#or the rest of the 'headless' characters

[heatherfield]

I'm halfway through the complete cut of Headless and !! I'm at the Bromtilda wedding!

Ahhhh! (You're probably done now—I'm sorry I wasn't able to answer sooner.)

I can literally remember my whole impressions and journey of the first time I watched "Headless" even though I've watched it countless times since. I remember thinking that Brom and Matilda were literally going to get divorced right away and it would amount to nothing.

I was not prepared.

[sunnymused]

Hey, quick question? What the fuck.

[stormbreaker101]

What the fuck was that.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

one thing that i find interesting is that even though we never get to interact with Marika directly, only knowing her via obscure cutscenes and other characters' dialogue... she actually displays a wide range of emotions as much as any other NPCs.

her statues depict her as having a warm, gentle smile:

the Mimic veil description points to her playful, mischievous side:

(it's a popular theory in the JP/Asian side of the fandom that it's sth from her childhood - hence the "Marika's Mischief", not "Queen Marika's", and she used it to escape the grisly fate befalling her family.

additionally, its equivalence in Dark Souls is also something described as "the mischief of a young girl who sought relief from the solitude of the woods at dusk", aka Princess Dusk who hails from "Oolacile, land of ancient golden sorceries", but i digress)

her portrait, the story trailer's "Queen Marika was driven to the brink" and Gideon's dialogue after the player defeated Malenia pointed out her sorrow:

(back when i first played the base game, this is the portrait that drove my eyes most in Roundtable Hold. i kept gazing at her - the Queen with permanently lowered eyes, and thought "there is a girl in there")

The bat lady's song, Messmer's entire Crusade, all those conflicts to establish the Erdtree, shows her anger, and the cruelty she's capable of:

Then there's Shaman's village, the clinic underneath Shadow Keep, the golden braid, the Minor Erdtree, the sealing of Death - that points to grief, trauma, survivor guilt, kindness, and the ruinous drive for revenge that results in the above path down hell:

(there's also a theory for the Crusade's headless statue being a reminder for the Hornsent of what they put Marika's mother through, but it's not concrete canon so here is the link if you want to check it out)

The fact that all of Erdtree's incantations are heal and protection spells (with only one exception of Wrath of Gold spell which was found after the Elden Ring was shattered), the Capitol's Perfumers originally being blessed healers, and that all Erdtree blessings come in the shape of tears give the picture of Marika's gentle wish at the beginning: to heal everything and everyone.

(and to me personally, there's a kind of vulnerability and honesty in showing your tears to the world and let it be your power to heal at the same time.)

the eye she blessed Messmer with (i do think the Eng translation at some part lost the sentiment of the JP text - that the eye is always referred to as a blessing)

the blessing flask that - unlike its Dark Souls equivalent (which ranges from 6-13 flasks), only have 4 available to us player, heal all ailments and status effect, and specified as sth made for Messmer.

the Marika's soreseal in the Haligtree + the waterfall near Godwyn's final resting place

the Regal Omen Bairn (that was fashioned after the Jizo statue - sth made by grieving parents wishing for protection for their deceased child in the afterlife)

the blessing, gifts, equipment that Messmer and Godwyn's personal knights all get

the fact that Marika's bedchamber and the Impaler's Catacomb (which is the only catacomb in the base game to have the spike trap mechanic used in catacombs in the DLC) remain the proof of Messmer's existence in the base game

how Godwyn's ending is the only ending where the mending rune is placed on the position of Marika's womb (the lower arc or the Elden Ring - also referred to as the basin in which its blessings pool)

that's a whole barrage of motherhood. the love, the fear, the postpartum depression, the guilt and anxiety, (the occasional scheming for revenge with her son). and despite how flawed and tragic that love ends up being for all of them, it is there.

(there's a whole subplot about how Messmer is the only demigod to be called ugly in-game (Hornsent npc dialogue) while Boc's questline is about how his mother being the only one to always assure him he's beautiful, despite everyone else calling him ugly. and how each NPCs questline does reflect a wider theme seen in Marika and her children. but again, i digress)

every time i think of her, Marika is a constantly shifting kaleidoscope, holding everything from within (the beauty and the malign, light and dark, birth and death, she's warm and gentle, she's cruel and unjust, she's strong and kind, she's weak and resentful, she's sweet and she's bitterness made flesh)... and i could only stand there and admire it all.

