#wanted their gothic creatures to be a little out there

[toko-nya-mi]

Temperance

Tokoyami has years of experience in controlling Dark Shadow — making sure he doesn't overstep his boundaries, learning how to keep him under wraps until needed. That is, until it comes to you. The poor boy just can't seem to keep him at bay whenever you're around, although maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

When a pebble is dropped into the inky abyss of a lake, it doesn’t sink straight down to the bottom: it floats. The fall is gradual, its descent furthered by the gentle caress of gravity and irresistible call of darkness. He still remembers the first time he fell too quickly into that abyss, the rapid switch from joy into anger, and from anger into regret… into fear. The shrieks as he realized that the long, stretching shadows around him were his own, inhuman claws tearing forwards with a delight so antithetical to what he felt then. A power-drunk monster, spurred forward by not only darkness, but emotion. 

Temperance is a skill that is hard to learn, but it's one that Tokoyami has mastered. He’s never been allowed to indulge in the jolting epiphanies and fiery emotions of his peers. No — graduality has always been a friend to him. Perhaps out of necessity more than anything else, but still, a friend. 

And through his temperance he found some semblance of control over the creature, which only strengthened with time. It’s hard to say when the friendship between Tokoyami and the creature — whom he had affectionately named Dark Shadow, when he was a bit too young to think of anything past the gothic poetry he would read every recess — really formed. But despite the odds, it did. 

Either way, it’s been a long, long time since he’s lost control over Dark Shadow. 

So really, you’ll have to forgive his change in demeanor. 

Tokoyami knows he’s fucked from the moment you walk in. It takes only half a second for his eyes to follow your long strides as you cross the room, and another for his brain to dissolve into a puddle at the sight. The breath catches in his throat, only to be shoved out with a wheeze as the tugging sensation in his chest becomes too much to bear. But instead of being tugged to his feet by some inextricable feeling of love — or whatever it is those gushy romance novels Mina can never seem to stop talking about — he’s instead pulled to his feet by the creature he thought he had control over. Dark Shadow whips forward with a delighted call of your name, casting his book flying and tugging Tokoyami along as though he were little more than a second thought. For a brief moment he’s taken back to his childhood, when his emotions ran rampant and fueled his darker friend with a malicious power. For a second he’s worried that he’ll grow into that terrifying beast once again, but instead Dark Shadow just nudges his head under your palm for a pet, not unlike a dog. He’s sure that if he had a tail, it’d be wagging, too. And all at once, his instinctual fear drops into red hot embarrassment. He sputters, all of his eloquent prose going straight out the window as he stumbles through some combination of “Dark Shadow,” and “contain yourself.” 

“Hello to you too, Dark Shadow,” you laugh, before indulging the shadow with gentle scratches beneath its beak. It makes a contented noise — one that Tokoyami has heard far, far too much lately, and he’s still digging his heels into the floor, as though he’d be able to take back his friend’s little outburst and — 

“Hey, Fumikage,” you smile. Yeah, to say he’s in trouble would be an understatement.

Tokoyami swallows thickly. Such a simple gesture, but his heart hammers away in his chest, his breath taken away at your soft, no, fond grin. He wonders if you know how beautiful you are, if you know how much control you have over him. It's a feeling that, despite the overwhelming embarrassment it brings, he never wants to end. It’s sweet. Pleasant, even. He nervously smooths out his feathers, willing the heat away from his face as he returns your greeting. 

Maybe some emotions don’t need to be tempered, after all. 

#tokoyami fumikage x reader #bnha x reader #tokoyami x reader #tokoyami fumikage imagine #bnha imagine #fumikage tokoyami x reader

[allegg]

Lisa Frankenstein has got to be one of the best films I’ve seen recently. (Slight spoilers)

First of the colours used throughout are gorgeous, even in scenes where it’s just daylight the vibes of it all are so gothic and just jaw dropping.

That scene when so goes from the party to the graveyard then to that dream? Perfect 10/10 it tell you all you need to know by doing so little but with so much style.

I also just love that lisa betters herself throughout the film. She finds a guy who loves her and praises her so she starts to believe it and try out new things and she gets more confident, she opens up to her step sister who she wasn’t able to confide to before. She goes from scared and nervous to confident and charismatic. Genuinely an amazing arc. It’s simple but well executed.

The creature itself was amazing, people have already pointed it out how he uses parts of the people who have hurt lisa, the step mothers ear for not listening, that guys hand by hurting her with that hand and that guys dick that she wanted to fuck but betrayed her by sleeping with her taffy instead. He truly loves her and wants her to feel safe and happy.

Their relationship is just so pure and healthy? Like bitch I want that!!! I want a zombie boyfriend!!!

Btw the costumes were fantastic. Especially Lisa’s which you can tell were inspired by magenta from rocky horror. Also her movements in that final outfit were so graceful I felt like I was about to cry.

This movie is brilliant so if you haven’t seen it then please go watch it

#lisa frankenstein #seriously this is so good like why only 50% rotten tomatoes you cowards

[7-wonders]

if you want soft morpheus ...... soft morpheus you'll have it, thought here reader could comb morpheus's hair, ending with back rubs and dabs of kisses please, if you want of course.

To those that don't know him beyond acquaintance (the vast majority of creatures), Morpheus is always strong and stoic, to the point that one might start to wonder if he actually has emotions.

But you are not merely an acquaintance. No, you're his beloved, his heart, his starlight. You know him, more intimately than you've ever known another soul. So when he comes into what is quickly becoming your shared chambers after seeing to yet another issue with the Corinthian, you can see the stress and frustration that drag his shoulders down like a weighted blanket.

"Hi, sweetheart," you greet. The effect of your voice, your presence, on him is immediate, as evidenced by the way that he sighs heavily and tiredly. "Come sit."

You sit up on the chaise lounge—black and elaborate and Gothic, of course—that you've been reading on and hold your arms out to him.

"I should not," he says, even as he drifts closer to you. "There is...much for me to do. I need to meet with Lucienne, and I have citizens requesting audiences..."

"That all sounds big and important, but surely you can take a little break before that?"

He settles in the space between your legs without another word, any pushback he had been planning long forgotten. He ends up with his back against your chest, and you clasp your arms around him for a hug before putting a hand in his hair and beginning to comb through it with your fingers.

This was not a conscious decision made when you invited Morpheus to sit with you. When it came to Morpheus, he didn't know what acts of self-care or affection he enjoyed to help him deal with his emotions, because nobody had ever bothered to ask him. No, they just assumed that, since he was Endless, he was to be the strong one in the relationship, that surely he didn't need something as base and human as hugs.

(Yes, you're still extremely bitter on his behalf)

He stiffens, and for a moment you're worried that he actually doesn't like this and that you've crossed one of the boundaries he didn't know that he had until actually getting into a relationship after his captivity. Before you can pull your hand away and apologize, Morpheus melts in your arms.

You're pretty sure that he begins purring, if the rumbling you're feeling against you is anything to go by. Though it's not surprising that the Shaper of Forms transcends forms and purrs like a little kitty cat when he's petted, it's still delightful to learn.

"You like this, then?" you ask, putting your other hand in his mess of black, silky strands and scratching at his scalp. Though you can't see it from your position, his eyes flutter at the sensation.

He hums his assent. "It is rather calming."

You kiss the crown of his head. "Good. Just relax with me for a little bit, okay? The king stuff will be there after."

Morpheus shivers when your fingers catch on a tangle (an interesting new fact, and something you may have to whip out in another situation), but otherwise remains still. Though he does still have much to do, you've convinced the King of Dreams to sit still for a good twenty minutes and indulge himself, which he does oh-so rarely.

A win, in your book.

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #the sandman #this is kind of bad my brain won't work but I wanted to write so this is what you get

[gothiccharmschool]

Greetings, esteemed Lady of the Manners!

I just wanted to say I have been reading Gothic Charm School since I was naught but a wee Baby Bat myself. When your posts slowed and stopped I assumed perhaps you had grown weary of dispensing wit and wisdom to the internet, and that perhaps that season of interest was coming to a close.

It warms my little heart to no end to have found you here in our lovely Tumblr ecosystem!

Thank you for all that you have done and continue to do. Your posts gave me the courage to branch out into this wonderful and strange aesthetic, as well as the skills I needed as a small creature to navigate some difficult conversations that would no doubt have ended in much worse outcomes without your gentle guidance. Now as I am returning to strange fashions in the new freedom of remote work I am finding your archive to be just as positive an influence as it was when I stumbled upon it the first time more than a decade ago.

Thank you for being yourself, and sharing some of that courage, gumption, and snark with others. Have a wonderful week.

You absolute sweetheart. Thank you for sending this to me.

The hard truth is that Gothic Charm School has been on hiatus because of my chronic health issues. I am HOPING to and slowly working toward new Gothic Charm School posts. I may not return to updating every month, but I definitely want to return to that part of my writing. Again, thank you for your kind message! It means a lot.

#gothic charm school

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell | part two.

we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

author's note: i have chosen violence today and i won't apologize for it. anyways, enjoy this soft fluff.

song inspiration: false god by taylor swift.

The underworld was nothing like you expected it to be. 

It was a land of perpetual night, but it wasn’t the frightening unending darkness of nightmares, instead it was moonlight and constellations, twinkling stars and violet skies. Never in a million years would you have predicted hell to be dreamy. 

But it was. Everything about the place was an absolute dream. None more so than the winged male carrying you in his arms. 

The Prince of Hell smiled softly as he cut through the cumulus clouds, flying towards an enormous castle perched atop an obsidian mountain. The peaks glittered like dark diamonds, the gothic spires and turrets spearing through the endless night as you floated through the sea of stars. The moon shimmered overhead as Azriel landed on the open balcony. 

Though his feet hit the chequerboard floor, Azriel made no move to release you from his grip. He merely continued carrying you through his home, past the moonstone walls and marble pillars, through countless rooms full of lavish furniture and extravagant paintings, and underneath a crystal chandelier that projected starlight onto the polished onyx floors. 

