weeks to wipe his image from public conscious. It would take centuries to wipe him from Till’s.

He walked off the stage and draped himself across some segyein’s lap, who offered him a shot and a pat on the back. Their claw ran through his sweat-soaked hair. In return, Till bore his neck to the room, and the room marveled, its walls sodden with blood and gold. The music smelled like booze, and Till could see cigarette smoke wafting in cloudy patterns above his head. His jaw parted so it could drip down his throat, his tongue curling for a taste, only to be greeted with nothing.

Bored, he stumbled to the stage and sang three more songs. Then he went back.

He tripped on something, and when he rotated, stumbling, he realized it was a comet-white corpse. Till went around it, and fell back onto a table with shatter-screams in his wake. White-hot light burned his eyeballs. He nearly thought they strapped him to a table to poke his skin again, until a spiked shell loomed from above and pincers clacked above his beloved neck. Something roamed across his chest, but Till’s limbs were made of rubber. His head lolled back over the edge of the table, and he flinched at how the room spun. Vertigo struck him. Curtains of pink hair covered the door of the lounge. A tall, anthropomorphic form phased through.

Somewhere between staring at all the unimaginable redness of everything and licking his incisors, a jagged sound crawled out of his throat. “Dead meat,” he laughed, “you’re all dead fucking meat.”

And then— a shatter.

The lounge stopped pulsing.

Groaning in effort, Till tilted his head upwards. Blood-soaked forms of segyein shifted around, and somewhere in the background, he could hear Ivan halfway through the second verse of Cure. Till’s head lolled around Karlak’s pincers to see what all the fuss was about, and was promptly disappointed. A tin-man. The same kind of one-eyed tin-man that dragged Mizi off stage and nearly shot her in the back of her pretty head. He could hear gargling sounds and some warbles. He didn’t know that tin-men could talk.

Its metal head swiveled to face Karlak’s hot-white eyes. Till watched as it stepped forward and raised its arm to—

—shoot Karlak’s skull clean through.

Till’s eyes blinked through the spray of violet fluids. Karlak’s decapitated body slid off him, rolled over and hit the ground with a hard thump, soft belly facing the ceiling.

Another deafening shatter rang out. Till watched with bloodshot eyes at the result. Colors. Colors spraying the walls. Blues and greens and yellows.

A massive indigo form screeched and stormed across the lounge, knocking over sofas. The tin-man blew a clean shot through one of their kneecaps, then another through their chest as soon as they collapsed. Their body skidded to a stop at the sentry’s feet. The room suddenly exploded with glorious, saturated colors, and Till’s hand violently twitched with inspiration.

The rest of the segyein scrambled to the door, clawing at the keypad in hopes of getting it open. One was dragged by the back of its uniform, smacked with the butt of a gun before its head was raised above the edge of a table— splat. Yellow. Its skull was battered once, twice, thrice in continuous splatters of neon liquids and marrow.

It continued. It squashed, punctured and melted forms like sculpting art. Till couldn’t bring himself to move. The show was too fucking good to be true. It only got better when the upholstery caught fire. That— that was when he started cackling.

This was his life. Nothing else could surmise it better: Till splayed out on a coffee table in a blazing VIP lounge, laughing like a maniac while a mad sentry masacred segyein to the sound of Ivan’s requiem.

He had to pause to take a breath and close his damp eyelids. His head was throbbing. When he opened his eyes again, the firey silhouette of the tin-man came into focus, bleeding black out of the gap in its left shoulder.

Then and there, in the center of chaos, was Till. Then and there, haloed by licks of flame, was the cold, red orb of the sentry’s optic.

A broad hand floated towards him, its fingers spreading to close his eyelids.

Till allowed it. He smiled for the cameras.

His body slumped backwards, falling into the familiar comfort of a black abyss.

He heard murmurs of rain. The wind’s whistle followed his descent.

Lower, and lower, and lower.

…

But the spotlight followed him, spearing the darkness to catch Till for one last show—

And Till had no other choice but to open his eyes to a pure, bone-white ceiling.

He screamed.

