misterhellboy:

misterhellboy:

i was talking to max about how my hometown in NC has changed since he’s been gone and he pointed out that our town is quickly becoming a wtnv situation. for instance:

apparently our high school, which is 96 years old and looks like a 16th century gothic castle (complete with lion gargoyles), has a fourth floor that no one really knew about until this year. no one knows how long it’s been in the building but from pictures it looks completely different than the rest and has a strange metal staircase in a spiral pattern.

there is also a basement in the high school with a swimming pool but no one is allowed down there and it is starting to rot the first floor.

for a good while there was a nice elderly black man that would stand outside of random stores and street corners and dance to make people smile. however, in the past few months he has disappeared and is nowhere to be found.

we have a kapstone paper mill in our town and it is regularly normal but some days the smell is absolutely overwhelming and blankets the town like a thick fog.

the abandoned movie theater is blocked off to the public but i was talking to some girls from school about it who occasionally break in to chill what it is like on the inside, and they said that there is a giant, bottomless hole in the entrance’s floor so they have to tiptoe across a single plank of wood to get to the other side.

fairly popular places in town will close down for literally no reason.

one time a tornado came through our town and it destroyed the sonic drive-in and a car dealership next to it but no debris could be found. only the empty lots were there. they rebuilt the sonic in less than a month but the car rental lot was kept empty and now bored teenagers harp around it like vultures.

one time my grandmother saw an unidentified animal in our backyard. she thought it was a fox but when my dog barked at it, it stood up on its back legs and ran away.

fox and coyote sightings are becoming strangely frequent in one single area of town and no one knows why???? its like they all congregate near a horse stable by an old junkyard my cousin used to work at.

whenever a dog runs away from home they all end up coming to my house. every dog that gets loose.

my grandmother saw an unidentified bird in a tree and i still can’t figure out what kind it was based on her description.

sometimes you can hear random gunshots and loud, unknown bestial screams in the uptown areas

there’s probably more but i don’t really get out much. these are just things that i’ve witnessed myself or is common knowledge in town.

another addition:

everyone forgets our mayor’s name and we’re not sure who our current mayor even is

#this town is a cryptid

Homestuck fic gothic

apocrea:

@curlicuecal I did the thing

There has recently been an influx in Dave crackships. Davefef.
DavePM. DaveDaveSerenity. DaveDaveGamzeeDave.
Daves upon Daves upon Daves. You go through the entire archive. The character
tags repeatedly list Dave and only Dave. You reread the actual comic. The first page begins
with “A coolkid stands in his room.” You hate time travel.

You read a fic instead of sleeping. Your mind grows weary,
and the shadows in your room seem to grow. The words melt down the screen,
bubbling and churning as something underneath stirs. A presence looms over you
and grasps at your mind. You blink, and find yourself in the middle of a
Squiddles intermission chapter. You stop reading.

You don’t get why there are so many JohnDave fics. The filter says there are more than 4000 results. Why is it so popular? You refresh the page, hoping for a new fic containing your rarepair. There are 5000 result for JohnDave now. You refresh the page. 7000. 10000. 15000. Please. You just want one. One rarepair fic. You refresh the page.

One writer has decided to give the Trolls literal snakes in place of their tentabulges, in a horrific combination of troll and cherub reproductive biology. Other fics soon follow suit. Nobody finds anything wrong with this.

Scourge Sisters and Equius. Arasol and Equius. Dirkjake and Equius. He looks on in silent judgment as pairings kiss and cuddle and
fuck. Why is he there. Where is he coming from. Nobody seems able to answer
your questions.

Someone asks you about the dead lesbians trope. You don’t understand.
What dead lesbians? Rosemary is the strongest pairing you have ever shipped. They
crush all their enemies with ease and have gratuitous makeouts afterwards. “Please
help,” the authors beg. “They’ve become too powerful. We can’t control them.” You
fail to see what the problem is.

You hear a noise outside your room at 3 in the
morning. You open the door. Andrew Hussie is sobbing on the hallway floor,
surrounded by miniature figurines of horses. You close the door.

Ridiculously Easy.

thebibliosphere:

“Ridiculously easy buttermilk biscuits!” You click the link. It’s a novella about finding inner peace in suburbia. You never knew you were disturbed till now.

