Gothic - Blog Posts
༺☥🦇☽ Bloodlust ☾🦇☥༻
𝔓𝔬𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔞̈𝔯𝔢 𝔑𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔱𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔦 ℜ𝔢𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔢
𝔙𝔬𝔩. 1 ℨ𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔦𝔢
Wendell & Wild/Fire and Imp drawings
1st pic) Eveyln was a goth just like Kat. First time drawing Kat :D
2nd pic) Trying out a way to make it drawing more dynamic. First time drawing Wendell
Can you believe I used to NEVER wear black? I only dressed in rainbows for 6 years. Then on day I decided to dress like this:
Growing up is crazy
OPEN Butterfly Vampire
This Girl is going up for sale at 70$ USD via Paypal, first come first serve, please comment or message to claim.
Personal use only. 10% Sales tax applies to this purchase
Clean linework can be purchased for an additional fee of 50$. Turn around time: 1-2 weeks
Do the dead comfort you? Pt.1
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: On your night shift at the mortuary you discover a fresh mutilated corpse that isn’t supposed to be there, prompting the FBI’s arrival.
Content: Dead bodies, like lots of dead bodies (you're a mortician), stalking, murder, dark humour, reader is a little gothic and macabre, first time reader and Spencer meet, Spencer thinks she’s weird at first but his curiosity leads to him finding her endearing, reader is not used to socializing and has questionable coping mechanisms
Author's note: I’ve literally had this idea for months and needed to get it out of my system.
3,038 words
part two
masterlist
The hum of the mortuary’s refrigeration units was usually a comfort, but today, it felt unnervingly loud. The body wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and the one in its place looked like something out of a horror film—freshly dead, blood-soaked, and carved like a grotesque work of art.
You leaned back against the counter as the FBI agents filed in, their presence slicing through the eerie silence. The group was sharp, purposeful, and clearly used to handling chaos. Among them, one man immediately stood out.
He was tall, maybe six-foot-one, with tousled brown hair that looked like it had lost a battle with a comb. His dark blazer was slightly too big for his lean frame, and the way he adjusted his satchel strap every few seconds hinted at his slight nervous energy. But it was his eyes that caught your attention—warm and endlessly curious, darting around the room like they were cataloging every detail. He looked like he’d stepped out of a library and into a crime scene.
“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, his voice soft but deliberate as he approached you. His eyes lingered for a moment on your dark hair, the chipped edges of your blood-red nail polish, and the subtle skull pendant hanging around your neck. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he formed some unspoken observation.
“I’m the one who found the body,” you said, crossing your arms. His gaze flicked to your black long-sleeve shirt, noticing the faint wrinkles near the cuffs from where you’d been tugging at them earlier.
Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were just as much a puzzle as the case itself. “You work here?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.
You raised an eyebrow. “No, I just hang out in mortuaries for fun. Great ambiance.”
His lips twitched, the hint of a smile betraying his otherwise serious demeanor. “Right.” He glanced at the body, his tone growing more professional. “You said you found the body when you came in for your night shift?”
“Yes,” you replied. “This drawer was supposed to have a heart attack victim I was preparing for burial. Middle-aged woman, very boring. When I opened it today, this was waiting for me.” You gestured toward the bloodied body on the table, your voice calm despite the grim subject matter.
Spencer’s eyes followed your gesture, narrowing slightly as he examined the victim. “You’re certain this wasn’t here yesterday?”
“Dead certain,” you said without thinking, then winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t—I cope with dark humor. Occupational hazard, I guess.”
Spencer glanced at you, his expression softening. “I understand. It’s… not uncommon in this line of work.”
You studied him for a moment, noticing how his slight awkwardness seemed at odds with his sharp intelligence. He had an air of vulnerability about him, but there was also something strikingly self-assured in the way he analyzed everything around him. You wondered how someone like him—bright-eyed and endearingly earnest—handled the kind of darkness he must face every day.
“Do you recognize him?” Spencer asked, gesturing to the body.
You shook your head. “No. Never seen him before. And no one else has access to this section of the mortuary after hours. I locked everything up before I left last night. Whoever put him here must’ve known what they were doing to sneak it in.”