His hands flew up to claw his eyes out. To block the light. To fight it. To shut it off. Shut it off. He whined through ten minutes worth of mind-numbing agony before his pupils adjusted to the light.

It was a pain to look at, but Till could discern shapes. A ceiling, walls, furniture, floors. A pale figure perched on an old-fashioned, alabaster chair beyond the foot of his bed.

Till recognized him. It was the lab-grown showpony; the other finalist.

The bleached blonde ghoul sat with his legs up on the edge of the seat, his chin resting on his knees while he spun colorful sections of a cube-shaped puzzle. He was mumbling something into his knees.

Till felt something on his face twitch.

“Hey.”

Silence.

Till growled harder, “Hey.”

The ghoul’s, the other finalist’s, eyes snapped upwards.

Gracefully, he hopped off the chair, his white nightgown flowing as he walked, glided, to Till’s bed.

“Where—“

In one smooth motion, he laid his palm down and lifted his legs up onto the sheets, hopping into the bed right beside Till’s frozen body. He leaned in close and personal. Thick, pale lashes brushed against his bloodless cheeks. Up close, there was too many wrong things to consider him human. It was Ivan, but worse. It was manufactured humanity, copy-pasted until it was mere parody of the source material.

“Who did you see?” He asked in a curious, lilting tone.

“What?”

“Not what,” the ghoul sighed and that, too, was musical. “Who?”

Till’s gaze skittered to anything except his murky, champagne eyes. “Flowers, rainbows and dancing corpses. T’was a death parade and I was the only guy alive. Dunno. I was tripping.”

He stared for a solid five seconds before his gaze glazed over, and his mind went fuck-knows-where. Till forced himself to clench his teeth through it, and waited. The competitor rolled his neck. His blue fingertips tapped absentmindedly against Till’s new collar.

He didn’t tell him anything. He sat, he thought, then his lips pursed in a delicate, peeved motion before he slid off the sheets, barely leaving a wrinkle. Till couldn’t even form a sentence before he slipped out of the room with his cube puzzle.

And left him alone with the sentry posted beside the door.

Till released a long, painstaking groan. Nothing was making sense. Urak’s shindig was a blur of colors that still made him crave paint and paper. He assumed he spent his night comatose. The reality of his visions was too questionable to be considered reliable. In which case, why did the ghoul ask him about it? What was he asking him about?

Till’s gaze was drawn to the sentry. It barely differed from the one he saw that night. Same height, same white plating, same optic. Different optic color, indigo; two arms, both intact; and a less robust frame. It didn’t make it look any less capable of snapping a human in half.

Generally, they can’t talk.

“Hey. Tin-can,” Till nodded at it. Its head calmly shifted his way. “Where am I?”

“Heperu’s sector.”

Its voice was smooth and modulated, like a filtered human voice. The organic nature of it sent shivers down his spine.

“Why? Urak lost a bet?”

“Urak has been fatally injured in a surprise attack by the Human Resistance Forces.” It explained in an unnervingly calm tone. “Ten investors were murdered on his property, half of which was lost to bombing.”

Till’s silence was long and heavy.

His head hit the bed frame. The canopy above his bed was so clean and pristine it made him want to climb up and smash it open.

“How— how long is it gonna take him to recover?”

“A month at least. Guardian Heperu volunteered to keep you until his recovery.”

A month. A whole month.

Till couldn’t tell whether he should laugh or cry or both.

Something bunched up in his throat. He swallowed it down and inspected the room. It was so white he could’ve been in a medical facility, and yet, the hue signified more age and less disinfectant.

The size of it, the segyein calligraphy carved into the ivory pillars; the massive, pointed window showing off a view of the two moons circling their host planet; his canopy bed with white chiffon sheets and pointed arches— it was night and day compared to the kitschy indulgences of Urak’s newly attained riches.

This room had none of that. This room had history. It was old money, through and through.

“Is this—“ Till’s arm vaguely gestured at the room, “—mine?”

“This is your enclosure.” The sentry nodded, then gestured at the wardrobe opposite of his bed, an ornate capsule with rib-like engravings. “You can find some of your belongings here, although some of it was damaged in the fire.”