You gaped in wonder as he slipped past mahogany doors and into a bedchamber with a four poster bed. The sheets felt like silk to the touch as he carefully set you down. Across the room, you stared at your bewildered expression through a gilded mirror, your hair wild and unbound, your wedding dress smeared with blood and ash. 

Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wiped a streak of dried blood from your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright, my heart?” His fingers skirted over your hairline, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re shaking.” 

You gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled, that’s all.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did to that mortal, but I am sorry if it frightened you. The way he spoke about you, the way he grabbed you—” he released a shaky breath as if the memory still stoked his anger. “I wanted to do more than just rip out his wretched heart.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed in reassurance. “You saved me.” Honey eyes dawned on you like sunset, disbelief dancing in Azriel’s gaze as though no one has ever said such a thing to him. “You saved me and I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Azriel declared with determination. “You will never owe anyone anything ever again.”

Those words released another floodgate of tears. As the Prince of Hell cradled you in his arms, his soft voice a soothing lullaby in your ears, the realization that you were free—truly free slammed into you. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but what you did know was that Azriel was a refuge in the storm.

As he had been in your dreams for far longer than you could remember. 

“I thought I’d dreamt you up,” you said, looking up at this stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all. “How are you real?” 

There was something about the way those golden eyes softened that made your heart leap in your chest. Azriel brushed a tear away and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a raven with a broken wing. It searched high and wide for shelter, but because of its injuries, the raven couldn’t fly very far. One day it landed in the countryside, half-frozen and half-starved, where a girl found it buried amongst the snowbanks. The girl took pity on the raven and brought the bird home, offering it shelter and mending its broken wing. As she nursed the raven back to health, he did something very foolish. He fell in love with the girl. The raven knew it was a mistake. She was beautiful and gentle and kind and he was a creature of nightmares. Eventually, he healed and she set him free. That should have been the end of the story, but the raven was a selfish bastard. It kept coming back—watching over her, leaving her gifts, and visiting her dreams.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you listened, realization slowly washing over you as Azriel spoke. “Then one day, the raven heard the girl’s father praying to the old gods. Heaven ignored his pleas, but Hell listened. The raven listened because he had never forgotten the girl’s kindness. What the girl didn’t know was that the raven wasn’t a raven at all. He was the Prince of Hell. The day she found him, he had been attacked by his step brothers who sought his throne for themselves. They held him down and drove a spear through his wing, nearly severing it.” 

His right wing flared out and you saw a large scar running through the underside of the red and gold membrane. “Before they could kill him, the Prince of Hell shifted into his raven form and fate took him to the small village where the kind girl rescued him. The raven would have died if it weren’t for her. When she set him free, he knew it killed her to do so. But the girl understood what it was like to be in a cage and she didn’t want him to have the same fate as her, so she let him go. As the girl watched the raven fly away with a heavy heart, he promised that one day, he’d set her free too.”

The room was silent as Azriel’s fingers raked through your scalp. “So the raven bided his time. Bargained with the girl’s father. Slaughtered his greedy step brothers. Reclaimed his throne. Then finally, the raven fulfilled his promise. The girl thought that he had set her free, that he had saved her, but what she didn’t know was that she saved him first. Before he met her, everyone always said that the raven had no heart and they were right because his heart was tucked away in that small, snowy village.”

The Prince of Hell brushed his lips over your temple. “That’s what you are to me,” Azriel said softly. “My heart.”

“Why me?” you asked. The memories flashed through your mind. Finding him in that snowbank. Bandaging up his wing. Your father had scolded you for it. Called you soft hearted. Always bringing in the strays of this world. The girl who desperately clung onto magic and fairy tales to escape the harsh reality of her own life. “I’m just a girl who has a weakness for the wild things.”

“Being kind is not a weakness,” Azriel said firmly. “I used to think it was. My father taught me as much and so did his father before him. But they were wrong. It was the kindness of a stranger that brought me back to life. A girl who gave me everything when I had nothing to give in return. That is true strength.”

Tears fell from your eyes like raindrops. It felt good to be seen. To have the whole of you reflected so clearly in someone else’s eyes. “You’re my freedom. You’re my salvation,” you stroked his cheek almost reverently. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“As have I, my heart,” Azriel whispered softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “As have I.”

“You saved me,” you said once again.

“We saved each other.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he traced the outline of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. His touch was featherlight, but it set your entire body on fire. Azriel’s gaze marked you, burned you. It felt like he was embedding himself upon your soul.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out in a whisper, low and breathless. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

The Prince of Hell shuddered a breath. Then his hand slid into your hair, tilting you back. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes as he closed the gap between you. Lips brushed against lips, tasting, testing—it was excruciating agony, it was sweet release. The kiss sparked a fire in you and you burned for Azriel, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling through his silky locks like you were trying to get lost in the dark paradise that was him with no desire to ever escape. 

Azriel pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. The way your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, melding together, melting together seamlessly made you think that maybe you were created just for this purpose. He was intoxicating; there was nothing more divine, nothing more sacred than the feel of his mouth against yours. Kissing him was an act of worship. 

You had the vague sense that you’ve never felt true hunger until Azriel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips and filled you with lust and desire so strong it made you feel like a depraved hedonist. There was Azriel and only Azriel. 

Desire was a lit match catching fire on a field soaked with gasoline. The need for Azriel was endless, like staring into an empty abyss and realizing for the first time in your life that you were finally seeing what lay inside this whole time. You were hungry. 

Azriel groaned as you rolled your hips against him. His hands found your waist, gripping you like his life depended on it. The gold dancing in his irises flickered to black. His eyes fluttered close as he nuzzled his nose against yours, reeling himself back to reality. 

Then, in a voice full of care and restraint, Azriel said, “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready to do. It’s your choice, my heart.” The words cracked your heart open, letting sunlight into the shadowy crevices. “From this point forward, it will always be your choice.”

You cupped his cheek, marveling at all that he was. “My entire life, every decision has been made for me. Other people have always told me how to dress, how to speak, how to act. Tonight is the first time that I actually get to choose something for myself. I want my first choice to be you, Azriel.” 

The words seemed to unleash something within the Prince of Hell. Azriel surged forward and kissed you, his mouth full of passion and heat. You arched into him and he took the opportunity to graze his teeth against the column of your throat before flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“I choose you, too,” he said softly. 

You smiled, tugging him down until you both tumbled against the mattress. Azriel pinned you underneath him, taking his time to stroke your curves, his featherlight touch awakening goosebumps along your arms. He peeled the dress off of you gently, kissing your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs. You helped him out of his clothes, peeling layer after layer until the two of you were bare to one another. 

You had no idea where to look first. Azriel was a work of art, a sculpture carved out of marble, every inch of him perfectly crafted by the gods themselves. The forbidden fruit seducing you to taste, to bite, to savor. He shuddered as you pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as if it were your own. 

“You will be my undoing,” the Prince of Hell declared. “I would worship at your altar tonight. You are my own little piece of heaven.”

“I don’t want to be your heaven,” you said, voice stern and unwavering. “I want to be your hell, because their god is the only one who has ever answered my prayers.”

Azriel looked down at you as though you were a god yourself. A treasure that he would give his life to guard and cherish. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, Azriel hovered above you. His gaze was contemplative, searching for any sign of hesitation. 

When he found none, Azriel kissed you gently while easing his way in. You were wet, soaking with arousal, and the length of him stretching your walls was a welcomed sting. He kept his eyes on you as his cock filled you deliciously. You moaned into his mouth and the sound seemed to completely unravel him. 

It was ruin and restoration, life and death, pain and pleasure combined in one single act. Azriel twined your fingers together, holding your arms above your head as he made love to you. His wings flared behind his back just as his shadows swirled above his head, encircling him like a crown of smoke. The Prince of Hell was a dark god. He was night and mist and shadow. The space between the stars. 

You would pray to him a thousand times over. 

“Gods,” you moaned, the word falling from your lips like a solemn prayer. “It feels too good. You are too good, Azriel.”

He kissed you deeply, fusing your very souls together. A white hot heat seized your body and suddenly you were careening towards the cliffs, falling hand in hand with Azriel. The Prince of Hell growled into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours as you both surrendered to release. 

For a moment, nothing else in the realm existed besides the two of you. 

Azriel opened his eyes and it was like staring directly into the sun after centuries of darkness. With a soft smile, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, your limbs locked and something within you just clicked. 

This was right. 

He was right.

You nestled against Azriel like you belonged there all along. “You never told me.”

“Told you what, my heart?”

“How the story of the girl and her raven ends.”

Azriel smiled, pulling you into his arms. “It doesn’t. They just find a new beginning instead.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

#i am so emo over this #prince of hell az is such an angel but the demon will come out in the bedroom soon hehe #azriel #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel x you

[toaster-trash]

Volume III Chapter IV/V of the original 1818 text of Frankenstein lives in my brain rent free. I need to rant about Clerval’s death or I’ll loose it. (It’s late and I’m exhausted rn so my ass is NOT as coherent and structured as it could be but fuck it we ball)

“He appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty years of age.” MY PRECIOUS BOY

“(…) having brought the body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed, and rubbed it; and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was quite gone.” HE MIGHTN’T HAVE BEEN DEAD WHEN THEY FOUND HIM BUT IT WAS TOO LATE

“I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath; and, throwing myself on the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations deprived you also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other victims await their destiny: but you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor”——

The human frame could no longer support the agonizing suffering that I endured, and I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.