“Ridiculously easy green beans!” You click the link, there are twelve ingredients. None of them are green beans.

“Ridiculously easy salted pistachio caramel latte coffee cake in three easy steps!” You click the link. There are twelve steps.

“Ridiculously easy marshmallow fondant!“ You click the link. It’s another novella about suburbia, this time about the dangers of feeding chemicals to your children. You wonder when you acquired these children and worry about their eyes. They are too bright, too happy, too shining…

“Ridiculously easy evaporated milk custard!*” *Must own own cow.

“Ridiculously easy shortcake in 12 steps!” You click the link. There are no steps.

“Ridiculously easy, easy to make, easy in three minutes, easy!” It doesn’t tell you what you’re making but you’re pretty certain it shouldn’t be hissing.

“Ridiculously easy,” the article reads, “easy, it’s so easy, easy” you hear laughing. Your face hurts why does your face hurt?

“It’s so easy,” you tell you friends, your smile is not your own. You can feel your teeth growing, “so easy, you’ll hardly feel a thing!”

cheshirelibrary:

How to Tell if You Are in a Gothic Horror Novel

[via The Toast]

All animals are underfed, black, and vaguely eldritch. They all hate you.

You are a man. If you’re a woman, you are the love interest of the man, and you are dead.

All the women you know have died in childbirth. All the children you know are orphans. You are an orphan.

It’s foggy. If it’s not foggy, it’s smoggy. Or misty. Some form of particulate matter is in the air.

You are arranged to be married to someone sickly.

You tend to dismiss odd noises, prophetic ramblings of mad men, and the death of small animals en masse with a shrug and an offhand “It’s probably nothing.”

Everyone’s last name starts with “Van” or “Von Roth.”

One of your children is crushed to death by a humongous helmet on the day of their wedding.

Everything is gloomy, like that song “Blue” by Eiffel 65 but replace the word “blue” with “gloomy.” You are gloomy. Your life is gloomy and the castle you live in is gloomy. Your underfed black dog is gloomy.

Skulls feature prominently in all interior decorating.

You are in a small town. There is a deep dark secret that only the members of the town know. The outside world can never find out.

It is also a sleepy little town. “Nothing ever happens around here,” says one of the locals. It’s true. Only three people live there and they all died in childbirth.

You go wandering somewhere very cold, and almost freeze to death, but are saved by the fortuitous arrival of a crew of explorers.

You are in a monastery.

You are on a moor.

There is something in the walls (or the wallpaper, or the pipes, or the floors).

Your house has a garret, which is firmly locked for reasons you will not disclose.

You hate everyone, except for one woman you are incredibly attracted to. She hates you.

At least half of the people you know are mad. If you are not yet mad yourself, you are probably well on your way.

The other half are ghosts.

You have recently discovered an old document of some kind. Most likely a journal, but possibly a map or letters written by a dead family member.

All the portraits in your house have peepholes cut in the eyes.

Important events in your life are always preceded by a storm, or at least a stiff wind.

Your house is very dusty and there are cobwebs everywhere. Basically everything is either dust or a cobweb. There isn’t even anything under the dust anymore, just more dust.

You call your bedroom your “chambers.” There is something at your chamber door.

You are near, or on, the ocean.

Someone is keeping a captain’s log.

A book with a malicious spirit trapped inside was very well hidden somewhere no one should have ever found it, and definitely not ineffectually thrown in a chest or a tomb somewhere, but you found it anyway because you’re so curious and full of hubris.

The Evil Creature’s name is comprised entirely of consonants and punctuation.

There was a traumatic event in your childhood involving beach caves.

You are in love with your cousin.

Some form of Catholic imagery has just been appropriated and misused.

You have a love/hate relationship with a grotesquely malformed creature that you are repulsed by, but also pity.

Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly wrong.

You’re looking at something man was not meant to see. You can’t even comprehend it. It has parallel lines intersecting each other, and it goes on for infinity but you can see all of it, and other stuff that’s just really impossible. Like, think about M.C. Escher but then also scary and also your eyeballs are bleeding probably.

You have experienced unspeakable things. Everything has been resolved in the bleakest way possible. Your only hope is that you will take this secret to the grave.