#yes this is a gothic story

[myfanfictiongarden]

Just one more thing to add: ep2 proved that Sister Agatha is the most badass there is.

[fightingwithallreality]

The Enchanted Horse (1992) written by Magdalen Nabb, illustrated by Julek Heller

For @horsefigureoftheday

[phantomsofmyformerself]

why is lestat's turn of events more truthful than louis'?? like, no doubt about it that louis is an unreliable narrator. which he also does admit to himself, he is very aware that he is speaking from his perspective and he doesn't know everything and time does change memories and views of those memories.

but why do so many people in the fandom believe lestat over louis? why is he automatically more reliable and truthful than louis?

[tigerfancy]

tHaT wAs ThE wOrSt TaKe On ClAsS cOnCiOuSnIoUs I'vE eVeR sEeN, eMerAlD fEnNelL iS pOsH aNd ThE FiLm HaD nO bAcKbOne

bestie, idk who lied to you, but that film was never meant to be an eat the rich film. there is a huge difference between messaging and setting and I am begging everyone to understand that.

[pasdetrois]

Marina Dyachenko and Sergey Dyachenko, Vita Nostra (tr. Julia Meitov Hersey) • Mircea Suciu, Camouflage (2) • Agostino Arrivabene, Immutatio • Matthias Claudius, "Der Tod und Das Mädchen" • Henry Fuseli, The Nightmare • Dragan Bibin, Pull (edited) • Maria Kreyn, Angel's Back • Franz Wimmer, Death and the Maiden • Mel Chin, Bat and Dove • Ana Sanchez, Death and the Maiden

[drownthesuncharthemoon]

hear me out: you and I are having a real fun time in the treehouse in the haunted forest behind our badass goth mansion (we're roomies) and it's like 2 in the morning and we only have candlelight and we tell scary stories to eachother deal or no deal yes there's snacks and blankets but the blankets have kitties on them deal with it

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[weirdlookindog]

Kenneth M. Skeaping - Ye Skeleton of Mister Johnson

illustration from Jerome K. Jerome's 'Told After Supper', 1891

[harrowscore]

my brother just told me my book would probably be popular on tiktok and. ngl i almost strangled him lmao

[conditionaljewel]

Modern day AU

Laudna and Imogen get tickets to a lower league soccer game

Laudna’s super into it and very excited the entire time, yelling for players to rip another’s head off after a particularly bad challenge

Imogen’s just there because Laudna really enjoys it but it’s not exactly her thing

But as the game goes on Imogen slowly gets more and more into it, especially once the home team gives up a game-tying goal late on.

Laudna, who has been on her feet cheering and dancing with the rest of the supporters, is losing her voice as a forward streaks down the wing past where the two of them are sat. Imogen is just amused and entertained watching her have so much fun when she sees the player sprint past her wearing black and yellow, just like Laudna’s outfit, just like everyone’s outfit around her, and now she’s focused on them and the theatrics.

Imogen watches along with the rest of the crowd, all of them standing and following the player’s movement down the field, weaving their feet around the ball, before coming to a slowed stop, only to double back in an attempt to shake the defender away. Managing to do so, they spin once more and, with quite a bit of spin and power, kick the ball with the instep of their foot towards the goal area

Not realizing what she was doing, Imogen finds herself on the edge of her seat, as the ball meets the head of another player in the same black and yellow color

The ball bounces off his head, aimed downward toward the ground, where there’s a person in bright pink waiting to snare it. A gasp.

Suddenly another player’s foot, this person also wearing black and gold, strikes the ball before it even hits the ground and knocks it past the man in pink’s waiting arms and into the back of the net.

Imogen yells before Laudna, jumping up and grabbing into her shoulder and excitedly starting to give high five’s to everyone around her. Laudna also celebrates with the strangers around her, before turning back to Imogen and giving her a hug

Just then, the players are all running back past them with their arms waving excitedly, trying to get the crowd even louder, as the team wearing pink looks dejected and disappointed

As soon as the ball is kicked off once more, only after a handful of passes back and forth, the whistle goes again indicating the game is over.

The crowd continues to cheer even louder as fireworks start to go off from outside the small stadium. Laudna and Imogen both continue to hug and celebrate with the strangers around them, all the while the players take a lap around the field waving and celebrating with them

Later, as the girls go to leave, Imogen clutching onto Laudna’s arm as Laudna talks about what they just witnessed, Imogen can only listen as Laudna goes on and on. She loves Laudna’s competitive side, and how she gets when they go to matches; Imogen doesn’t quite understand it all, but she could still listen to Laudna talk like this for hours.

Suddenly Laudna asks her “you seemed to be into it too by the end, that was something new.”

Imogen smiles and says “yeah, that was exciting! I don’t know why but suddenly I get why you like it so much.”

Laudna laughs. “I live for the drama,” she says as she and Imogen continue down the walk to the parking lot.

[thefallingashesidiots]

oh. oh my god

what do any of these words mean

how in the world am i supposed to roleplay as announcer when he uses words like these

im goijginsane it's four in the morning

"munificent," "fissure," "vivacious" what

i. im going to spontaneously combust

if any of yall came from the announcer rp blog expect to see a change in personality and words 'cause holy shit

used to have mx weaver and sir harmonia help me for fancy words at times but. :pure_horror: from cjfs

might need a bit more practice for his character now

oh well

--heart

[puck1919]

"What is food if never on is fed, when with strange disposals, even death lies dead?"

Mr. Mulligan, I know you considered Call of Cthulhu for "Mice & Murder"-- Lovecraft season when???

[deconstructthesoup]

My NPC creation has revealed that I am into the following:

Women who could kill me (subcategories include "chaotic rebel" and "literal goddess")

Gender non-confirming men (subcategories include "polite young gentleman" and "foppish charlatan")

And unhinged enbies who may or may not be felons (subcategories include "majored in STEM" and "majored in theater")

[buttercuparry]

I think my favourite fics are those where author puts my otp in a Gothic universe. Old creepy mansions, storms making trees knock on the windows, haunted lakes and restless ghosts. Gosh do I love it.

[lemedy]

Migi & Dali so far easily winning the 'new anime series I'm incredibly glad I went in completely unspoiled' award.

[sapphic-cecaelia]

I see you're enjoying our silly little anime about the dysfunctional emo girlband. What's that? You'd like a second season? At least a proper finale, you say?

Anyway, here's a five minute concert by their edgelord goth rival band as preview for the sequel show entirely about said band instead.