A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death (…)” THE WAY VICTOR REACTS TO AND SPIRALS FROM CLERVAL’S DEATH IS SO MUCH MORE SEVERE THAN ANYTHING ELSE THAT HAPPENS TO HIM and it’s also an extremely interesting character study to see what happens when the only person he ever really seemed to have a mutual loving and healthy relationship with gets cut out of the picture – Victor’s had his fevers, he’s wallowed, but he always had Clerval to draw him from his wallowing and to nurse him back to health. So what happens when Clerval’s death is the cause of that anguish? THE DRAMA THE ANGST I love these silly little gothic losers to death but watching Frankenstein grieve over the passing of who was pretty much essentially his lover is fascinating to me and it SHOWS how much Frankenstein adores Clerval through the latter’s death. THE MAGNITUDE OF HIS GRIEF IS A TESTAMENT TO THEIR LOVE oml i can’t rn frfr THEYRE SO GAY AND SO GOTHIC I CAN NOT

“Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest?” “I thank you; but all that you mention is nothing to me: on the whole earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.” “(…)surely I should have died on the coffin of Henry.” AGAIN Victor’s absolute grief tearing himself up over it

“As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black melancholy, that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was for ever before me, ghastly and murdered.” “Sometimes they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark orbs nearly covered by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them.” Again what I said about his grief being a testament to their love bro, REMINISCING ABOUT HIS DEAD LOVER AND HIS BEAUTY EVEN IN DEATH WHILE GRIEVING HIM I CANT BRO

“Ah! my father, do not remain in this wretched country; take me where I may forget myself, my existence, and all the world.” HERE’S THE START OF HIM PUSHING AWAY THE MEMORY AND TRYING TO SUPPRESS IT BECAUSE THE GRIEF IS TOO SEVERE and that is SO interesting for how he shifts his tone with Elizabeth and puts up that fake demeanour of wanting to marry her because he thinks it’ll make HER happy even though both of them describe dreading the wedding, also possibly another argument for the legitimacy of reading Clerval and Frankenstein’s relationship as romantic – in order to forget him, he assigns himself to the role given to him as a child by marrying Elizabeth and gives up whatever he hope he had (possibly discouraged from Clerval being murdered as a response to Victor refusing to finish the Bride and subject her to the same fate as him and Elizabeth to the Creature, a pact made without her knowledge or consent, an arranged marriage. Where has spiting that tradition led him? Where has him standing up to the shroud of his mother’s dying wishes, hanging over him the entire novel thus far, led him, by refusing to force the Bride into an arranged marriage with the Creature, as he was with Elizabeth? To the death of the one man he truly loved. So fuck it, right? He can at least “make his dear cousin happy” and not die spiting the one thing he was meant to do – make his mother proud from beyond the grave by marrying Elizabeth.)

“the wind that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland(…)” sorry my country traumatised you bro (I mentioned to one of my teachers while explaining the plot of Frankenstein to them, as you do, that this chapter takes place in Ireland and the “god damn ok” face was priceless)

“I was deceived by no vision, and that Clerval, my friend and dearest companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation. I repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for Ingolstadt. I remembered shuddering at the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night during which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought; a thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly.” HE’S TRYING SO DESPERATELY TO LEAVE IT BEHIND AND TO REPRESS IT but now he’s left Ireland and he’s no longer feverish, the clarity washes over him and he can’t do anything except just lie there and cry over everything that’s happened AND MY POOR LAD HE CANT EVEN CONTINUE BEYOND THE POINT OF THE CREATURES REANIMATION BECAUSE THOSE FEELINGS PRESS DOWN ON HIM AND CROWD HIM AND OVERWHELM HIM AND HE JUST BREAKS INTO SOBS

And what happens after “the night during which he first lived”?

He’s saved from his own downward spiral by Clerval.

What’s he doing now?

Going on a downward spiral.

Where’s Clerval?

Dead.

“Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the custom of taking every night a small quantity of laudanum; for it was by means of this drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now took a double dose, and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a thousand objects that scared me.” And Christ above THIS LINE, not only can he now physically not sleep at night after what happened, but he’s gotten into the habit of drug use over it – which wouldn’t have been too bizarre by Victorian standards, but in the 18th century, laudanum wasn’t administered nearly as liberally and was mostly used for surgery, from what I can find, anyway. Not to mention that fact that he starts double dosing on it as the memories come back to him – his grief starts getting to the point where he’s using drug use in order to cope, but it hardly matters as his torment follows him to sleep.

“We had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the country to Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan principally because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had enjoyed a few moments of tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought with horror of seeing again those persons whom we had been accustomed to visit together, and who might make inquiries concerning an event, the very remembrance of which made me again feel the pang I endured when I gazed on his lifeless form in the inn at ——.” THIS LINE LIVES IN MY BRAIN. RENT FREE. HOW COULD SHELLEY HAVE CUT THIS OUT OF THE 1831 PUBLICATION THIS IS SO GOLDEN DEAR LORD I ADORE THEM.

“MY BELOVED CLERVAL”

BUT ALSO AGAIN we’ve got Frankenstein trying SO desperately to forget everything, and he knows that he can’t face the people who knew Clerval or he’d break down. And I love the way this version continues on his grief to the next chapter – it’s not done and dropped, its ongoing and it plagues him, and it will plague him as long as he lives. I wonder what would happen if he did go through London, if he did meet those people again. Would things have turned out differently? Would he finally have been given a sense of comfort and clarity through mutual grief, as nobody so far since Henry’s death and for the rest of the book, except the creature, ironically, has grieved for Clerval except for Frankenstein. If he met people who took as fondly to Clerval as he did, at least on meeting him briefly, who would have sympathy towards Victor – would he finally have that space to grieve for him in a healthy way, to be comforted by people who at least vaguely understand a fraction of his anguish?

The way Victor Frankenstein BREAKS after the death of Henry Clerval is one of the most fascinating and endearing parts of the novel that completely lives in my head rent free. He spirals, he becomes ill, he becomes deeply suicidal and depressed, he begins drug misuse – and adaptations have the sheer balls to cut Clerval out of the story altogether.

…..”My beloved Clerval” HELP ME HE ACTUALLY SAID IT I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

#gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #frankenstein #goth lit #classic lit #frankenstein weekly #clervalstein #Victor Frankenstein #Henry Clerval #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #frankenstein 1818

[mswyrr]

I love the comparisons and contrasts between Everlark and Snowbaird (edit: I wrote a meta here discussing some of what I see there and Rachel has drawn the comparison too) because there is no "safe" purely "wholesome" love. It doesn't exist.

I genuinely hate that fandom thinks there's such a thing as a pure ship. Or that we can or should take art and cut it into neat little pieces, use stories to "teach girls" (where girls are presumed to be the most ignorant and worthless of creatures, incapable of the full experience of what it means to be human, but also the only ones responsible for anything bad that happens, creatures so responsible that all tragedies that befall them are their own fault, their deepest shame) how to make love safe. It's a lie. Loving is about people, and people are never pure. Everything good we give each other is hard won with courage in the face of fear.

It is inherently dangerous because humans are. And if you're lucky, you give yourself to someone who meets that trust and courage with their own. And if you're not lucky, it hurts. And there's no way to control it. There's no way to be smart enough or pure enough or notice the right "red flags" (irl abusers are good at hiding and perfectly lovely people can become ill or addicted or just *change* on you). You can be lucky for a time and someone can still change.

Because you cannot control someone else, just love them.

And--here is the great part--it was that very lack of control that drove Coriolanus to throw love away! He was so afraid of what an inherently terrifying thing it is, how it is giving yourself away without guarantees, that he brought that fear down on them. He became the traitor he was so terrified that Lucy Gray might be. He destroyed something infinitely precious because he couldn't live with what a sublime wonder and terror it is to give yourself away with open hands. Love is never pure. It is so much better than that. It is...

I write all kinds of ships and like all kinds of love stories and see no contradiction because even the happiest ones are that too. I am endlessly frustrated by the way Gothic romance and tragic romance and other romances that explore the terror and darker side of that are pathologized because it makes the more joyful, happy endings dishonest. Love is risk, touching the sublime, allowing yourself to be remade.

Every joy we find in life--every single one, not just in romance, but anywhere--is like making love in the lap of death. In the midst of life we are in death; in the midst of death we are in life. The only thing worse than the fear of giving yourself away (in all the ways we can seek intimacy, not only romance) is the truest death, the death of never opening yourself up to begin with, never letting yourself be changed and moved and remade by another. And if we need an object lesson in that, here we've got Coriolanus Snow!

He's not an object lesson in "bad boyfriends." Lucy Gray made good choices from her pov! (I'm writing a separate meta on this). Nothing that happened was her fault! She is not an object lesson, she's a brave, loving girl who experienced a tragedy. She was betrayed. She's a character of the kind of folk ballads Collins was drawing on, which are actually more honest about people and more compassionate toward women who experience tragedy and loss than a rigidly US-centric, individualist, inherently victim blaming, just world fallacy view of control and "teaching girls good lessons." You can drain all the pleasure and joy out of life in the effort to control things and keep someone from being able to hurt you and still not really be safe, just be dead inside - like Coriolanus did.

The only way to truly possess someone is to destroy them and then you don't actually possess them at all! They're gone. The person you wanted to keep you've driven away. And the only way to truly be safe and in control is to kill your own heart. So what are you even protecting?

There is no shame in being Lucy Gray. The shame is in letting fear and the need for control own us like Coriolanus.

As someone who feels torn often in fandom because I ship both love stories that get categorized as "wholesome" and "problematic," the fact that Collins wrote both one of my favorite ships ever that gets categorized (and, I think, often massively simplified) into "wholesome" AND another "problematic" one that IMO is a gorgeous object lesson in why the whole idea of this binary is bullshit--and why love stories can and should explore the terror of being alive and living as well as the joy and genres like Gothic and tragedy are a beautiful part of the tapestry of narratives exploring love and living as a human in fiction--and we should very much NOT be Coriolanus?

I love her. I want to kiss her hand.

#suzanne collins #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #snowbaird #thg meta #my meta

[geraldthellama]

Bowuigi Corpse Bride AU Lore Post

So I said I would probably make this and while I thought about making this into a fanfic and making ya'll read that, I decided that I need to commit to the other three (two and a half?) Mario fanfic ideas I have. So if anyone wants to make a full blown fic or whatever with this AU, feel free (but tag me ofc because I've got to see it).