[beansprean]

I POSTED THIS ON PATREON MONDAY MORNING. THIS IS AT LEAST HALF A DODGEBALL.

i would have posted it here immediately after the ep but i hadnt written the id yet dkfhdkj

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(ID in alt and under cut)

iD: 1a. Aerial black and white view of the vampire house, or what's left of it. Bits of the walls and the front porch are still standing, but the rest has been blown away by an apparent explosion. The remains smoke heavily as a stream of water from an off-screen fire truck pours into what used to be the library. In the yard, Colin and the Guide are kneeling over the headless body of the monster, Colin holding up his severed head. Laszlo is holding his witch's skin hat to his head while Nadja screams at him. Nandor and Guillermo are sitting side by side on the porch steps. Everyone save Laszlo is covered in ash and soot, hair burnt and clothes torn in various places. Guillermo says, "I can't believe Cannon Capital was just a Simon the Devious scheme all along." 1b. Zoom in, full body of Nandor and Guillermo on the ruined porch, the house behind them full of holes and cracks and missing bricks, glass blown out of the window frames still intact. Nandor is looking over at Guillermo with concern. Guillermo slumped over his knees, continues depressingly, "I tried so hard... I really thought I had found what I was meant to do. But it was all supernatural bullshit again. I just can't escape the vampire world." 1c. Close up on Guillermo from Nandor's POV as Nandor asks, "Do you want to?" Guillermo sighs resignedly, eyes closed, and replies, "Nandor, we talked about this. I'm a human, I can't just-" 1d. Reverse shot of Nandor scowling at Guillermo and flicking his hand out dismissively. He interrupts, "Why not? Who says it is a vampire-only club here?" 1e. Full body of them both. Guillermo glares over at Nandor and responds flatly, "You did. Repeatedly." Nandor clasps his hands together in his lap and looks away archly, saying, "I don't recall that." He then mumbles under his breath, "I can always turn you again if it's that big a deal..." 1f. Bust of Guillermo as he turns to face Nandor fully, hands out in desperation, and cries, "I couldn't hack it as a vampire!!" 1g. Repeat. Guillermo turns back to face the yard and chops his hands decisively in the air, expression set and stubborn. He says, "I chose to be a human, so I have to live a human life."

2a. Reverse shot, shoulders up of Nandor. Guillermo continues from offscreeen, "That means no vampires, no slaying, no bababooks-" Nandor tosses his hand up again and interrupts with a frustrated groan, "Agh, these are fake rules, Guillermo! Made up!! No one is holding you to this except you!" 2b. Reverse shot of Guillermo looking pained, leaning away from Nandor and looking toward the ground, brow furrowed. Nandor continues from offscreen, "You can do whatever you want! Be whoever and whatever you want." 2c. Repeat. Guillermo's expression softens as Nandor's hand comes into frame to grip his shoulder, looking back up at Nandor with hesitation. Nandor says, "And if what you want is to be here with us, human or otherwise..." 2. Wide shot of Nandor, waist up, smiling gently with hooded eyes at Guillermo in the foreground, who is turned from the viewer to face him. Nandor finishes his sentence, "You will always have a home here." Behind him, we can see the other characters in the yard. Nadja has Laszlo by the throat and has lifted him up off the ground to shake him like a ragdoll while he struggles to hold his hat to his head. She is in the middle of screaming, "and your stupid fucking hat!" Further back, The Guide and Colin have stood up, the former with half her hair burnt off and looking up in concern at the monster's detached head, which Colin is holding aloft with a relieved smile. The monster is alive and looks back at Colin, assuring him "Little glue...fix right up."

