#goth writing

[lilithreb0rn]

You never knew me,

but I knew you.

Every living detail

kept in the

inescapable hostage

of my mind.

Now, the crimson in your

dead cheeks faded from your glow,

your deceased gaze looking at me with familiarity.

Reading the

unwritten novel you

wrote about me,

secrets spilled from the depths of your carcass.

The poetry

carved into your bones,

the stanzas scrawled

down your spine,

a special ballad for your knees,

Forlorn memories

of

you

chiselling the holes inside your skull,

for the slaves of mother nature to enthral the fragrant accords of your unpolluted flesh.

Collapsing into bone,

every cell singing for release,

the salt

of the sea

sodomizing your words.

My omission

endlessly lingering,

dancing

with the strings

that tug at my heart.

I forever bare witness

to the

destruction of

what your Parnassian soul left

me.

[scribblesbyb]

Writing Game Week #1: Use These Prompts to Get Back Into Writing!

Prompt 1 Prompt 2 Prompt 3 Prompt 4 Prompt 5 Prompt 6 Prompt 7

A/N: End of the week! Yay. This streak was nice but let's see if it'll carry on for another week lol

Anyway~ This one was...strange. Didn't know where I was going but hey

Tags: Goth fantasy

WC: 1031

Prompt 8:It was a moonless night, a smell of copper filled the air; definitely, a night where nightmares…..

It was a moonless night; a night where nightmares came alive. With the smell of copper filling the air, what a perfect time for Dawn to rise.

Leisurely, her pale, bony arms stretched towards the outskirts of her coffin. Long, bloody nails dug into the dirt around her as she, so effortlessly, removed the lid hiding her body from the modern world. 

Dusting the crimson dress that stuck to her pear-shaped body, a fullness untouched by the years of rotting in a grave, she helped herself out of the hole.

Dawn’s bare feet tickled the short grass under her soles. Being grounded in nature again made her feel happy, blissful, alive. Her thin lips, smeared with blood from her last meal, smiled at the irony.

Gliding across the graveyard, Dawn’s dirty hands tapped one tombstone after the other—intentionally missing some. At her touch, those seemingly resting under the surface awoke, obeying their Goddess' silent command.

Rotting teeth and pale bodies stayed on Dawn’s trail. Some carried dead pets in their arms or perched on their shoulders. Others wore accessories from a lost time. Monocles, pocket watches, cigarette holders.

Finally reaching the graveyard’s gates, and with a dozen of her followers behind her, Dawn snapped both set of fingers. A transparent veil webbed itself into existence, starting from the tips of Dawn’s nails and going on, creating one thread after the other, till it hid the undead from prying eyes.

Dawn began to lead them out into the world. Out the gates, across many streets, and into the hustle and bustle of the city. 

Protected by her veil, the army of undead, as one might call them, split up and blended into the human crowd. With cloudy eyes, they pried into their lives, looking over their shoulders to watch what they were doing. 

Whenever a human would flop as a shiver ran down their spine, an undead would giggle. Same went for when they’d mistake their goosebumps for excitement, not knowing that an undead was touching them, in awe of how alive their skin felt.

Some took offense when a human would mistake them for someone else. When they’d stand and speak to the space around them, and thank their deceased loved ones for watching over them. But that was never the case. Unless they were part of Dawn’s following that is.

A rare few of them didn’t make it back from Dawn’s strolls; their bodies destroyed by a swift snap of her fingers. Those were the ones whose fascination turned into hysteria. Their fragile minds couldn’t fathom seeing but not experiencing life.

Dawn had no need for weaklings.

Arriving at her destination, finally, Dawn turned and whistled; a high-pitched noise only her followers and dogs would hear. The undead flocked to her side, while a number of humans looked quizzically at their dogs, cocking their heads and twitching their ears for a moment.

With a silky voice, and in an ancient tongue long-forgotten, Dawn spoke.

“I hope we’re not late. I’d hate to miss it.”

Her long neck looked up at the abandoned mansion that stood before her. Pale, blueish, and greenish veins drew maps on her exposed collarbones and chest as she inhaled deeply.

Breathing out a misty exhale, the air from her rotting lungs swiftly breaking down the manor’s door. It landed quietly, not even a thud to be heard. 

A cyclone of dust circled them. They watched as it gradually grew, moving with the help of Dawn’s fingers further inside what she once called home, stopping at what she once called a ballroom.

The cyclone dissipated into shapes; bodies; three to be exact. The dust also formed a throne-like chair and a big TV out of thin air. With another echoing snap, the dust fell off the figures in one swift motion, revealing them.

“See? I told you she wouldn’t be late. It’s her favorite show!”

A black-haired young woman with gleaming blue eyes chimed before turning to set up the TV behind her. The man she was reprimanding, a tall, thin, scrawny, and bald fellow, quickly plastered on a smile.