Spencer nodded, his gaze flicking between the cuts on the victim’s body. “The precision of these wounds… they were made deliberately. Whoever did this wasn’t in a hurry. They wanted us to notice the details.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” you said dryly, folding your arms. “They’ve got everyone’s attention now.”
Spencer glanced at you again, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “You seem very calm for someone who just found… this.”
You gave a small shrug, brushing a strand of black hair out of your face. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen something gruesome. Probably won’t be the last.” You hesitated, then added with a wry smile, “Though I’ll admit, finding a surprise corpse is a new one, even for me.”
Spencer studied you for another moment, his head tilting slightly as if he were piecing together something about you. “You said you locked everything last night. Did you notice anything unusual before you left?”
You thought for a moment, absently tapping your nails against the counter. “Nothing out of the ordinary. But then again, ordinary isn’t exactly a guarantee in this job.” You paused, your eyes flicking back to the body. “If someone’s messing with me, they’ve got a pretty sick sense of humor. And that’s saying something, coming from me.”
Spencer didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the body. “This wasn’t a joke. Whoever did this wanted to send a message.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and you found yourself wondering just how deep this case would go. You had always been fascinated by death, but now, for the first time, it felt like death was staring back at you.
After the FBI had concluded their search and cameras were packed away and evidence collected, the usual silence you were used to began seeping back into the cold, sterile atmosphere of the mortuary. The body had been carefully documented and removed, leaving behind the faint antiseptic smell of bleach and cold steel. You stood by the counter, gathering your tools and preparing to get back to work once the team left.
You could feel the day's weight pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show and tried your best to keep your movements steady. You snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and reached for your notebook beside your workstation. The slight tremor in your hands betrayed your calm exterior.
Across the room, Spencer watched you. He stood near the doorway with his satchel slung over one shoulder, fidgeting with the strap as he lingered. He didn’t know why he hesitated to leave—there was something about you that held his attention. Maybe it was the way you handled the situation earlier, calm and composed despite the horrifying scene. In a way it may have seemed suspicious to someone else. Or maybe it was the way your dark humor revealed cracks in your otherwise detached demeanor. Whatever it was, he found himself walking toward you before he could think better of it.
You didn’t notice him at first, focused on arranging your tools in neat rows. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat softly that you looked up, startled.
“Oh,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Still here?”
Spencer hesitated, not knowing how to handle your straightforward behaviour, his hands awkwardly stuffed into his pockets. “Yeah, um… I just wanted to check in with how you’re coping... After everything earlier?”
Your first instinct usually would have been to shrug the concern off, but the question had caught you off guard. You blinked at him for a second, unsure how to answer. “I—” You paused, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Oh I’m great,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Finding a bloodied corpse someone snuck into my mortuary? Best day I’ve had in weeks, really.”
You winced at your own words, immediately looking down after saying them. “Sorry. That was—I shouldn’t have said that.” You fumbled for an excuse, your voice tight. “I just… I don’t talk to people much. I guess I don’t know how to… be normal in situations like this.”
Spencer’s expression softened, his voice gentle. “It’s okay. People cope in different ways. And after today, sarcasm seems pretty appropriate.”
You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You’re weirdly nice for someone who spends his days chasing psychopaths.”
The comment seemed to amuse him, though he didn’t quite smile but instead pursed his lips slightly. “And you’re surprisingly calm for someone whose workspace just turned into a crime scene,” he countered lightly.
You almost laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Guess we’re both a little weird.”
For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the hum of the refrigeration units filling the space between you. Then Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card.
“If you find anything else,” he said, his voice deliberate but kind, “or if you think of something that might help the case, call us. Here’s my number, just in case.” He held the card out to you, his fingers brushing yours as you took it.
You stared at the card for a moment, surprised by the gesture. It was small, routine, even, but it felt like more than that. You looked up at him, your usual stoicism softening into something almost vulnerable. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice warmer than before.
Spencer smiled, the kind of smile that was barely there but sincere. “Take care,” he said, adjusting his satchel as he turned to leave.