“You come with the package or what?”

“I was assigned to be your escort and bodyguard until the winner of the fiftieth Alien Stage is declared.” The sentry placed its hand atop the holster on its hip. “There is reason to believe that HRF will make attempts on the contestants’ lives in order to sabotage the competition.”

Gingerly, and with far less grace, Till slid out of the bed. He was barefoot, and the tiles were cold and worn under his soles as he made his way towards the capsule. He didn’t know how they knew what his belongings were. Till had never owned much in the first place.

The wardrobe clicked open. The contents made his face morph into a pained expression.

The sentry was right; it was all his. The sketchbook, a stack of papers clamped together with staples, tape and sheer force of will; the two pencils and a pen, one used to vandalize his first page with Ivan’s clean, blocky signature; a slightly singed recorder; and the coat.

Till’s fingers reached for it. The edges of its coattails were heavily singed. The three holes, rusted over with blood, were still there.

He clenched his teeth, shoved the damn thing back inside and slammed the wardrobe closed.

Till had nothing and nobody. No believers, no gods. And yet, Ivan’s death made him impervious to wasting his life out of spite. He couldn’t do it by overdosing. He couldn’t do it by giving in to a HRF fighter’s gun. His fate was in the hands of Alien Stage— again, and forevermore.

There was no other route of escape except one: a demonstration. Win and kill the overpriced pet or die by gunfire, or whatever the tin-cans decide to do after he slaughters the fan favorite.

He pivoted, then made a beeline towards the door with his heels stamping prints on the fancy floor. “Tin-can, show me around.”

The sentry perked up. “It is recommended for you to rest one more day.”

“Can’t,” Till said grimly. “I need to write a requiem.”

The sentry didn’t respond immediately. Its indigo optic flickered. It stared through him, beyond him. Till thought it would block the way, until it smoothly stepped aside, and grandiosely gestured at the door. It spoke like he was more than a mangled thing covered in weary flesh.

“As you wish.”

AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

[gonetoforks]

A bit of a hot take; I hope if Frida gets introduced properly with an official name, it will be something other than Frida?

(omg this rant became so long please read it tho i’m going insane)

I hope so because I feel like it would characterize her life (assumably) being raised by Big Mama a bit more, since her design tastes as we see through her hotel’s decor leans a lot towards old money art deco motifs combined with gothic architecture. I feel like Frida Kahlo’s primitivism and surrealism would be a bit out of character? Or at least a missed opportunity for some characterization.

(Okay maybe it’s not quite gothic but idc, let me speak-)

See here all the difference between Big Mama’s taste and Frida Kahlo’s paintings, I’m not saying she wouldn’t like her work, I just think that if Big Mama designs all her estates with such a clear creative vision & what seems to be her own personal tastes (*cough cough* old money ass fashion sense *cough cough*) I feel like she’d be more knowledgeable and/or more partial to a different area of the art world for Kahlo to be enough of her favorite to name her personal assistant/maybe I hope surrogate daughter after her?

I like to think if Big Mama named her after some artists she personally liked, I think she might lean more towards artists from the art deco scene like Tamara de Lempicka, or Sonia Delaunay.

Or maybe gothic architects could give her a name truer to the hidden city and battle nexus architecture that she’d’ve been surrounded by her whole life. All those gargoyles and sprawling jagged designs once you push past the illusion of Big Mama’s normal hotel front make such a dichotomy! Julia Morgan (the lady who designed California’s Hearst Castle which, “mixes Spanish Colonial, Gothic, Neo-Classical and Mediterranean Revival style all in one property.” I think that would be such a good combination of styles to reference with Big Mama’s choice on what to name this person omg) and Odile Decq are such pretty names!!

I love Odile Decq’s personal style and work on one particular building sm, the Phantom Restaurant of the Garnier Opera.

LIKE OMG THAT JUST SCREEAAAMMMS BIG MAMA, she would absolutely name a girl after the lady who’d design that and you cannot convince me otherwise. And Odile would fit in with “Michelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael” so well omg. And look at this woman, look at her style, she NEEDS a ninja turtle named after her omg.