(This will not be short, just a quick warning that this is a commitment).

This AU is very loosely based off the actual movie. Instead of them being in the underworld, they're just in a haunted house that Boo lost to Bowser in a game of poker, and instead of being a corpse (as the name suggests), Luigi is just a slightly annoying boo. Him and Polterpup are the only ones that inhabit the mansion, and, with the house completely abandoned, it's probably going to stay that way.

In this world, ghosts only stay after some massive traumatic death. Problem is, Luigi has no recollection of how he died, he just knows he hit his head and a little while later awoke, a ghost that's unable to be seen, heard, and is completely alone as a newly-deceased. Aside from the yipping ghost dog at his feet (Luigi has always been afraid of both ghosts and dogs).

As a ghost, Luigi originally spawns (spawns?) into this world with little ghostly abilities. Living beings can't see or hear him and he doesn't have the power to manipulate objects or people in any way. He is essentially a specter, watching the lives of other people for years until, eventually, it's abandoned, and the Peasley family mansion (one of many, that is) is gambled away to King Boo.

But, King Boos already got his own slew of creepy haunted mansions, and, frankly, this one is haunted by a ghost he can't stand. A ghost that hasn't been able to speak to someone for around a decade. A chatty ghost that hasn't been able to speak to someone for over a decade. He's not exactly torn up about parting with it.

Bowser, the poor thing, is on attempt...

Attempt... 2 hundred... something.

(at least 4 proposals a year, for around 20 years... that's...)

Let's just say, Peach does and has not wanted Bowser for a long ass time, and it really doesn't help his self esteem that he's still being thwarted by a plumber that's old enough to be his dad and uses a cane. He really can't understand what Peach sees in him, especially considering she still looks like a youthful 20/30-something into her 60s. Frankly, it's unfair. He's got money, kids (some really awesome ones too), power, looks (he thinks so at least), and isn't 3 pudding cups away from dementia.

What he hasn't got, until right now at least, is an awesome mansion, specially built for human(oid) creatures. Maybe she just didn't like gothic castle architecture? Maybe, as Boo suggests, he just has to get her scared enough to fall into his arms for safety. He's got this all planned out.

Boo did not specify that the "ghostly inhabitants" of this mansion were a hyperactive ghost dog and naive plumber. He didn't think it was important information at the time.

So, when Bowser is plotting and practice-proposes (does he really need more practice?) to the striking blue eyes of a, surprisingly, human painting, the last thing he expects is to be met with a ghoulish grin.

Barely ghoulish, because, god, the thing is bright. The smile and the bio-(bio?)-luminescent energy it's attached to. For a ghost who's wearing bloodied bandages and has been dead for 30 lonely years, he's surprisingly optimistic.

"Really?! And you're not even a boo!" :D

He's very optimistic, in fact, because he's willing to believe that this complete stranger might just be his ticket out of this wall-papered purgatory. He died meeting up with his forbidden love, after all, so it must be a sign. He does not hesitate to shove that ring on his finger, even if his new fiance looks hesitant (he might be naive enough to go with it, but he's not blind). He's convinced the two will make it work.

Luigi is... very tired of looking at the same things everyday. Now, he can attach to his new fiance, who's only slightly hesitant to engage with him, (and is not bad looking at all, in Luigi's opinion). Together, the two can actually have a life together. Luigi was only 25 when he died, and he was far too shy then to do any adventuring. The most rebellious thing the man had ever done was sneak out.

Man, look where that ended him.

For Luigi, this is his opportunity to live the life he wasted was robbed of.

And the guys got kids! How awesome is that?

Bowser is not liking the new pets at his side. One never stops yipping and yapping and one is a dog. Luigi is... fine. From a distance. The problem is that they physically can't get any. As long as Luigi is attached to him, consider them hand cuffed. This stupid, green boo is crimping his style, and any game he had with Peach is virtually ruined when he's got his "fiance" clinging to his side like he's the best thing since breathing air.

At least Luigi appreciates his kids. The ghost obviously has some taste (of course he does, he chose him for pete's sake), and Junior and the rest seem to like the ghoul enough... Even if Junior isn't completely sure that Luigi is a ghoul. Both Luigi and Junior agree that boos are scary.

Maybe, after some hard self-reflection (with Luigi close and present, of course), and some growing emotional intimacy and openness, Bowser begins to kind of, perhaps tolerate Luigi. Just a little. Just enough to find his stupid quirks endearing and just enough to start to think that maybe he's always been too good for Peach, anyway. Maybe he should be with someone who appreciates him and loves his family. It's not like her and Mario had ever had kids in their relationship, and her not wanting kids is kind of a deal breaker.

Bowser's newfound attention on Luigi is driving everyone else nuts, though. Boos barely seen the man since his unfortunate run in with the green leach and no one else at their poker table is any good. At this rate, Boos not even satisfied winning Peasley's riches off him anymore. Occasionally, a guy just wants to lose, y'know? Boo hates only one thing more than Peasley whining about the consequences of his gambling addiction, and that's boredom. He misses when the Koopa King spent all his time plotting against the old-ass plumber. At least then he showed his face at their meetings.

And when Boo finally brings up his grievances, because he deserves to rant, Peasley seems... nervous. Boo loves nervousness.

"There's a... human boo... in the mansion I gave you..?"

"One, you didn't give it to me, you lost, fair and square. Two, yeah, and he's just about the chattiest thing I've ever met. All dressed up in a white suit, the pretentious-"

At that, Peasley turns about as pale as a ghost. Well, if that were possible, considering he's a legume. Suddenly, he's got some important things he has to do somewhere else.

This poker table is looking weak.

When Peasley asks Bowser to meet at the mansion, Bowser warns he can't come alone. It's a stretch to get the green ghost to go back with him, and as much as Bowser wants to tell him "you're coming with me, whether you like it or not", he can't bring himself to say it. Instead, he convinces Luigi that it's a quick stay. Essentially, a welfare visit on the old house and a quick meeting with an old friend. Luigi's narrowly convinced.

Stepping back onto that porch brings back a lot of old memories for the human. Few of them anything good in retrospect.

But he does want to see his painting again. He always did cherish that painting. He's sure Bowser will too, right?

Is that painting a good memory for Bowser? He wonders.

It was all those years ago that a young Peasley gifted him that painting. Like him, he had been optimistic and in love. Even if his rich, snobby parents weren't a fan of the human, they had an entire life ahead of them. Peasley had made him a beautiful painting. It was the one part of the house Luigi felt was his. A good memory.

He never expected to be greeted by the same image he had all those years ago. Peasley, now older, stood in front of the painting. His face now wasn't proud or love-struck or whatever expression he had had then (Luigi can barely remember Peasley's face until just now), he looked somber. It was a rare occasion that Luigi wasn't green, and his teal glow seemed to throw Bowser off.

And divert Peasley's attention away from the miserable painting and over to the ghost, who was nervously twiddling his thumbs with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

It's not long before Bowser realizes that this meeting was never about him, and he feels more awkward than anything else...

Except that Polterpup has been on edge since the moment he saw the bean (now) king. Has he ever seen the dog not wag it's tail at someone?

Immediately, the older man apologizes. Things were never meant to end up how they did. He tried his best to help when he could.

Luigi's not angry, how could he be? Luigi's fall was an accident.

Peasley says he didn't know Luigi had stuck around, and if he had, he thinks he would have done things differently. He would have at least had the place cleaned instead of just letting it rot.

(So Peasley abandon the mansion? The perfectly good mansion for no reason, leaving Luigi alone.)

And, of course, Peasley's sorry for not telling Mario or his parents about what happened to him.

(HUH?)

He insisted that he waited for hours with Luigi, hoping he'd recover with enough gauze. The man told him it was a lost cause. If he could have saved him, he would have.

Hours?

"I was unconscious for hours?"

It came out as barely a whisper.

"I stayed almost the entire night. As long as I could."

Bowser didn't know boos could turn so many colors, especially that quickly. Bowser didn't think Luigi even had it in him to be anything less than smiley, especially completely enraged.

Luigi had never been more angry in his life (death).

Even Peasley's insistence that "You don't understand what they'd have done to me if they'd known I went against their wishes!" fell on deaf ears.

When Luigi's aura finally finished raving, Peasley had backed away from the now red ghost. Again, Luigi recognized the position they were in;

One of them backing up, away from the painting and towards the basement stairs. How could Peasley forget that door never closed all the way? It had only been the exact thing that killed Luigi 30 years ago. The exact thing that, of course, Peasley hadn't fixed.

Luigi swears he didn't push him, even in that state. Bowser believes him, only because the still angry and unaware Luigi yelled angrily down the stairs: "You better not die here, because I'll make your death hell!"

If they both hadn't just watched Peasley fucking die, Bowser would have kinda been into it.

It took Luigi a second to realize that even if his own fall had been an unlucky hit, Peasley wasn't 25 anymore. And he wasn't responding. His red hue didn't last long, especially when Polterpup no longer seems threatened (and Bowser notices that the bean king no longer seems to be breathing).

"What did I do?"

Bowser suggests fleeing the crime scene, which normally isn't his move, but he'd rather not be tied to the murder of a fellow royal. Luigi shakes his head.

This is his fault. And as angry as he still is at Peasley, he can't flee what he's done. Not in a right conscience. Not like what Peasley did to him. Luigi suffered enough sitting in that mansion alone for 30 years, and, as much as revenge tastes sweet, a small part of him still cares. Had he lived, Peasley and him would have had a life after all.

But he hadn't lived, did he.

Bowser can't remember a time ever seeing Luigi's color look quite as dull as it did then.

Playing with his engagement ring, Luigi thinks back on the part of the man he loved. Peasley never did buy him the ring, like he had hoped. Luigi remembers getting himself all excited over the possibility of a scenic proposal as they walked through the flower garden of the mansion. He had gifted him a painting. Which was almost as good.