As he walked off, you couldn’t help the slight giddiness bubbling up inside you. It was a new sensation, as you tended to dislike most people, however, there was something about this handsome stranger that had you way more interested than you would've liked to admit.
It had been approximately 2 weeks since your ‘corpse surprise’, and work at the mortuary carried on as usual. There had been no leads or updates from the FBI regarding the mysterious body. No one had come forward to claim it, and any investigative efforts seemed to have hit a dead end. The unsettling memory lingered in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to focus on work. The thought of someone managing to sneak a corpse into the mortuary without being caught still made your skin crawl.
You had just finished up with the cremation retort, the faint heat from the machine still lingering in the room, and had begun sweeping and cleaning up the crematory floor. The rhythmic swish of the broom against the tiles filled the quiet, accompanied only by the faint hum of the ventilation system.
As you moved toward the far corner, you noticed something out of place—a faint scuff mark on the otherwise spotless floor near the entrance. You frowned, leaning closer. It looked fresh, like someone had dragged something heavy through the room. A casket, maybe? No, you’d been the only one in here all morning, and the retort was prepped before your shift.
Brushing it off as nothing, you returned to sweeping, but a prickling sensation ran up the back of your neck. The kind of feeling you got when someone was watching you. You stopped mid-sweep and glanced over your shoulder, scanning the empty room. Nothing but sterile counters and a row of sealed urns waiting for pickup.
The ventilation hum seemed louder now, almost deafening in the otherwise silent space. Shaking your head, you muttered, “Get a grip,” and went back to cleaning.
Then came the noise.
A faint shuffle, just beyond the doorway that led to the preparation room. Your hand tightened on the broom handle, your heart thudding against your ribs. It wasn’t uncommon for sounds to echo strangely in the building—pipes groaning or metal trays shifting on counters—but this sounded different. Like a footstep.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing back to you. No response.
Setting the broom aside, you stepped cautiously toward the preparation room, your shoes squeaking faintly against the tiles. As you approached, the air seemed colder, though you couldn’t tell if it was the room or just your nerves.
The door to the preparation room was slightly ajar, just enough for a sliver of shadow to spill into the hallway. You could’ve sworn you’d closed it earlier. Pushing the door open slowly, you peered inside. Everything seemed normal—the stainless steel countertops, the neatly arranged tools, the faint smell of disinfectant in the air.
And yet, the feeling of being watched persisted.
You turned to leave, but your eyes caught on something—a small object sitting on one of the prep tables. It hadn’t been there before. Approaching cautiously, you realized it was a photograph.
A photo of you.
It was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. You were outside the mortuary, standing by your car, looking down at your phone. Your throat tightened as you stared at it, your pulse roaring in your ears.
A faint creak sounded behind you, and you spun around, your breath catching. The door you’d left ajar was now fully closed.
Your hands trembled as you stared at the now-closed door. Despite every instinct in you screaming to leave, to run, you couldn't move. It was as if your entire body had been drenched in ice water and no longer wanted to respond.
When you had finally regained control of your movements you reached for your phone and fumbled through your bag without thinking. Your fingers brushed against the business card Spencer Reid had given you after your first meeting, his handwriting neat and precise on the back: Call if anything comes up.
You hesitated. Would he think you were overreacting? Maybe. But the photograph on the prep table stared back at you, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just paranoia. You tapped the number on your phone and pressed it to your ear, your breath shallow as it rang.
After what felt like years, you finally heard Spencer's familiar voice on the other end, calm and professional, "Dr. Reid."
“Hi, uh, it’s… it’s me,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the prep table for support but still refusing to take your eyes off of the door. “From the mortuary? The weird body situation a couple weeks ago?”
“I remember,” Spencer replied, his tone softening. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not exactly,” you replied, but your voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying your attempt to keep your composure. “I mean, nothing urgent, I don't think. I just… thought I should mention something odd that happened. Probably nothing.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “You don’t sound fine,” Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “What’s going on?”