And finally, a bit controversial but I never really liked the name Frida in the first place?

Don’t get me wrong, her work is legendarily meaningful and skillful. It’s just that in recent years, she’s been packaged and sold as this “girlboss feminist icon” because of her suffering, and because of that, her image in pop culture has kind of been watered down to the point where it feels like if they were to name her Frida, i’d think like, all the thought that went into it would be, “okay she’s a girl, what girl painters do we know?” Which (although well intentioned-) kinda feels like reverting back to stereotyping her as “the girl one” even though that’s what they were trying to avoid by not naming her Venus? If that makes sense? So I’m glad her name isn’t concrete yet lol.

And OMG I WANT HER NAME TO BE ODILE SO BAD NOW YOU DONT EVEN KNOW💖✨💝‼️✨ I only found her work literally as I was typing this but I just love that building and how much Big Mama would absolutely love that building, she needs to be named Odile, look at her face, that’s an Odile face <3

Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, and Odile, (and maybe Kirby? :D) i love itt

[scotianostra]

The Scottish painter William Dyce died on February 14th 1864 in Streatham.

Born at 48 Marischal Street in Aberdeen to a well off family William was educated at the Royal Academy schools, and then travelled to Rome for the first time in 1825. While he was there, he studied the works of Titian and Poussin.

Dyce was highly cultured and widely talented (he was an accomplished musician and wrote learned essays on antiquities and a prize-winning paper on electromagnetism), but initially he was successful mainly as a rather conventional portraitist in Edinburgh.

In 1837 he moved to London to work for the newly founded Government School of Design (which developed into the Royal College of Art) and he made a tour of state art schools in France and Germany to study their methods. His report on his findings led to his appointment as superintendent (director) of the School in 1840. He resigned in 1843, but he remained a central figure in the art world—indeed ‘there was no major [artistic] undertaking in mid nineteenth-century Britain in which he did not play either an executive or advisory role’.

In particular he was a key figure in the revival of fresco painting, which was stimulated mainly by the mural decoration (begun 1843) of the new Houses of Parliament. Dyce’s own work there has deteriorated badly, but his Neptune Resigning to Britannia the Empire of the Sea is one of the best preserved of all Victorian frescos. This was one of several royal commissions for Dyce, who was a favourite of Prince Albert. In addition to murals, he produced a varied range of easel paintings, from high-minded religious scenes (he was a devout Christian) to the delightfully sentimental Titian’s First Essay in Colour his Pegwell Bay, Kent is considered one of the most remarkable of all Victorian landscapes.

Dyce’s strong colours, firm outlines, naturalistic detail, and thoughtful sincerity of approach formed a bridge between the Nazarenes and the Pre-Raphaelites, and Ruskin said that it was Dyce who gave him his ‘real introduction’ to the Pre-Raphaelites when, at the 1850 Royal Academy exhibition, he ‘dragged me literally up to the Millais picture of the Carpenter’s Shop, which I had passed disdainfully, and forced me to look for its merits’.

He was working on the frescoes in Westminster when he collapsed, and later died at his home in Streatham on 14 February 1864. He was buried at St Leonard’s Church, Streatham. A nearby drinking fountain, designed in the neo-Gothic style by Dyce, was subsequently dedicated to him by the parishioners.

Pics are a bust of the artist, Sir James McGrigor, Life Study (Head of Christ), A highland Ferryman and the grave of William Dyce.

[thenightling]

My favorite Goth sub-sub-cultures and genres

Goth has evolved a lot from the fans of genre specific music of the 70s to 1990s. It still has its roots in the music and heavily with a particular aesthetic.

I'm an old school but not quite "elder Goth" yet (I'm forty-two). And I'm a cross between Neo-Victorian Goth and Halloweeen Aesthetic Goth. I'll explain both of those as best I can.