3a. Waist up of them both on the porch. Left hand still on Guillermo's shoulder, Nandor breaks their eye contact to shrug with his other arm and roll his eyes upward, clarifying, "Well, metaphorically. This one exploded." Guillermo smiles at him fondly. 3b. Shoulders up of Guillermo from Nandor's POV, smiling bashfully as he looks down at Nandor's hand on his shoulder. He says, "I'll... I'll think about it." Nandor squeezes his shoulder and replies, "Great!" 3c. Zoom out to full body. Nandor stands up on the stairs and leans down to help Guillermo up, clasping both of his hands in his. "In the meantime, perhaps we can all stay in the shed with you so we don't shrivel into little crispy nuggets in a few hours?" he asks with a sheepish grin. Guillermo laughs back at him as he braces himself to be hoisted to his feet, replying, "Okay, temporarily, though."

4. Wide shot in full color of Guillermo and all his former housemates sitting crammed together on his mattress in the shed, looking over his shoulder as he browses on his laptop. They are all cleaned up and wearing Guillermo's clothes. The Guide, hair now cropped in a curly bob and wearing no makeup and a dark blue sweater that hangs dangerously low, leans in from the back with a grin, pointing over Laszlo and Nadja's shoulders to point at the laptop screen. She says, "Ooh, what about this 1899 colonial mansion? Very modern." Colin is next to her directly behind Guillermo, holding the monster's head up between them so he can see. The monster grumbles, "Ugh, need more personality on exterior." Colin, wearing some kind of glittery gold button up that Guillermo didn't even know he owned, grins and says, "Heated pool, eh? I can start up my water aerobics again." Nandor, slav squatting on Guillermo's left and wearing a too-short green sweater, sweatpants, and heart patterned socks, leans into Guillermo and points at the screen, demanding, "Guillermo, I wish to see the 3D rendering of the 'sun room' torture chamber!" Guillermo, sitting with his legs stretched out in his blue striped pajama set and black socks, smiles contentedly as he taps at the keyboard, responding, "This one is in an HOA anyway, we don't want that kind of scrutiny." Nadja is sitting on Guillermo's left with her arms propped up on one raised knee, wearing no makeup and the PUNY hoodie over her black slip and a pair of Guillermo's pink socks. She scowls and ducks her head as the monster's dislodged neck drifts into her space, snapping, "Colin Robinson, get that thing's face out of my face!" Laszlo, wearing a red v neck sweater and rolled up brown chinos, sits on Nadja's other side, leaning his weight on the arm he has propped behind her on the bed. His other hand is holding the brim of The Hat behind his leg. Laszlo gazes forlornly at the laptop and sighs, "If only Toby were here... Do you think we could get on '100-Day Dream Home?' /end ID

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[wisteria-lodge]

The Harry Potter Pretty People's Club

I’ve always been kind of fascinated by how and why *attractiveness* is used in the HP books. So, I’ve decided to play a little game, and score up characters based on how often their prettiness is brought up. Here’s my scoring system:

(1 point) - We are straight-up told that this character (or some aspect of this character) is attractive. The word beautiful, handsome, attractive, elegant, pretty, lovely, good-looking, good looks, nice-looking, curvy, or gorgeous is used.

(.5 points) - We are specifically told the character has nice hair, or nice teeth. (JKR describes teeth a lot, it’s a thing.) 

(.5 points) - The character is described as moving in an attractive way. The word lounging, lolling, graceful, posing, or haughty (so lounging/posing, but more evil coded) is applied to them

In terms of the ranking, twins and and parent+child duos get to compete together, because how common “they looked exactly like their parent” type descriptions are in these books.

No points for “they used to be beautiful” or “they would be beautiful if...” Also no points if someone is described as attractive specifically by Rita Skeeter. We are clearly not supposed to take her as a reliable source. Also not counting the times Petunia calls Dudley “handsome,” or the time when Slughorn calls Ron handsome while trying to cheer him up after the love potion, for the same reason.

(if you’re curious, Rita does describe Hermione as “stunningly pretty,” Pansy as “pretty and vivacious,” herself as “attractive blonde, forty-three” and Harry as “the most beautiful thing she had ever seen” when he’s giving the interview about Voldemort’s return.) So let's get to the top 26 most attractive (?) characters in Harry Potter.