He couldn't even count how many times he had stood and looked at that painting, thinking:

Was it worth it?

An apprehensive smile comes onto his face. A nostalgic smile. A somber one.

Doesn't really matter, does it? He'd never know if it was worth it in the end. This was how it ended up. Luigi had always believed that fate is what had brought him and Peasley together, considering everything else had lined them up for failure. Fate was what brought him here. What kept him here.

Who is he to drag down others?

He returns Bowser's ring.

"I'm sorry."

Bowser never deserved to have him weigh him down.

"I wasted my life chasing after a family I never got, and then spent my death doing the exact same thing."

Bowser awkwardly matches Luigi's bitter laugh.

"I lived my life, be it a short one, but you deserve to live yours."

Luigi pats the ring on his hand.

"I hope she likes it." He smiles. He means it. Peach sounds wonderful.

Tears prick Bowser's eyes, and all because...

He never did tell Luigi about him and Peach, did he? He can't help but laugh. Tears streaming down his face kinda laugh. The laugh you only get once a year kind of laugh.

"You spent, what? Maybe five non-consecutive years chasing after a family? Try twenty!"

Luigi's eyebrow goes up. This is supposed to be a super emotional goodbye and this goobers laughing? On about his conquest to marry Peach (who, apparently, is already married) and make his picturesque life. Luigi can't help but laugh, because it's so stupid that Bowser's laughing about this right now.

"Her and her stupid, human, mustachioed husband Mario have been kicking my ass for decades. I promise you, boo, you weren't ever getting in the way of anything."

Mario?!

"Mario?" (!)

"You heard of him?"

The excitement in Luigi's eyes (and aura) is obvious.

"My brother's name is Mario!"

With a look of determination, Bowser promises he'll tell Luigi the story of all his and Mario's exploits if he does him two favors.

Leaves this, frankly, ugly and decrepit mansion with him. Because this story needs atmosphere.

Puts the ring back on his finger. Because how else is everybody going to know they're engaged?

Luigi gives a grin.

He looks down the stairs. What about doing his due-diligence?

"I promise you, boo, if fate brought you and Peasley together, and pushed you down those stairs, and brought us together, and then pushed him down the stairs, fate is on your side."

Luigi's lips are still pursed.

"And it's almost sunrise," Bowser points out.

"So?"

"Well, we've waited almost all night, seems like a fair amount of time to me. It's obviously a lost cause."

At that, Luigi begins laughing. Not quite Bowser's guttural, teary laugh, but certainly a cackle. Enough to turn his aura back to a vibrant green, just like before. Enough to make him hunch over and take some (not really) much needed gulps of air.

When the laughing dies down to a hurt giggle, Bowser assures him that:

"You didn't kill him, Weeg."

No. I guess he didn't, did he?

Looking down the stairs one last time, (his death completely bloodless, the lucky bastard), Luigi's brows furrow for a second and he twiddles his thumbs.

If Luigi's learned one thing from being a condemned ghost, it's that you should take every chance you get.

The bottom of the stairs don't look so intimidating now.

"I...

I forgive you."

Maybe that is all Peasley deserves.

Luigi deserves to have another chance. And maybe Peasley does too, maybe he'll find one in the next lucky winner of poker. Someones gotta replace his spot at the table.

Bowser shares that he certainly deserves a mother to his children, and he's already got a quality candidate who's proved he's got what it takes. ("One who cooks, cleans, can't call in sick, die, and is pretty good looking! I hit the jackpot!")

Maybe, at the very least, Luigi deserves to see his brother one last time.

And maybe a few more times after that, for good measure.

Anyways so the original plan was just to have either Luigi and Bowser straight up immediately abandon the crime scene (not really crime scene) or have Luigi sit in the mansion forever and live out a miserable existence.

But I couldn't do that to my boys now could I. (But Peasley still gets abandoned because screw Peasley I hate that little bean man /j).

This wasn't meant to turn out in the format it did but, y'know, it did. Just know this isn't brief but also isn't comprehensive. I might (big emphasis on might) make a shorter headcanon post on this, but we'll see.

I hope you enjoyed. And sorry for the length, I am not known and will never be known for being concise.

#luigi #luigi mario #mario and luigi #prince peasley #king boo #bowser #bowuigi #boo luigi #mario au #corpse bride au #I'm ngl writing this took me multiple hours #but I said I'd do it #for my fans #(they aren't real I'm just delusional and tired)

[dragoneye01]

Under My Skin (Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Word Count: 1,222

Summary: Everyone gets under Jonathan Crane's skin, even the one he likes the most. But you're different.

It was easy to get under Jonathan Crane’s skin. Most people were annoying, picky, and irked him. They got under his skin, but you.  .  . you were different. Oh yes, you did get under his skin. You asked a lot of questions, too many questions. You talked too much about too many things. If he didn’t know you to be an English Literature teacher, he would’ve taken you for a scientist or a philosopher. Your knowledge of the natural world was astounding, along with your takes on the human psyche. It was like a special interest to you, especially the effects of certain fungi on the brain. You were fascinated by the mushroom that controlled creatures, the fungus that moved creatures to its own will. 

Jonathan Crane, for the longest time, thought that you knew about his secret identity, especially after he was let go from Gotham University over shooting a gun off in class. 

“That was you? I thought it had been an overactive student.” You commented when the two of you had met for coffee after the incident. He had just taken up his mantle as The Scarecrow and was on edge, wondering if you KNEW. 

“I’m afraid the students did not appreciate my demonstration and thus I was fired. No one appreciates a good lecture anymore.” Jonathan huffed. 

“No, students are changing. Entitled little brats.” You scoffed. “Did I tell you about the class discussion where I couldn’t dock a student points for being a bigot because of the school’s policy? I wanted to expel this student from my class, but the dean insisted it’d be discriminatory against their beliefs, even though said beliefs were bigoted! Can you believe it? I should just quit school and create a life of crime.” You laughed. 

Jonathan laughed nervously. 

“Yes, a life of crime. And what would you do?” He asked, carefully. 

“Hmm.  .  . maybe I’d perfect an experiment on fungi that can take control of their host, controlling others into doing my bidding. I could release a toxin or cultivate it in a public space so that I could use others to steal money for me. Collecting books is an expensive hobby.” A smile broke out on your face. At that Jonathan could agree. 

And that’s where he found himself now. Using his fear toxin he broke into the Gotham University Library, into the old and interesting section. There were many books there of interest, but he only had eyes for one. It was a story collection from the mid-nineteenth century that centered on gothic fairy tales. Haunting and eerie tales that were beloved to many. You had a soft spot for this collection, so much so that he made sure to wear gloves when handling it. Stealing it was easy. Why keep this book hidden away in a library full of ungrateful people? That was his reasoning. You would love and cherish this book. Display it, keep it out of direct sunlight, find pride in it. 

Jonathan had invited you over to his apartment to share a cup of tea or coffee when he showed you the book. He handed you a pair of soft, cloth gloves and then bestowed the book to you. This was the moment of truth. Would you know who he was? The theft wasn’t in the news. Who would report on one stolen library book? But would you understand how he got it? Would you see his well-kept secret? Would you accept him for who he had become? 

You held the book reverently, easily identifying it as the one from the Gotham University Library. Softly, you whispered, “Jonathan, how did you get this?” 

Jonathan had left the room for a moment to get your cups after the tea had finished steeping. “Oh, don’t you know? I’ve begun a life of crime now and stealing books is my goal.” He said as sarcastically as possible. 

“You’re not lying.” You spoke. Jonathan stared at you, heart skipping a bit. “You have a tell when you’re lying. It’s like you slip, from the years of academia, and you get a twang to your voice. You’re not lying this time. You really did it, didn’t you? I heard rumors at the University about you, ya know? That you had.  .  .”

“That I had what?” He asked quietly, holding the cups of tea. You sat on his sofa with the book held to your chest, eyes open so wide. 

“They call you the Scarecrow now, don’t they?” It was barely above a whisper. 

“That they do, my dear.” Jonathan stared at you intently. 

“And you stole a book for me?” 

“It would appear so.” 

“A favorite of mine. What did you do to get it?” You asked curiously. Jonathan still held the cups, standing in the doorway. 

“I have created a fear toxin and I used it to scare the security guards senseless, letting me sneak in to take the book. It was such a small theft that it wasn’t reported. Can you imagine? That University admitting that someone so easily came in and took what they wanted? They’d never admit to it.” He noticed a look on your face, a look of curiosity. A look of interest. 

“Is it bad that I’m not scared?” 

“Did you know beforehand?” He asked. 

“I guessed.  .  . you know, with how you managed to still live decently after being let go. You seemed to be enraptured in something, but I never could guess what it was. But now.  .  . this is everything. You’re the Scarecrow! The King of Fear!” You laughed loudly, setting the book on the coffee table. Standing up, you walked over to the doorway and took your cup of tea. Jonathan watched your every move. 

“Are you scared?” 

“Should I be?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“Only if you want to be.” You both stood so closely together, taking up space in the doorway. He took a chance. Jonathan reached out a hand and cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheekbone. He leaned in for a chaste kiss, honestly surprised when you didn’t pull away. You pressed your lips to his and then pulled away before he could ask for more. 

“The tea will get cold.” You smiled. 

“That’s true.” He nodded. 

“Would you read to me?” 

“Read to you?” 

“Yes, out of the book. I’d like it if you read one of the stories to me.” You walked over to the sofa again. Jonathan sat with you, knees touching. With gloves on, he picked the book up, flipping it open to a random story. You leaned into his shoulder, listening to the drawl of his words. As he read, his southern accent came out, making the words drip like honey. Jonathan’s eyes scanned the pages, occasionally glancing at you. He never wanted this moment to end. But every story had to have an ending. 

“I almost wish the tale didn’t have to end.” He commented when you finished the gothic retelling of Red Riding Hood. 