A Neo-Victorian is a Goth who likes Nostalgia, particularly things that resemble the look and feel of late nineteenth century England and New England (North East US). Many Neo Victorian Goths wear nineteenth century fashion. I, myself, love nineteenth century style Goth attire but I prefer male Neo Victorian Fashion to womanly. Neo Victorians also tend to love antiques and antique reproductions. One of the earliest examples of a Neo Victorian Goth look can be found in Goths of 1992 trying to emulate Gary Oldman's Dracula in London look. For music most Neo Victorians tend to favor people like Aurelio Voltaire, certain scores by Danny Elfman, Gothic music that incorporates old fashioned instruments and especially the use of Violins, piano, and sometimes even a theremin. The music is more Gothic than Goth though there is Goth that fits the aesthetic. There's a romanticism to it. And a lack of cynicism that can be found in some other branches of Goth. ___________________________ Halloween Aesthetic Goth Halloween Aesthetic Goth is a more playful side of Goth culture that embraces a self-aware cheesiness while also unashamedly loving all the tropes and cliches we associate with the holiday. It a respectful love of things other people tend to only enjoy seasonally. These are the sort of Goths who leave Halloween related items out all year or collect Halloween related things and do home decoration shopping during the Halloween season and in Halloween stores or Halloween sections of stores.

The music connected with this branch of Goth also entails artists like Aurelio Voltaire but also delves into the Goth adjacent. Pretty much anything that plays on Halloween radio dot net. Novelty songs and any music about Gothic topics or set a Gothic mood. This can entail Halloween party music that you wouldn't associate with Goth culture though Bauhaus could fit in here too but also things as old (or older) than Bobby "Boris" Pickett's Monster Mash, and as recent as Creepy Crawlies by Scary Bitches.

[visit-new-york]

What are the main materials used in the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Brooklyn Bridge stands as an iconic symbol of engineering prowess and architectural marvel, connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn in New York City. Its construction, which began in 1869 and was completed in 1883, marked a significant leap forward in bridge engineering during the 19th century. At the heart of this magnificent structure lie a variety of materials that were carefully selected to withstand the test of time and provide the strength and stability needed to support the bridge's massive weight and endure the forces of nature.

Foundations and Substructure:

The foundations of the Brooklyn Bridge are built upon a series of caissons—watertight chambers that were sunk to the bedrock below the East River. These caissons served as the base upon which the towers of the bridge would rise. Constructed using timber and brick, the caissons were then filled with compressed air to keep water out, allowing workers to excavate the riverbed and lay the bridge's foundations. Granite blocks were used to create the towers' outer layer, providing a sturdy and enduring base.

Superstructure:

The superstructure of the Brooklyn Bridge, including its towers and main span, is primarily composed of limestone, granite, and Rosendale cement. The limestone and granite provide the necessary strength and durability, while the Rosendale cement—a type of natural cement produced in Rosendale, New York—acted as the binding agent in the construction of the bridge's arches and towers.

Suspension Cables:

The most distinctive feature of the Brooklyn Bridge is its elegant web of suspension cables. These cables are made of high-tensile strength steel, a revolutionary material for the time. The steel cables were galvanized to protect against corrosion, ensuring the long-term stability of the bridge. The cables were meticulously woven and anchored into the bridge's towers and anchorages, distributing the load and supporting the immense weight of the bridge deck.

Decking and Walkways:

The decking and walkways of the Brooklyn Bridge were constructed using wooden planks. Originally made from longleaf yellow pine, the wooden decking has undergone various replacements and renovations over the years, adapting to the evolving demands of modern traffic. Today, the bridge features a reinforced concrete deck topped with asphalt, providing a smooth surface for vehicles and pedestrians alike.

Decorative Elements:

The Brooklyn Bridge's towers and other decorative elements showcase an array of materials, including granite, limestone, and limestone blocks. The neo-Gothic arches and intricate details that adorn the towers contribute to the bridge's aesthetic appeal and make it a true work of art.

Conclusion:

The construction of the Brooklyn Bridge stands as a testament to the innovation and engineering prowess of the 19th century. A careful selection of materials, combining strength, durability, and aesthetic appeal, was crucial to the success of this historic structure. Today, as the Brooklyn Bridge continues to serve as a vital link between two bustling boroughs, its enduring legacy serves as a reminder of the importance of thoughtful material selection in the world of civil engineering and architecture.