#26 - WILKIE TWYCROSS (.5) 

“Graceful” apparition instructor. Unfortunately the rest of his description stresses that he’s practically see-through.

#25 - MADAM PUDDIFOOT  (.5) 

Has shiny hair. Unfortunately also “very stout” (and unfortunately we we know how JKR feels about fat people  : / )

#24 - ROMILDA VANE (.5)

Has hair that is “black and shiny and silky.” Of course Ron does say that while zoinked out his mind on love potion, so not sure how reliable his report is. 

#23 - HORACE SLUGHORN (.5)

Young Horace has “thick, shiny, straw-colored hair.” He’s also rocking embroidered waistcoats with golden buttons. Idk, I bet Horace was kind of dishy back in the day. Heck, I bet he still is. He’s well dressed, charismatic, charming. Someone has a crush on him. JKR is just mean and wrong about fat people

#22 - NEARLY HEADLESS NICK (1) 

Has “elegant” hands. So, if you’re into that…

 #21 - ANDROMEDA TONKS (1) 

Andromeda’s sisters are not actually going to make the list, because they fall in the “beauty potential” category. Narcissa “would have been nice-looking if she hadn’t been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose,” and the “long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.” I love Narcissa, but that framing isn’t especially flattering. Bellatrix was once beautiful, but “something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty.” Now if Andromeda looks enough like Bellatrix to give Harry a double-take, and she looks like a Bellatrix with “wider, kinder eyes” who hasn’t been to Azkaban… she more than earns her place on the pretty list. Also is described as “haughty.”

#20 - ANGELINA JOHNSON (1) 

“Rather attractive” according to Lee Jordan. Seems to wear micro box-braids, which Pansy says look like “worms.” Boo Pansy (who is not on this list.) 

#19 - PERCIVAL, KENDRA & ALBUS DUMBLDORE (2) 

Percival is “good-looking,” Albus has shiny hair, and Kendra is “haughty.” I’ll buy that the Dumbledores were a pretty striking family, that makes sense . But they rank a little low because they all only have one attractive descriptor apiece. 

#18 - OLYMPE MAXIME (2) 

She’s an elegant frenchwoman. The only lady on this list described as “handsome.” Also graceful, has shiny hair, and Hagrid is very into her. 

#17 - PARVATI & PADMA PATIL (2)

Both of them look “very pretty” in their Yule Ball dress robes, and are quickly snapped up by Beauxbatons boys when Harry and Ron ignore them.  

#16 -  FIRENZE (2) 

The “handsome centaur.” Also the only character described as “gorgeous” (by Parvati.) At which point Hermione scoffs and says that he’s got four legs. By which we can deduce that Hermione is a bit vanilla for this conversation.

#15 - BILL WEASLEY (2) 

Described as “good-looking” and “handsome” by Mrs. Weasley, and of course FLEUR is very into him very quickly. I considered adding “cool” to my list of words connoting attractiveness, which would have bumped Bill higher… but JKR seems to associate “cool” more with personality. Like Mad-Eye and Hagrid are “cool” without being especially pretty.

#14 - GELLERT GRINDELWALD (2) 

Briefly seen in a memory and a photograph, described as “handsome” both times.

#13 - LILY POTTER (2) 

A “very pretty woman” and a woman with a “kind, pretty face.” Like with Andromeda, JKR throws in “kind” to make sure we know this is good-pretty, one step up from the Patil twins who are girly-pretty (sorry Patil twins.) 

#12 - LUCIUS & DRACO MALFOY (2.5) 

They have super sleek hair. It’s brought up a lot. Pansy likes to pet it. 

#11 - BLAISE’S MOM & BLAISE ZABINI (2.5) 

Blaise’s mom is a “famously beautiful witch,” who “had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold.” Fanon needs to decide on a name for her, and I think Clytemnestra is the right amount of on-the-nose. Blaise himself is described as haughty, and picky, and tends to “pose” and “loll against pillars.” 