“You could always steal me another book and we could keep doing this.” He liked that little smirk that came on your face. “We could have our own personal library. You read me a story. I read you a story. It doesn’t have to end with this.” 

“Oh, my dear, it’s just beginning.” Jonathan smiled, carefully shutting the book.

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane imagine #dc x reader #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow x reader

[schmergo]

I’m so glad Dracula Daily is a thing because when I was in college, I had an absolute BLAST reading Dracula for my Gothic & Sentimental Literature class and the whole class experience felt a lot like this. For our final project for that class, we could either write a traditional paper OR do a “creative response.” I ended up writing a whole Weird Al-style parody musical about Dracula in which each song is a spoof of a song from a real musical. It was definitely my favorite college assignment I did. 

When I submitted it, my professor sent me an email with the subject matter “I take it back,” and wrote, “ In this case, I DO give A plusses.  Megan, I would have given  you an A for the "Dracula" song you performed in class. But you wrote a WHOLE F'ING OPERA! “ 

This is the track listing for anyone who’s interested (perhaps mild spoilers):

1. JOURNEY ON (Parody of the song of the same name from Ragtime): Jonathan, Dracula, Mina

2. THOUSANDS OF BUGS (Parody of “Seasons of Love” from Rent): Renfield

3. MY EYES ARE FULLY OPENED (Parody of song from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Ruddigore/ Sometimes Pirates of Penzance): Dracula, Jonathan, Renfield

4. DRACULA! (Parody of “Popular” from Wicked): Dracula

5. BUT VAN HELSING (Parody of “But Mr. Adams” from 1776), Van Helsing, Arthur, Seward, Lucy, Quincey 

6. GOOD EVENING, DRACULA! (Parody of “Good Morning Baltimore” from Hairspray): Lucy 

7. KEEPING DEATH AT BAY (Parody of “Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas): Van Helsing

8. IT TAKES SIX (Parody of “It Takes Two” from Into the Woods): Jonathan, Mina, Van Helsing, Seward, Arthur, Quincey

9. KILL ME! (Parody of “Show Me” from My Fair Lady): Mina 

10. ONE STAKE MORE (Parody of “One Day More” from Les Miserables): Entire company 

11. DON’T CRY FOR ME MIDNIGHT’S CHILDREN (Parody of “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” from Evita): Dracula 

And, if you want to read Dracula’s big villain song, here it is:

(To the tune of “Popular”)

Dracula:

Whenever I see someone less powerful than I

And—let’s face it—who isn’t

Less powerful than I? Their mortal blood tends to start to spill.

So I’m giving you a makeover

Lie back and let me take over

Before I go in for the kill.

For even in your case

A girl so sweet and pure, demure and chaste

I’ll sway you, with each gallon that you bleed

On which I feed

Then, yes, indeed

You will join...

 Dracula! The dreadful Count Dracula!

You’ll glide without making noise

Kidnap little boys

In the shadows, swoop and pounce! Oh!

I’ll put you into a trance

So you’ll stand no chance

Drain you down to your last ounce

Cause I’m Dracula…

The horrid Count Dracula

You’ll hang out inside a crypt

Sticking to my script

From centuries ago

Now I’m here, so darkness will fall and blood will flow.

 I’m not afraid of sun or running water

I think of them as speedbumps on my road to slaughter

And garlic blossoms can’t protect your daughter

Your rear-view mirror

Does no good, I fear, for

It can’t reflect Count Dracula, immortal Count Dracula

Immortal’s just what you’ll be

When you stand by me

So say goodbye to who you are—ta-ta!

There’s no escape, I’ll track you

You can’t hide from Dracular… la…

MWAAAAHAAAAA HAAAAAHAHAHAA

You’re gonna be like Dracula!

 Being ancient hell-spawned creatures

Comes with several special features

Strength, shape-shifting, immortality, to name three.

Celebrated heads of state

Quite soon will be decapitated

Your scientific knowledge

Cannot stop me.

 Cause I’m Dracula! Please! You don’t mess with Dracula

If I see you wield a stake

Oh boy, big mistake

And next time you wake, you’ll be

A vampire slave for all eternity!

 And though you protest

Just like all the rest

You’ll be possessed by me

My dear, once I have got you

You’ll be all Nosferatu-y!

Mwaaaaahaaaa, haaaa-haaha—

Like Count Dracula

Just not half as fabulous as me!

#musicals #dracula #dracula spoilers

[phaedraismyusername]

It's September and we're in a heatwave so instead of choosing violence here's some oppressive summer gothics to match the abysmal autumn vibes

The criteria - they have to be hot and humid, they have to be gothic in nature, dark in content, and they have to at least flirt with the paranormal

Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

This follows Andrew as he moves to a college across the country to step into his dead best friend Eddie's old life as he desperately tries to prove that he must've been murdered. Haunted, both figuratively and literally, angry and grieving, Andrew sets off on a path that leads him to question everything he ever thought he knew about himself and their history together as he fights to accept who he is, who Eddie was, and maybe tries to learn how to live without him. Fast-paced, dark, and super gay.

Water Shall Refuse Them by Lucie McKnight Hardy

After the death of her little sister, teenager Nif and her family move to rural Wales for the summer in an attempt to escape their grief. Set in the 1970s during a heatwave the isolation and oppressive weather quickly start to take their toll. With an emotionally absent mother, a father with a wandering eye and a needy younger brother, Nif becomes convinced she's stumbled across her own kind of magic, before catching the attention of the strange boy across the street. Think Shirley Jackson, definitely not YA.

Dark and Shallow Lies by Ginny Myers Sain

Now, this is YA. We follow 17 year old Grey as she returns back to her tiny hometown in the Louisiana Bayou for the summer 6 months after her best friends mysterious disappearance. In a town that claims to be the 'psychic capitol of the world', someone must know something, right? Full of secrets, lies, and a boy who steps out of the forest with storm-bright eyes, this was a quick and twisty atmospheric read.

The Hacienda by Isabel Canas

When political upheaval gets her father executed and his family is left in shame and destitution, Beatriz decides she'll do whatever it takes to find security in her life again. When a handsome Don proposes, Beatriz jumps at the chance to accept and move out to his countryside estate with big plans for the future, but it doesn't take long before she's spending her nights terrorised by a mysterious entity inside her new home, forcing her to seek help from the strangest of places. The imagery is creepy, the tone is tense, there's a hot priest, what more do you want?

Cold Moon Over Babylon by Michael McDowell

Probably the darkest book on this list, and definitely the oldest. When a young girl is brutally murdered within sight of her home, it starts a chain of events that will see a family destroyed, secrets and lies exposed, and a vengeful creature that looks almost human to rise from the river as the town that surrounds it starts to crumble. The people are unlikeable, the book is old, the content is Dark - you've been warned.

Ghost Wood Song by Erica Waters

Also YA but this time for the bisexuals. Shady Grove can call ghosts from the grave with her music, just like her daddy could, but everyone knows that only trouble comes from playing for the dead. When her brother is accused of murder, Shady decides to embrace her birthright and use any power she can to clear his name. It's sweet, it's sad, it's lyrical, and there's a little bi love triangle sprinkled in to sweeten the sorrows. It's also a debut!

#book recs #summer gothic #september heatwaves for the L #summer sons #lee mandelo #water shall refuse them #lucy mcknight hardy #dark and shallow lies #ginny myers sain #the hacienda #isabel canas #cold moon over babylon #michael mcdowell #ghost wood song #erica waters #booklr #ya #horror #gothic #southern gothic #seriously tho #if youre at all sensitive to darker themes and topics #i highly recommend googling content warnings and triggers #cos ya know #theres a lot lol

[fable-and-folly]

fic recs

Novel length fics I love and wish were real books :)

The Curse of Anteros -- @danpuff-ao3 -- Snarry, 52k, E

When Harry is cursed, he seeks out Severus Snape. They have a long history behind them, after all, and they've always had so much between them. Who else would he go to?

Kept in Cages -- @sweet-s0rr0w -- Drarry, 76k, E

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all. Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

A Lick and a Promise -- @tackytigerfic -- Drarry, 55k, E

Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts! When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help. Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover—as DADA Professor, naturally. He’s going to need the help of the Ministry’s foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he’s not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea. Things are complicated between them—what’s new?—but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case. Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand. A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things -- @writcraft -- Drarry, 63k, E

Harry has terrific friends, an amazing girlfriend and his job as Head Auror enables him to work on challenging cases and Ministry reform. He just wishes he could work out why he’s been so out of sorts. When Draco Malfoy is arrested for gross indecency, Harry’s comfortable life begins to unravel. He’s forced to decide if it’s worth risking everything for love in a world where following his heart is a criminal offence.

Nocturne -- @necromanticnoir -- Snarry, E, 54k

A Gothic Snarry version of ‘Beauty and the Beast’, inspired by the dark and sensual tale from the Czech film version, ‘Panna a Netvor’. I follow some of the plot, but then diverge and do my own thing. Got to make it even weirder, right? An eerie, erotic, brooding, bloody, batty, haunting fairytale. ‘Underneath my skin there’s a human. Buried deep within there’s a human. Despite everything, I’m still human.’ - ‘Human’ by Daughter

A Guide to the Morphology of Magic -- orphaned -- Drarry, 64k, E

When Draco Malfoy is hand picked to investigate a string of curses cropping up in Muggle communities in North America, the last person he wanted to be traveling with was Harry Potter. Still, duty calls, and the two set off on an adventure chasing down mysterious curses, sleeping in cramped hotel rooms, and trying to navigate their newly formed post-War selves as they make their way through small towns and long, dark stretches of highway.

Soup-pocalypse and the Great Curry Cataclysm -- SquadofCats -- Drarry, 104k, E

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

Star Quality -- who_la_hoop -- Drarry, 118k, E

Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?