[loiladadiani]

The Vladimir Palace

Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich's Palace was the last imperial palace completed in Saint Petersburg. Building took place between 1867 and 1868, but decoration work continued for several years (until 1874). The Palace was blessed on the date the Grand Duke married Maria Pavlovna, and the couple moved right in. The palace's facade was done in the neo-Renaissance style; the interiors are in different styles: Neo-baroque, neo-rococo, neo-gothic, Russian, and “Moorish style.” The Vladimir Palace has 360 rooms.

A photograph of a staircase that has become iconic.

Today, the palace looks very much like it did when it was being inhabited by the Vladimirs. Many of the Grand Duke's exquisite collections of paintings, porcelains, etc., remain complete and undamaged.

The photographs above show the palace's theater, where the Vladimirs held frequent concerts and recitals in honor of their guests.

The Vladimir Palace owes its excellent state of conservation to the fact that after the October Revolution, the palace was made the 'Academics' House' (Дом Учёных, named after Maxim Gorky); the building was frequented by academics and scientists who knew the historical value of the palace and its contents and thus treated their surroundings kindly. Consequently, its interior is better preserved than other Romanov family residences. Much attractive tiling and many internal architectural details have been retained. Not only have collections been maintained, but some have been expanded.

The picture below is the "oak room,". One can easily imagine a ball taking place in it.

Photographs of some of the sumptuous living spaces in the palace, including one of the library.

Photographs of the Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna's famous Moorish boudoir. Notice the detailed tile work.

The Vladimir Palace is not a museum, but tours are given. It has become the meeting point of St. Petersburg’s social, cultural, intellectual, and scientific existence.

[garrettwrites]

There's a particular type of post that I hate for it misses the entire point of some online "aesthetic" communities, via total exaggeration of the majority of people that are part of it.

You need to understand what a fantasy is. Even if it's unrealistic and you hate it. Because it's a fantasy, sometimes an escapist one, not reality.

I was raised in rural areas from 11 to around 20, first because me and my mother moved to live with a friend, and then because I was orphaned. I know the hard work of living in the countryside. I know what it is like to carry tones of wood from the truck to the garage to heat up the house and water for winter. I know how cows infest the nearby areas with flies and the smell of shit. I know chickens are disgusting. I know no white clothing would remain white for long. I know you sometimes live so far from the nearest market you need to use a car (thankfully I only had to walk twenty minutes).

Cottagecore or any variation of it are not that. They are a fantasy. An escapist dream. The return to a glamourized pastoral genre of fiction and ideology. Cute homes that remain always cozy (despite you never deep cleaning them). Baking complex recipes in your beautiful and plant covered kitchen (which magically has no flies). Taking a stroll to a nearby river and resting there for a bit (your house came from the sky and you didn't pay an exorbitant amount of money for the location). Having so many books and old fashioned hobbies and knowing how to both tend to a garden, do embroidery, crochet and woodworking (because this is your ideal world so you have no job taking up time). You have time to write your books, draw your art, maybe go out with your countryside friends. You may have a loving, imaginary partner who is just part of the picture too (because they're not real, so you can imagine them as unrealistic as you please).

Same applies to the dark academia or whatever.

It's a fantasy. A fantasy you can try to bring little by little into your life, but it's ultimately impossible to fully achieve. Chill out. You're not cool and quirky by hating on people who make extensive and picture perfect pinterest boards or run sideblogs with pictures of expensive stoves and animal themed pottery. You just look like an asshole.

"But farm life isn't like that!!!!!" So what? As long as people don't think caring for cows is easy and cheap, and get one only to mistreat her due to negligence... I don't see how their fantasy is harming anyone.

Some people accept unrealistic, borderline insipid (imo) books because "everyone has a different taste". Books you actually pay for. But then you shit on people who are posting pictures of dreams with zero real world consequences involved? It's the exact same thing.