You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself. “It’s just… someone left a photo of me in the preparation room. Like, an actual printed photograph. I’m not sure how it got there.”
Spencer’s end of the line went silent for a beat, then: “A photograph of you? Where was it taken?”
“Outside the mortuary. By my car, I think. It’s grainy, but it’s definitely me.” You tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “I know it’s probably just someone messing around. But um..." You paused for a moment, wondering whether you should tell him about the odd noises from before and risk sounding paranoid.
“The photo wasn’t the only thing. I thought I heard footsteps earlier, and there was a mark on the floor like something was dragged through the crematory. I… I don’t know, I was sure it was clean this morning when I came in for work, but maybe I’m just spooking myself.”
“You’re not spooking yourself,” Spencer interrupted, his tone more insistent now. “This is serious. Are you still in the mortuary?”
“Yes,” you admitted, glancing toward the door as if expecting it to move again.
“Okay, listen to me,” Spencer said, his voice steadying you. “I need you to leave the building. Lock it up if you can, but get somewhere safe. I’ll notify the team and come to check things out.”
Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and apprehension at his words. “You really think it’s that serious?”
“I don’t take chances with things like this,” Spencer replied. “Neither should you.”
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and pushed yourself off the table. “Okay... Okay, I’ll leave now.”
As you ended the call and pocketed your phone, your eyes darted around the room one last time. The photograph still lay on the table, a grim reminder that whoever had taken it might still be nearby.
You moved quickly now, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Grabbing your bag and coat, you threw them over your shoulder and cast one last glance around the dim room. The photograph still lay on the prep table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pick it up. Your fingers trembled too much anyway. You just needed to get out.
Sliding your phone into your pocket, you tightened your grip on your keys and made your way to the door. Your footsteps echoed in the stillness, each sound magnified in the empty mortuary. Every shadow in the room seemed alive, every creak of the floorboards sending a shiver down your spine.
“Just get out, just get out,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely above a whisper.
You reached the door, exhaling shakily as you reached for the lock. But just as your hand brushed the handle, a cold, sharp sensation pressed against your throat, freezing you in place.
“Don’t move,” a low, raspy voice growled behind you, the words sending a bolt of terror down your spine.
Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you registered the unmistakable feel of a blade pressing against your skin. You didn’t dare turn your head, every muscle in your body locked in place once more.
“You scream, and you’re dead,” the voice continued, so close you could feel the warmth of their breath against your ear.
Your keys slipped from your hand, clattering loudly to the floor. The sound echoed in the silence, a cruel reminder of just how alone you were.
“Good,” the voice murmured, the knife pressing ever so slightly harder against your neck. “Now be a good girl and do exactly as I say.”
Your pulse roared in your ears as panic clawed its way up your throat. You had no choice but to comply.
And that was when the lights in the mortuary flickered and went out, plunging you both into darkness.
The Holy Metropolitan Cathedral Basilica of San Salvador
Foundation 8th century
Construction 13th - 17th century
Static seems loud today
And I cant seem to turn it DOWN
I won’t understand why people would bully other people for dressing alt or anything like that. Like, just admit you’re jealous that your outfit isn’t as cool or interesting; nobody is going to care. It’s fine. And if you wanted to, start trying to dress the same. You can be cool too
Me as a cat:
Source: poeticalphotos
Goths!
I need help, I can’t afford to buy white foundation but I have white eyeshadow, what should I mix it with? I have a foundation that is my shade and a primer. Or should I just use the eyeshadow as it is?
She’s special
drew an outfit i wore to a party a while ago (:
i sewed the cheongsam myself and i must admit im rlly proud of it
Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht, 1979
Werner Hertzog creates a feeling of isolation, mystery, mystical trepidation, silence, Gothic romance, a broken heart, loneliness, death, sadness, impending trouble and void in every frame of the film. Externally impressive visual architecture and indescribable atmosphere arise from mechanical actions: long frames, manual chambers, complex compositions of natural natures, documentary style, slowed down and fascinating acting ... But the internal reason why all this works is the hypnotic mixing of natural and artificial; in the painful hobby of Herzog madness, death, nature and beauty; In the intuitive feeling of everything that exists in this film, and, of course, in the personal vision of Herzog as a great artist. Thanks to all this, the film comes to life, acquires an immense number of measurements, and does not look like a mannerist empty craft.