By the Grace -- @letteredlettered -- Drarry, 139k, T

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

On the Deficiency of Translation Spells -- @liladiurne -- Snarry, 41k, E

Divorced, single, and free, Harry lives a completely unapologetic life in Paris. Between casual hook-ups and an easy, comfortable job, he likes to think he is as close to happiness as he'll ever be. And when he gets offered a teaching job at the prestigious Académie Beauxbâtons, he thinks he may have found exactly what was missing. But Harry is thoroughly unprepared for what he finds there - a familiar face that's been haunting his dreams for six years.

Wild -- orphaned -- Drarry, 92k, E

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

Tapestry -- @kbrick -- Drarry, 91k, E

In 2017, Harry is on his way to Pansy and Luna's beach house. He’s a bit terrified of seeing Draco, to be honest. It’s been a while, and then there’s the little matter of Draco having married someone else in the interim. In 2001, Draco is drunk, wearing Pansy's mother's ermine coat, and afraid to walk into the Leaky because someone might throw a curse at him. So, of course, he runs into his ex-nemesis and hopeless crush, Harry Potter. This is a love story that isn't perfect, about two people whose timing is never quite right, and all the moments that come together to make something extraordinarily beautiful anyway.

The Secret of the Philosopher Stone -- @yletylyf -- Snoldemort, 115k, E

Voldemort gets the Philosopher's Stone, but finds himself trapped at Hogwarts and in need of rescue. Loyal Death Eater Severus Snape is on the job, but even he is not quite prepared for Lord Voldemort to return as Tom Riddle with a patched-up soul and no interest in war. And as for Tom? Well, it's not so easy to stop being a domestic terrorist.

The Left Words -- authoresswithoutwords -- Tomarrymort, 234k, E

Harry has some weird words on his left wrist. That must be one of those strange things that Aunt Petunia hates so much. But it's okay! He likes them. Then, it all turns even weirder. Hogwarts, magic, a Headmaster and a Dark Lord await Harry - he would prefer if they all just left him alone, thank you very much. But when has it ever mattered what Harry wants?

When the Rose and the Fire Are One -- @perverse-idyll -- Snarry, 81k, E

Harry's haunted by guilt. Snape's warded by roses. Each must free the other in order to free himself.

#hp fic recs #drarry fics #snarry fics #tomarrymort fic #snoldemort fic

[vylad243]

hiiii! 💕 I know you said you aren’t taking on too many requests atm, so it’s no pressure at all if you don’t feel like responding for a bit — your comfort is top priority after all! But here’s a bit of a fandom AU classic for you: radiostatic beauty and the beast AU.

Vox is a young, brilliant, beautiful, and talented up-and-coming overlord hoping to make it in the scene with his newfangled television idea — Hell still being in The Dark Ages (TM) at this time. He feels unsatisfied with his life and is ostracized/shunned by his fellow overlords and sinners who assume he’s stuck up and find his constant push for innovation odd (“what is this so-called electricity thing? We were doing JUST fine with the trashfires, thank you!”) Not helping matters is that he is also being actively “pursued” (aka harassed) by Valentino, who keeps proposing that they team up for business purposes but really just wants Vox’s soul/Vox all to himself and won’t take no for an answer. Despite his aspirations, Vox is content to live as happy and simple a life can have in Hell alongside his beloved personal assistant Papermint and Vark.

Things take a turn when, one day, Papermint goes out to run an errand while walking Vark and doesn’t return. Concerned for his assistant’s safety, especially after Vark returns Papermintless, Vox does some investigating (sidenote: I headcanon that Vox used to be a journalist when he was human, so he’d have the skillset) and after doing enough digging, realizes that Papermint had vanished around the premises of a seemingly abandoned and derelict hotel on the outskirts of Pride. Heading there himself, he finds himself taken aback when common household appliances start talking to him and notices a strange magical aura permeating the old building as he scopes it out. He eventually finds Papermint in the dungeon and is confronted by the imposing form of a giant, territorial wendigo — however he quickly recognizes the creature as Alastor, a former overlord who had mysteriously gone radio silent seven years ago and was presumed dead by the masses. He had caught Papermint trespassing on his property and had tossed him in the dungeon with plans to turn him into a future meal for attempting to steal from him: the poor assistant had tried to make off with a beautiful antique radio as a gift for Vox to cheer him up after Val’s latest stint had left him considerably heated and had wrongfully assumed the place was abandoned.

Vox, as you can imagine, is having absolutely none of this and barters with the Radio Demon to release Papermint and, in exchange, he’ll take his place as his prisoner and next meal—as it was his fault his assistant wound up in this predicament anyway, and besides it’s not like anyone will care if he’s gone anyway, right? Alastor is taken aback by this young demon’s gutless nature and sacrifice (and perhaps even a little flattered as well), but honours his wishes and let's Papermint go, arranging him a room to stay in and allowing Vox free reign of the hotel as long as he stays away from the forbidden radio tower. Vox is likewise just as confused by Alastor’s gentleman nature as anyone probably would be: having heard many, many stories before of the “terrifying and ruthless, bloodthirsty” Radio Demon, Vox is mostly shocked that he hasn’t been torn limb from limb yet. He finds himself adjusting to life at the hotel fairly quickly, finding the strange sense of solace it provides the much needed reprieve from his life back home, despite the occasional bouts of homesickness (missing Papermint and Vark in particular). He even quickly befriends and bonds with the enchanted staff, which includes a gothic raggedy Ann type doll named Velvette (who naturally is at the ready to give him a makeover at the drop of a hat), a vintage tea kettle set named Rosie, Niffty — a feather duster, and so on.

However, despite his terrifying appearance and reputation, Alastor is mostly just an awkward loner desperately seeking companionship and sees a worthy potential friend in Vox (although rest assured, the Radio Demon will not hesitate to rip you apart with his teeth if you cross him); living in exile after being cursed into this form by Lilith herself for his arrogance, Alastor has long since given up hope on breaking the curse and his content to live a quiet life in isolation with his enchanted servants. However something about this Vox creature draws his attention and fascination quickly turns into affection the longer the two interact and bond. It isn’t too long before Alastor realizes that he no longer wishes Vox to just be his friend, but his mate: with much of the help of the staff, he begins the process of attempting to court Vox over the span of a year — unfortunately, years in isolation has left the poor stag with the social skills of a rock, so Vox doesn’t immediately clue in on what’s going on but is flattered by the lovely and thoughtful gifts and increasing invites to dinner and dances. Unbeknownst to Al, Vox soon starts developing feelings of his own toward the terrifying but kind demon as well, but is too scared to act on them in fear of being rejected like he is with everyone else. Velvette, and the rest of the staff are all sighing and shaking their heads at the mutual idiocy of these two.

Unfortunately, their budding romance is put to the test when Alastor realizes that, by the end of this year, if his spell isn’t broken, then he will be permanently trapped in this state and will be lost to his animalistic urges, putting Vox at a great risk of getting hurt. He allows Vox the opportunity to go visit his family back home for some time and uses his absence to sneak out of the hotel and meet up with the princess — who had been letting him and his thralls hide away in her hotel this whole time — in secret, hoping to figure out how to finally break his curse before anyone gets hurt; Charlie is, unfortunately, unable to break the curse herself but informs him that if he performs one truly selfless act for someone he loves, then the spell will be broken and he will be restored to his former power.

And just beyond the gates of the hotel, things in Hell aren’t looking so hot either: Vox’s disappearance was initially brushed off, as was Papermint’s claims of the Radio Demon still being alive, but now — six months in without power and the media demon still not showing has made speculation rise. Things only go more out of control when Alastor himself is accidentally spotted on one of Vox’s still functioning security cameras leaving a secret meeting with the princess. Shit hits the fan and, ever the opportunist, Valentino seizes the chance to rile up both the public and his fellow overlords into taking down the Radio Demon before he becomes too “difficult to manage”, his efforts only strengthening when Vox suddenly reappears back in Pentagram City, still alive and singing the Radio Demon’s praises as he gleefully reunites with his beloved assistant and pet shark once more. Valentino tries to pressure Vox into staying away from the hotel even longer and becomes more aggressive/possessive in his advances as a result — accusing the wendigo of brainwashing him and projecting so, so hard in the process. Vox, fed up with the moth’s disgusting dehumanizing treatment of him, denounces him and tells him flat out that he’d rather die than be Val’s little plaything, inadvertently letting his feelings for Alastor slip in the process. Enraged at this final, brutal rejection, Val knocks Vox unconscious and keeps him locked up in his tower for a time, using his sudden disappearance and staged evidence to fake the media overlord’s murder and further rally up the people and leads them into an attack on the hotel — fully intending on killing Alastor so that Vox has nobody left to go to but him.

Meanwhile poor Al is beside himself with worry over his mate not returning but falls into despair at the thought that Vox has abandoned him the longer he fails to return, and meanwhile Vox desperately tries to escape Val’s tower, realizing that he really is in love with Alastor and vowing to kill Valentino himself should anything happen to his Radio Demon. He manages to get a distress message to Papermint, Vark and a stowaway Velvette, who help him break out and together, they race to go save Alastor before it’s too late.

This is quite a long one! While this is a great prompt, sadly this would be quite a large project and I don't want to do anything too big for prompts since I like to keep them to 1k-3k words. Maybe one day I'll shorten this down and make it into a prompt, but not right now

Thank you for the prompt regardless! It sounds really interesting!

#hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #anonymous #radiostatic

[godslush]

I guess as part of the slow migration of stuff I can no longer rely on referring to TwiX for, here's a few more concepts from the Gothic AU. Most of the Stardroid stuff is @dahlia-the-nurd's business, but I've drawn a few, and we started working on some Second Numbers stuff. There's also more OC-focused art, but that's another can of worms and a little more personal.

Organized a bit weird here because my inconsistent aspect ratios are messing with thumbnail focus.

Pluto (the only SRN I was 'responsible' for coming up with backstory for) was a witch's familiar, a black cat who absorbed her moon-based magic and reincarnated through nine lifetimes, gaining more and more silver fur each time, specializing in fae shapeshifting. Being on his final life, he works for Sunstar and Terra as a manor guard and concierge of sorts.