#10 - MADAM ROSMERTA (3) 

Attractive, pretty, and the only character who is “curvy.” (I think she might have the boobs of Harry Potter universe.) Also wears sparkly turquoise heels, which is cute. Ron is into her, and so (I think) is Cornelius Fudge. I mean -  “Rosmerta, m’dear… lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one [drink] yourself, won’t you? Come and join us.” Like, that’s flirty, right? 

#9 - ROWENA & HELENA RAVENCLAW (4) 

Surprising that they crack the top ten, but every time we see an image of them they are described as beautiful. Usually with a qualifier like “austere” or “intimidating.” Beautiful is a word with a little bit of an edge to it in this universe. Beautiful people are just… a little suspect. 

#8 - GILDEROY LOCKHART (5.5) 

Very handsome, good hair, good teeth. The teeth are honestly brought up enough to feel a little off-putting and predatory, which I think is exactly the point. Lockhart is a very 90s-Disney-movie queer-coded villain. But, he is extremely good looking (or at least very well put-together.) Mrs. Weasley and Hermione both have crushes on him, and he continues to get fan mail into his St. Mungo’s days. 

#7 - GINNY WEASLEY (5.5) 

Ginny’s an odd one. She’s described as “graceful,” popular, and “a lot of boys like her,” (according to Pansy.) Honestly, that’s mostly how we experience her beauty. Krum thinks she’s attractive, Blaise thinks she’s attractive, Amycus addresses her as “Pretty” in a creepy way, and so does some random Diagon alley amulet salesman. Both Harry and the narrative voice stay pretty quiet when it comes to thirsting over Ginny. We get the honestly very conflicted description “Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: He had forgotten, or had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her” and then “Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual [at Fleur’s wedding].” Which isn’t even completely about Ginny! Maybe you could count the romantic descriptions of her hair being flamelike or on one occasion “dancing,” but that’s really it. I am doing my very best, and scraping the bottom here. 

#6 - HERMIONE GRANGER (7.5) 

Hermione seems to fall firmly into the “cleans up nice” category. She is the “pretty girl in blue robes” at the Yule Ball, looking good enough that Pansy gapes and Malfoy “didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her.” She’s also looking good at Fleur’s wedding, when Viktor and Ron are definitely interested. Her hair can look elegant and shiny if she puts in effort - otherwise it’s bushy, and Pansy compares her to a chipmunk. We also know she has large front teeth, before she gets them fixed. She occasionally gets a “graceful” or “haughty" description, and Greyback does creep on her (again with the creeping!) calling Hermione Harry’s “pretty little friend.” I also gave her half a point for the description of Horcrux!Hermione, who is “more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione.” That’s another good example of how JKR uses the word “beautiful,” and I guess “more beautiful” definitely implies some existing beauty.

#5 - CHO CHANG (8)  

Cho is very pretty. She’s often described that way, and she has long shiny black hair. She naturally pairs up with Cedric, who also scored an 8. I wish I had more to say about her, I really do. 

#4 - CEDRIC DIGGORY (8)

Our first “pretty boy" - he’s described that way by both Harry and Seamus. Seamus actually seems to kind of have a thing about Cedric. He doesn’t believe Cedric put his name in the Goblet of Fire because “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have wanted to risk his good looks.” And true, Cedric is “exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes” and probably our first extraordinarily pretty person. Angelina and Katie think he’s hot, Myrtle creeps on him - although, honestly - Myrtle creeps on everyone, and the text doesn’t take it very seriously. Interestingly in the film we get a moment of Voldemort turning over Cedric’s head with his bare foot, saying “Oh, such a handsome boy” - to which Harry replies “Don’t touch him!”  That’s a subtle difference - in the books it’s only threatening when girls get creeped on, the movies are a little more equal opportunity. 

#3 - SIRIUS & REGULUS BLACK (11) 

Sirius is hot. He’s “carelessly handsome,” his “dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James’ nor Harry’s could ever have achieved.” He rolled out of bed looking this good. Sirius is graceful and lounging and bored as hell, but you know “handsomely so.” Even when he falls through the Veil, it’s a “graceful,” beautiful death. Regulus gets a shout-out too, because he “had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.” But, as is mentioned nearly every time he appears on the page, Sirius is extremely handsome. Less handsome than Sirius is still handsome. 