“Welcome, Goddess. We’ve been waiting all month for the moon to disappear.”

The third of the group, one whose gender was unclear, dropped to their knees in respect. With pinkish lips and long hair that covered half their face, their meek voice piled on with, “We hope we’re able to rightfully entertain you and your following this month too, Goddess.”

Dawn stepping out of the veil, revealed herself to them. Eyes cast to the ground, fearful of what would happen if they gazed upon her ethereal presence, they prayed in her ancient tongue.

Pleased, Dawn snapped her fingers, revealing the rest of the undead.

“You have your work cut out for you.” Dawn joked in her language. “My following has doubled since last time.”

“We can see that, Goddess.” Maria, the black-haired woman breathed out nervously.

“Rest assured, we’re up for it!” Dax, the tall man exclaimed.

Ash brushed their hair to the side, counting the heads rolling off on shoulders or dangling off broken necks. “13 is no feat, Goddess.”

Dawn smiled, showing little beads of porcelain teeth.  

“Are you ready for me, then?”

Maria jumped, not expecting to be singled out. “Y-yes, Goddess,” she stuttered, gesturing grandly at the chair.

Gracefully, Dawn stepped up to her throne and slowly sat down. She hummed, pleased that her human followers had kept it clean, comfortable, and unbothered. 

Maria nodded, now turning to turn on Dawn’s favorite show; the one thing on Earth she indulged in. While they were bothersome mortals, she didn’t mind confessing that this show was a guilty pleasure of hers.

As she sat there taking in the scenes unfolding on the screen opposite her, Maria, Dax, and Ash took to entertaining her followers. Whatever they desired, the three humans would grant them.

Knowledge. Companionship. Blood. Flesh. Conversation. Sex.

It didn’t matter.

The friends knew it would be worth it in the end.

Perhaps not now. Perhaps not for years to come. But when death came knocking at their doors, they’d be joining their Goddess for strolls under moonless nights. 

That was devotion. That was loyalty.

[loureid]

Mother

I miss my mother like the first day of school 

I miss my mother like a childhood friend 

I miss my mother like struggling on a math test 

I miss my mother like playing outside until the sun goes down 

I miss my mother like a hurt baby rabbit 

Escaping the tight jaws of the coyote 

Wandering the woods aimlessly 

Leaving a trail of metallic crimson behind me for the other coyotes to find 

I miss my mother like a baby deer during hunting season

Walking carefully away from the scary men with guns 

For I hope they’ll find me too frail and small to hurt 

As I search for a metallic trail left behind by my mother

Hoping for a trace or sign of her love 

I fear my mother like I fear prosecution 

I fear I left my mother hurt and bleeding in the forest 

I fear my mother like I fear god 

For I fear that I won’t be granted forgiveness 

For I fear if i were to stumble upon my mother lying in the leaves 

God would make us battle for salvation 

Our own blood and tears wash away the footprints of the hurt rabbit and fawn

Leaving behind nothing but mothers mourning for their babies

[kampbellot]

I haunt my mother's house.

Wearing her robe I wander the halls and touch her things:

Toys, worn, passed down from child to child;

Novels with bookmarks that wait, never to progress forward again;

Pens that have less ink from the words she once wrote.

I sit in her chair at the head of the table and I drink from her glass.

People tell me ghosts aren't real.

But they don't watch me walk from room to room

in the middle of the night

Hoping to catch a glimpse of her

in the midnight window.

Maybe then they'd know what I know.

I am my mother's ghost.

[daily-spooky]

[becomingvecna]

— David Cronenberg, Consumed

[iknowmorethanyou]

Follow For More ❤️

[burningvelvet]

a twitter thread that actually killed me

[bebs-art-gallery]

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

[bebx]

inspired by this post

[morbid-romance]

🦇 🫀

[@signum.noir - Instagram]

[jazmatazzzzzz]

A logo I made <3

[ur-daily-inspiration]

[unreachedgalaxy]

sorry but modern AUs which depict harrowhark as incredibly goth or punk-looking just completely misunderstand harrow as a character. like, yes, aesthetically in the TLT context harrow has goth-like attributes. skull facepaint, bone earrings, etc, etc, i get it. but that's not counterculture for her! in fact, she dresses exactly how the revered daughter of the ninth house is expected to dress - down to the sacramentally shorn haircut.

which brings me to my main point. harrow's not a goth! she's a nun! she wouldn't be wearing chains and spikes, she would be wearing a full habit and a headscarf! she's a religious nun and she accidentally fell in love with lucifer. that's her aesthetic. she was raised in some deeply catholic cult somewhere in buttfuck nowhere and she carries a rosary everywhere she goes. there's your modern AU.

[make-death-proud-to-takeus]

7 deadly sins but its a to do list

[daily-spooky]