Nosferatu (1922) • F. W. Murnau
"Everything you've owned is gone, everything you know is wrong. Everyone you've loved has left, everything you've touched is dead."
Unspoken Rules of The Nordic Countries
The trees are not malicious. They will not purposely hurt you. But they will not help, and they will not care if something else comes after you. You are not relevant.
Be careful of which small hills you traverse over. Not all of them are hills. Don’t wake what sleeps under the dirt and rock.
Always be respectful towards what lives in the forest. It will increase the chance of them leaving you alone.
If you leave an offering of food to them, the trolls will keep an eye out for you. Nothing else will.
Make sure you’re clear about who the offering is to, or something else might take it.
Always check the back of the people you meet in the forest. If it looks hollow, or if something’s moving at their waist, quickly but politely part ways with them. Do not follow them anywhere.
If they help you when they find you, thank them thoroughly. If they offer to lead you out, decline politely and ask them to point you in the right direction instead. You wouldn’t want to waste their precious time. Do. Not. Follow. Them. Anywhere.
Be alert of snow in cities. Be wary of snow in the country, and always cover your eyes. It can and will blind you.
If you’re one of the few that go to church on important holidays, don’t look behind you until you’re on church ground. The ones who were here first do not like that newcomer from the desert, and they don’t like you for abandoning them for him.
Be especially wary during Christmas. They do not like the way those desert folk and their three part god twisted their celebration and then called it their own. There’s a reason the Nordic folk still call it Yule.
If you hear violin music from a pond, a lake, a river, turn around immediately. Or else he might ensnare you and convince you to join him at the bottom.
If you hear music in the woods, take another path or return from where you came. They’ll try to ensnare you too, but they might be a bit more merciful and let you go after. But do not tempt fate. Mercy is unlikely, and they will definitely not give it to you twice.
The mountains and hills do not move. If they do, they are not mountains or hills.
If a deciduous tree is still in bloom during winter, do not approach it. Especially not if the earth around it is warm.
The ravens are always watching. They know everything. Never tell a secret in the presence of a raven that you aren’t willing to let them whisper on to something else.
If you find a child standing alone of the side of a road, greet them politely. If they ask for a name, give them one, preferably your own, if possible. They will not do anything bad with it, and will treasure it forever. You will never see them again in the world of the living, but they will remember you fondly.
If you hear the cry of a child by or under the floorboards of a house, ignore them and do some research into your family. If someone you’re related to lived in that house a couple centuries back, pray what’s locked under there never gets loose.
If a dead family member knocks of your door, answer. They have come to tell you important information.
Evil people who die violent deaths rarely pass on. They’re still there. Watching. Planning.
There are few places where no one has died, and much sorrowful history. But do not be afraid. Usually the ghost wish you no ill will. Usually.
Never board the silver metro train unless you wish to be lost forever.
Spot illo for the Casting The Runes rpg, which is inspired by the writing of M. R. James. The artwork was an attempt to mimic the style of illustrations from Edwardian period. This particular illo depicts the creature described in Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book.
'There was black and tattered drapery about it; the coarse hair covered it as in the drawing. The lower jaw was thin—what can I call it?—shallow, like a beast’s; teeth showed behind the black lips; there was no nose; the eyes, of a fiery yellow, against which the pupils showed black and intense, and the exulting hate and thirst to destroy life which shone there, were the most horrifying features in the whole vision. There was intelligence of a kind in them—intelligence beyond that of a beast, below that of a man.'
Spot illo for the Casting The Runes rpg, which is inspired by the writing of M. R. James. The artwork was an attempt to mimic the style of illustrations from Edwardian period.
Cover art for Triple Aces Games Leagues of Gothic Horror - Guide to Mummies. Channeling some Hammer Horror.
The demon Vepar. Spot illo for Triple Ace Games Leagues of Gothic Horror rpg.