I think it’s actually important to Sirius’ character that he is THAT beautiful. Sirius is a kid from a very bad environment who’s one bad day away from just snapping… but you’d never know it. He’s so attractive, he’s so effortlessly talented, he hides everything so well. Of course none of the adults in his life would be worried about him. 

#2 - FLEUR, GABRIELLE & APPOLINE DELACOUR (12.5) 

Fleur almost seems like a cheat, because she is supernaturally beautiful. She is “a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow.” Even Aunt Muriel thinks she’s beautiful. (We also do get told that Fleur has nice teeth.)

But again, she’s beautiful. She’s that slightly threatening, too-feminine beauty. Until she gets married… and has a kid… which redeems her. “While [Fleur’s] radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today [at her wedding] it beautified everybody it fell upon.” 

#1 - TOM RIDDLE SR. & TOM RIDDLE JR. (14) 

Our clear winner, and also our second “pretty boy.” (Marvolo calls Tom Sr. “pretty,” and Tom Jr. is “his handsome father in miniature.” so yes, Voldemort does count as a pretty boy.) Poor Tom Sr. - the text frames the aftermath of his sexual assault as him “abandoning” his wife, but unfortunately that falls into the wider trend of only girls being victims of creeps in the HP books. It’s like the weird detail about the stairs to the dormitories - the girls can go to the boys dormitory, but not vice-versa. 

But yeah. Tom Riddle’s attractiveness is brought up almost every time he is. We even get details - we specifically know he lost weight and grew his hair out after he left school, and it looked super good on him. Hepzibah Smith is very into him, Bellatrix is very into him. (Although I do wonder just how snakey he looked when they met.) Adult Voldemort doesn’t treat the loss of his looks as any kind of sacrifice, he seems well rid of them. They’re just another annoying aspect he wants to shed on his quest for transhumanism. He gets rid of his father’s name, it only makes sense he would want to get rid of his looks as well. I do like the detail that his original eyes live inside the Locket, that is cool and creepy. 

(but, logically, I can only assume that means his original nose lives inside the Cup.) 

[kewlgal0909]

made up some random homicipher backstory headcanons for the characters because im bored af right now

I'm kinda going off the thing from the game that some of the ghosts in the otherworld used to be humans for these headcanons so. Also pls don't take these things seriously & they might be inconsistent with the actual canon of the game because some of these I just pulled outta my ass ok.

+ might delete later if I eventually find this cringe but idk man.

Mr. Crawling

One of the oldest residents in the otherworld. He's been here since old Japan days

Him and Scarletella actually used to be friends back when he was alive

Something happened between them during that, which caused their friendship to fall apart

One day his village was suddenly attacked, was severely wounded, but escaped

He then somehow crawled his way to the ghost apartments, where he was found by Scarletella

He pleased Scarletella for help but he didn't do anything, simply watching as he slowly died

He's been wandering the otherworld ever since and warned people he could find to stay away from a man dressed in all-red

I definitely did not pull so much shit about them outta my ass all because I ship scarling. Definitely not

Mr. Silvair

used to be a med student

likes horror movies & urban legends

one rainy day, he saw the ghost apartments & strolled in out of curiosity... little did he know he would be trapped forever

his time as a med school student & his lile of horror eventually gave way into the making of his "research" room

Hairdresser (she's so underrated tbh)

Was a highschool girl prior to becoming a ghost

Parents owned a hair salon

Was bullied in school

One day, her bullies planned to prank her by taking her stuff and telling her that it's somewhere in the ghost apartmenys

She goes in to search for her stuff, but never comes back

The Bride

Used to be a known dressmaker in her town

Died in a car crash on the way to her wedding after the car's driver tried to avoid hitting a red figure that suddenly appeared in the rain

The reason she's headless is not because she was decapitated, but because it resembles all the headless mannequins she used to work with during her dressmaking days