"But people will start thinking it's fun when it ain't!" If you go ahead and buy a farm, waste thousands on decorations, get twenty chickens and five cows without any research... it's not because of a pastoral fantasy. It's because you're an idiot who doesn't think of the ramifications of your actions. We all have fantasies. Good lord.

My fantasy is to have a small neo gothic palace with a farm on the back, near the woods and with a small stream running through. It snows there, because I've never seen snow. Everything is dark and with a vague vampire theme mixed with neo-classic stuff, along with wall and ceiling paintings. I have expensive turkish rugs and tapestries with mythological scenes. I have a loving husband and two cats, along with a mare. I spend my days writing books and drawing illustrations, ocasionally doing history papers. My gigantic home is always clean despite no one doing so. Later, I have a child running through the place. Food is always warm, coffee always served.

Do I think I'll ever get this? Fuck no. But it's a goddamn fantasy for a reason, and as a writer, I can also commit it to paper. Who cares about how hard maintaining such a house would be? I don't live in it.

[watagashiiiii]

🧠 stardew valley

　　 mod list ① 🧠

🗼Buildings

🧠 SF Daphne's buildable ice cream truck

🧠Cozy Hut House

🧠(SF) Shyzie's String Lights

🧠Q's Shipping Bin Overhaul

🧠IdaIda's Seasonal Gothic Buildings (for CP and AT)

🧠Stable and tractor garage

🧠Updated Unofficial CP Seasonal (and Non-Seasonal) Grandfather Clock by Endohare (Nantucket Recolor Only)

🧠Decorative Rarecrow Vendors

🦹Characters

🧠Morris Redeemed

🧠The Last Smoluanu - A Dwarf Expansion.

🧠Morris Personality Enhancement

🧠Shane (Normal and Beach) - New Portrait 1.0.4

👁️Cheats

🧠Move It

🧠Self Serve

🧠CJB Item Spawner

🧠CJB Cheats Menu

🧦Clothing

🧠Json Assets - Kawaii Hats (Unofficial Conversion)

🧠Kyuya's hats pack

🧠IdaIda's Farmer's Shirts (for CP and FS)

🧠Seasonal Hats (Fashion Sense)

🧠(FS) Missy's Shirts

🧠Hats and Horns

🧠NPC Wearable Hats

🧠NPC Clothing Framework

🧠StarAmy's Wild Fashion

🧠Witchy Rustic Looks for Fashion Sense

🧠Kyuya's accessories pack

🧠FS Kisekaes skirts

🧠(FS) RoseDryad's Fairy Wings And Accessories

🧠FS The Coquette Collection

🧠FS Wabi's Wardrobe

🧠NPC mask front shura

🔨Crafting

🧠Organic Lamps

🧠Duck Crab Pot

🧠Villager Photos

🧠Ellie's Decorative Fences and Gates

🧠Void's weird Wonders - Craftables (CP and AT)

🧠Hisame's New Craftables

🍉Crops

🧠Quaint Living - Flower Garden

🧠Floral Megamix

🧠Lumisteria Flowers and Crops

🧠(AT) Giant Flower Varity

🧠neo's giant flowers

🧠6480's Giant Crops for Better Crops and Foraging

🧠More Giant Crops

🧠Hybrid Flowers

🧠Character planting

🧠Wild Food - A Forage Expansion Mod

🧠Wildflour's Pixie Forage

🧠PPJA - Farmer to Florist

🧠Morris Berry

🎠Events

🧠Event Repeater - A useful tool for Content Patcher Modding

🧠Community Center Reimagined

🏞️Expansions

🧠Quaint Living - Wildflowers

🧠Lunna - Astray in Stardew Valley

🧠East Scarp

🧠Adventurer's Guild Expanded

🧠Forage of Ferngill

🧠Garden Village Shops for CP

🧠Ridgeside Village

🪸Fishing

🧠Axolotls in Stardew Valley

🧠Unique Fish Additions

🧠Pokemon Fish

🧠Beautiful Blobfish

🧠More New Fish

🪞Furniture

🧠Decorative Bushes - DGA and AT

🧠(AT) Shyzie's Seasonal Rugs

🧠Boho Rug Collection

🧠(DGA) RoseDryad's Cute Animal Flower Decorations

🧠Townsfolk Posters

🧠(AT) Hat Paintings

🧠AT- Furnicolor (Recolors and reinterpretations of furniture)

