#writing gothic

[spoicyjuice]

Western Odisha gothic

Everywhere you look there are hills like sleeping giants

The houses are old, rotting and so are the hearts of those that once lived there.

The doors to old houses are so low that you have to bend at the waist to enter, what were they trying to keep out.

There are signs on every road that reads, "Elephant crossing", you have never seen an elephant. An elephant trampled your neighbour.

There is writing in a language you cannot read on every store, it is your mother tongue, you have to pay a fine if you use it in school. You no longer can even remember how to speak it.

The lanes only get narrower and more serpentine as you walk around town, where is your home.

There is temple down the street, it only comes up to your shoulder. You make a turn, there is another temple, its larger than your house. You pass the temple there is another temple besides it.

There is a woman she's wearing a bandni print saree, you walk past her there is another woman in a bandhni print saree. You enter a store there are five women in the same saree.

The air smells of algae in the evening you close the window, better not let what the river wind in.

Everyday your mother gives food to the bull, everyday there is a different bull, all of them respond to the same name.

every morning a van comes to pick you up for school, it has 20 kids in it already, the van also swallows you.

you pass a funeral procession; your friend says that seeing a funeral procession is lucky. You pray for the dead man.

the morning assembly has been going on for 23 hours already they still haven't gotten to the thought of the day. 209 students have fainted from the sun they are still on the thought of the day.

[nature-gothics]

The wood below your feet groans. The sea is still, and there are no birds. The crew sits silently, waiting for the wind to return. You hope it was just the wood.

[emilycastlevania]

[becomingvecna]

— David Cronenberg, Consumed

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you’re a sick fuck

[two-bees-poetry]

the grief of growing

[vvanillavveins]

I don't think we give Jonathan Harker nearly enough credit for his absolutely unhinged choices. In 1897, that pathetic wet cat of a man was written with enough grit, willpower, and raw human stupidity to rival any of our modern horror podcast protagonists. When faced with a centuries-old vampire, in a coffin, drenched in fresh blood, he really thought the best thing to do was to hit it in the face WITH A SHOVEL. The audacity. The misplaced confidence. The sheer desperation. No plan. No hesitation. Running on fear and spite alone. And i fucking love him for it. Truly the character of all time.

[bbybluemochi]

[OC] i miss drawing my eldritch monster oc soooo bad 🐙

[bebs-art-gallery]

Dear Desolation by Eliran Kantor † Love of the Wolf by Hélène Cixous

[orpheusallthewaydown]

Someday, someone will love the fuck out of you

[bebx]

[sleepgarden]

Pupa ✢ The writing reads:

Time envelops and keeps me Not awake / Not asleep In this chrysalis / In this shroud I am stillborn / I am buried alive Yet I change / I am changing / And I ache Held still

I started this over a year ago and came back to it periodically, but I decided to just finally finish it. It’s morphed, undone itself, and transformed many times in the process of illustrating it. Sincerely, I considered giving up on the piece. I am glad I didn’t despite its awkwardness; I admit that it doesn’t sit in the eye well. But somehow I feel that it suits the piece and what it means.

I am, if anything, relieved to have finished an illustration finally. It’s been nearly eight months since my last. Prints are available in my shop. (I also have mini prints for $5cad/$3.40usd!)

[nature-gothics]

You open the door. The trees are sighing, creaking gently as they sway in the wind. It sounds like breathing.

[morbid-romance]

🦇 🫀

[@signum.noir - Instagram]

[becomingvecna]

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