I know very little about Jupiter, save he's a harpy living in the 'SRN' manor's tower, keeping watch with his corvid flock. Despite being a 'Gothic Horror' AU, the setting eventually branched into other folklores and mythologies, with the 'gothic' stuff being most prominent due to the focused region centering around the vampires' and werewolves' ecological origin point. The 'Stardroids' are a motley collection because they've come from all over the world.

Neptune is meant to fill the "Creature from the Black Lagoon" niche as far as the 'classic movie monsters' interpretation of 'gothic horror' goes, and lives in the lake/moat of the manor. Hilariously enough, he is also the manor's primary chef. A rare traditionally-drawn concept piece, but doesn't show off how he's usually caked in algae, and carries a big ol' hook.

Two pics of werewolf Sunstar, done in a far more 'clean' style, because we had just watched Castlevania, haha. Also, something about his design makes me want to go that extra mile.

The Second Numbers are all werewolves, with 'Wily' being one of the oldest; his inner circle of original converts being one of the more notorious 'packs' terrorizing the countryside from their base in a cave with a conveniently skull-shaped mountain face.

Metal is an anti-hunter, who masquerades as a woodcutter and carpenter going from town to town, weeding out threats and opening the towns to raids. Despite this, his initial conversion to werewolf wasn't exactly stellar, and he prefers the company of humans over other werewolves when possible.

Air, by contrast, was killed by hunters rather gruesomely, only to be subjected to an attempt at revival through dark magic. It worked, but he retained sapience - enough so to enact revenge on the hunters who did it. He can no longer revert to human form, but it's a small price to pay given his current reanimated state has a reputation for being nigh unbeatable unkillable.

#art #fanart #mega man #mega man v #mega man 2 #stardroid pluto #stardroid jupiter #sunstar #metal man #air man #body horror #cw gore #there is SO much more to this than what's feasible to write here #and i have to resist the urge to drop pages and pages of info for this set alone lmao #like how werewolves mutate unique non-lupine traits based on self-image and that's why they're so gaudy #but it's also a stylistic nod to... like... darkstalkers

[faulty-writes]

So hi,how are you? Are requests open? If so could you write a headcanon for Tokoyami with a reader who was a goth style and looks super badass but is a sweetheart inside? Thanks

Yes hello, at the time you submitted this, my requests were open. Currently, they are closed, however. As a goth myself, I support this request! Let's get to it! I love support for minor characters.

Fumikage admired your style. The way you integrated black, red, and purple into your outfits was astounding. The lace, velvet, and elegant embroidery that composed your clothing had him speechless. Not to mention that perfect touch of make up that made his feathers stand on end.

You matched perfectly with his own dark aesthetic and shared interests. He found himself falling for the mysterious aura that surrounded you, and perhaps it was shameful to admit, but it was the very thing that made him eager to learn more about you.

"What!? Are you nuts man? Y/n is more intimidating than Bakugou!" His friends quickly dismissed the idea of him befriending you, but even if what they said was true, he sensed kindness deep within you. "I would prefer to find out myself, thank you," he wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise.

The two of you favored venturing to the library and on occasion, Fumikage would find himself engaging in conversation over horror stories and spell books. The two of you shared recommendations of reads, and he found himself at ease, even when he introduced you to Dark Shadow who tried his best to behave.

Like with his appearance, he noticed the stares and the unjust comments others would make about you. "I would like to ask you to stop speaking in such a way about Y/n," was his way of putting a gentle stop to it. Even if he was laughed at in response, Dark Shadow usually managed to scare them off.

You continued to surprise him with your unexpected kindness like bringing him his favorite snacks or little Wiccan gifts when he was feeling down. Dark Shadow would sometimes get jealous of the attention you gave Fumikage, so you'd usually make it up to him by spending time cuddling.

"I...hope this is acceptable to you," he panicked the first time he insisted the two of you take a late-night stroll. Even with the dim streetlights, he thought you looked like a beautiful God or Goddess who shared his love of darkness and seclusion.

At times, you'd get tired of the way people looked at you or ran away when you happened to walk by or be in the area. Their taunting whispers and fear of you just because of your outward appearance got old sometimes. But Fumikage was always there, acting as a pillar of unwavering support on the days you struggled, and was ready to face any form of darkness with you.

"I...I..." he was in shock the day you brought up adopting a pet and a little offended that you'd want a pet raven. Dark Shadow managed to talk you out of it. "What are ya nuts!? Fumikage tell them you're all the bird they'll ever need!" Although those words made him blush, he did agree. He wanted to be the only feathered creature you had feelings for.

Gothic-themed gifts were a priority for Fumikage, and he'd often shower you with vintage jewelry or darkly romantic gifts like black flowers. He hoped they served as a reminder of the darkness the two of you adored and the affection he felt for you.

"It would be an honor if you joined us," one of your favorite things to do with Fumikage was spooky movie nights. The thrill of watching horror movies while cuddling your feathered sweetheart was joyful. Although most of your classmates declined the offer to join the two of you.

Despite your intimidating appearance and the occasional feeling of not belonging, you realized what you and Fumikage had was special. Two souls finding each other amid darkness was beautiful, and the unique bond you had was certainly reminiscent of true love.

#fumikage x reader #tokoyami x reader #tokoyami x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x male reader #bnha x fem!reader #faulty writes: fumikage tokoyami: 24 #faulty writes: fumikage tokoyami: headcanons: 24

[warrioreowynofrohan]

I want to comment on art in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and Jane Eyre, because I think it’s an illustrative comparison.

In both books, the heroines have an interest in and a talent for art. I’m a little bhind on Wildfell Weekly, but in chapter 18, “The Miniature”, we see Huntingdon looking at Helen’s art on several occasions. On all of them, he shows no interest in the art itself or Helen’s thoughts as an artist (as with a scene where he calls her away to look at a Van Dyke pa8nting and she’s actually interested in it, but he cuts off her thoughts as he doesn’t care about it and only wanted to get her alone), but only what the art demonstrates about her feelings for him, which please his ego.

On the first occasion, he is looking through Helen’s drawings, but we get none of his comments on them until he is delighted to find a sketch of him favce on the back of one of them, and some etased but still visible attempts at other sketches of him. He is delighted by this, flaunts his power over Helen by ignoring her for the rest of the evening and flirting with another woman, and then kisses her (a very unacceptable advance on a woman you weren’t married or engaged to to at the time, and one which Helen does not consent to).

The next day, he sees Helen working on a detailed painting of a young girl in a glade of the forest looking up at a pair of nesting turtledoves, a symbol of love.

“Very pretty, i’faith!” said he, after attentively regarding it for a few seconds; “and a very fitting study for a young lady. Spring just opening into summer—morning just approaching noon—girlhood just ripening into womanhood, and hope just verging on fruition. She’s a sweet creature! but why didn’t you make her hair black?” [Helen’s hair is dark.]

“I thought light hair would suit her better. You see I have made her blue-eyed and plump, and fair and rosy.”

“Upon my word—a very Hebe! I should fall in love with her if I hadn’t the artist before me. Sweet innocent! she’s thinking there will come a time when she will be wooed and won like that pretty hen-dove by as fond and fervent a lover; and she’s thinking how pleasant it will be, and how tender and faithful he will find her.”

“And perhaps,” suggested I, “how tender and faithful she shall find him.”

“Perhaps—for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope’s imaginings at such an age.”

Helen gets him to walk the last comment back, but his takeaway from the painting - another assurance that she’s in love with him, and he can use that and rely on it without giving anything in return - is, again, one that satisfies his vanity and sense of power. And immediately after, he takes Helen’s works in progress and looks at them, ignoring her refusal, and laughs at finding a miniature of his portrait she has drawn.

This contrasts with a scene in Jane Eyre where Rochester is looking at Jane’s art: he is not interested in what they say about how she feels about him (this is still early in their acquaintanceship), but in what they say about her and her thoughts.

Rochester looks through her portfolio closely and picks out three, all with rather Gothic subjects and tone (in contrast to the more sentimental tone of Helen’s turtledove painting):

one of a shipswreck in storm, with the arm of a drowned woman, and a cormorant holding a jewelled bracelet that the waves had torn from her wrist

the peak of a grassy hill in wind, with a deep blue twilight sky showing the shoulders and head of the figure of a woman with a star on her brow (Silmarillion fans, imagine fanart of Varda and you’ll get the idea)

An iceberg in polar winter, with the northern lights, and a vast, pale-white head in the sky, half- veiled and representing Death.

Even as a narrator of the book, Jane is diffident, saying the pictures are “nothing wonderful”, but she describes them in great detail, and in answer to Rochester’s question of whether she was happy when she painted them, admits that “to paint them was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known”, and that when she painted them she worked on them from morning to night.

That Rochester focused on these three paintings, which are very different from the calm, composed, and dutiful image Jane projects to the outside world, already says a lot about his understanding of her; he is seeing something in her that almost no one else has noticed. He observes, before she has told him anything, that they took “much time, and some thought.” Jane, despite having loved working on them, says in response to his questions that she is dissatisfied with them: “in each case I had imagined something which I was quite powerless to realize.”

Rochester is clearly impressed by both the art and the thoughts, though blunt and not flattering:

“You have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist’s skill and science to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make them loomk so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and on that hill-top.”

Huntingdon is interested in Helen’s art only insofar as it reveals her attraction to him and flatters his vanity. Rochester is interested in Jane’s art for what it says about her and her thoughts; she is reserved with most people, and he probably gets a better sense of her personality and character - and shows more interest in it - from that one conversation than anyone else has in Jane’s adult life. His questions are blunt, but she answers them with honesty and emotion, like it’s a relief and pleasure to meet someone who wants to know. She wants the side of her revealed in those paintings to be understood, and he’s the only person she’s met who understands it; that’s central to why they fall in love.

#wildfell weekly #helen graham #huntingdon #the tenant of wildfell hall #jane eyre