🧠Weapons on Display

🧠(AT) Bunny Decoration

🧠(AT) Shyzie's Rugs

🧠Undersea Decorations

🧠AT - Furniture Redone... Redone

🧠(Alternative Textures) Alya's Furniture Recolor Pack

🧠IdaIda's Furniture Recolor (for AT)

🧠Octopus Plushies - AT

🧠AT - More banners - DELETED - DELETED

🧠(AT) More Bearz

🧠Antique Plasma TV (Alternative Textures)

🧠(Alternative Texture) Kirby Plushies

🧠Kirby Plush (AT)

🧠(DGA) Kids Furniture

🧠(DGA) Holiday Event Furniture

🎮Gameplay Mechanics

🧠Custom Cask Mod

🧠Custom Crystalarium Mod

🧠Growable Giant Crops (Shovel)

🧠Better Chests

🧠Help Wanted

🧠Passable Crops

🧠Smart Building

🧠Hybrid Crop Engine

🧠Too Many Animals

🧠Multi Yield Crops

🧠Crops Anytime Anywhere

🧠BusLocations

🧠Train Station

[budapestbug]

The Fisherman’s Bastion is, in all likelihood, one of the most visited attractions in Budapest. This is the place where locals and tourists come to enjoy the city views. But what is the history of Halaszbastya? Why is the bastion so decorative rather than defensive as bastions are? First let’s see the quick facts in the short history, and then the extended version for those who want to learn more. The Fisherman's Bastion was built between 1895 and 1902 as part of the series of developments that were to celebrate the 1000th birthday of the Hungarian state. Consequently, the Bastion was inspired by the architectural style of the early medieval times (Neo-Romanesque) approx. the year 1000, when the first Hungarian king started his rule. What is more, the 7 towers of the Halaszbastya features the 7 Hungarian chieftains who had led their tribes to the present day Hungary to settle down in 895, and the Statue of St Stephen (1906), the first Hungarian king (1000-1038). In short, it is a historical monument for the millennial Hungary. The architect of the Halaszbastya is Frigyes Schulek, who also restored and redesigned the Matthias Church (Church of Our Lady). The construction of the Fisherman’s Bastion is intertwined with the restoration of the church: its historical architectural style was also picked to suit the church redesigned in a later medieval style (Neo-Gothic). The T shaped Bastion arrangement was to embrace the church while enhancing its beauty, and also to connect the Castle hilltop with the Danube side settlement, Fishtown aka Watertown. The bastion was built as a viewing terrace with lookout towers on the base of a stretch of the castle walls (from the 17-18th century, built after the Buda Castle Siege). Rather than building sturdy thick stone walls, the intention was to present the locals with a communal panorama terrace, as the Buda Castle was no longer considered to be a military place. The romantic notion was to recall the old times, so Halaszbastya is often likened to a castle prop, which does not feel real. It was meant to be like a fairy tale, feel like history rather than be history. The ceremonial, wide stairs leading up to the Fishermen’s Bastion provide a dramatic entrance to the Castle Hill attractions and to the views of the Pest side sights. The stairway features further historical statues, from bottom to top: the Statue of John Hunyadi, the statue of St George Piercing the Dragon (the replica of the 15th century statue in Prague made by medieval Hungarian masters, the Kolozsvari Brothers), and the 10th century soldiers guarding the gate (at the top of the stairs, under the arch). The Bastion was damaged in WW2, but soon restored by the son of the architect. By the 1980s, the walls of the Bastion became grey due to the household fumes, and urban air pollution. Also, many of the statues were in neglect (losing limbs, crumbling face, etc.). Thank to the Castle District municipality – urging the state and the capital to contribute to the enormous restoration costs – Halaszbastya is fully restored now.