Mr. Gap

Used to be a shut-in while he was alive

Chronically online, rarely left his room, and often ordered stuff online to survive

The delivery men were often creeped out by him whenever he opens his door since he looked musty af + his room was always dark

Had a bunch of online friends

One day, he opens his door to find a man in all-red, asking for his name

Confused, he tells the mysterious man his name

Then later was suddenly found dead in his room, his heart mysteriously gone from his corpse

Mr Scarletella

probably the only one in the cast to have never been human idk

can actually kinda speak human language unlike the rest??

that's the only things I could come up about him rn sorrrrryyyy

Mr Hugeface

got lost & became a ghost after he entered the ghost apartments in search of his lost pet

Was alot taller than his peers

idk about him he was a last minute addition

Miscellaneous:

I came up with a tiny headcanon that the reason mr silvair, the hairdresser, hugeface & eventually the MC have white hair is because they were the humans that had once willingly entered the apartments prior to getting trapped there

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: The Headless Snowman

Debut: Super Mario 64

Hello everyone! Today I will be talking about the Headless Snowman and HEY what's the big idea here? Don't think you can pull a fast one on me like this. This is no Headless Snowman. This guy is Bodyless! Trust me, I'm aware of parts. I know Head, I know Body, I even know Greater Trochanter, and this is no headless snowman. There had better be a good explanation for this, or I oughta...!

Yeah, that's a good enough explanation. I'll allow it. A severed head does imply the existence of a headless body, after all. Decapitation does not poof a head out of existence! Just puts it somewhere else. But something you might not have realized about the Headless Snowman is that "he" is actually a THEY! No, not in a non-binary way, sadly. Well, maybe, I don't know. But I mean in the sense of being two people!

When Mario talks to the head, it laments that its body has melted away. And when he talks to the body, it asks if he knows anybody who needs a body. This is not a matter of reuniting the snowman's head. These are two different snowmen, becoming one entity! It's strange. It's... beautiful.

Mere moments ago, this was two guys. They did not even know each other. And now, they are one. Fate Mario has intervened to change the course of their lives forever, and they are closer than any two humans could ever dream of being. The head immediately calls the body great and perfect, and the body says nothing, clearly speechless. I wouldn't know how to respond right away, either! But they have the rest of their lives to figure it out, and, their very beings intertwined, explore each others' hearts, minds, and bodies. Give them privacy, now.

Let's look at the image that adorns the stages both of these snowballs reside on! It's a weird image. It's obviously the snow head's face, but it does not feel very snowman at all! To me, at least. I'm so used to the "smile made of a series of rocks" style of snowman, but that's just how Western snowmen look! Asian snowmen tend to utilize a single piece for the mouth, among other differences. As Mario fans we are familiar with the "bucket for a hat" design trope, but I didn't realize that Asian snowmen actually tend to be made of just two big snowballs, rather than three! Like a spider to the Western snowman's insect!

So remember: no matter where you are, a snowman's lowest body segment is the abdomen, where it keeps its most vital organs. In case of emergency, you will know where to strike!

Hm... strike? Like bowling?

Yeah! Strike like bowling! This is the Snowball Slalom minigame from Super Mario 64 DS, which features the snow head as the star and playable character! Yeah, I consider this to be a playable appearance by Headless Snowman. Why not? It isn't actually bowling, but it's similar enough as a linear ball-rolling game. It's nifty that here, it's the head who's rolling, but in the main game, it's the body who rolls down the slopes to meet the head! The head was probably chosen here just because it's more recognizable and fun to look at, but you can interpret it as the head wanting to go for a roll and have some fun! The body probably told the head what fun it was. They're so lucky they have each other!

[hughiecampbelle]

Malignant (Homelander Oneshot)

((TAKES PLACE IN S4E4))

Character/s: Homelander

Word Count: 1,468

Warning/s: gore, sort of all the basic warnings The Boys typically has

Requested: Hii! I’ve just found your blog, read some of your works and loveee them! Especially The Boys Preferences and imagines! May I request a platonic Homelander x reader with the prompts: Fury, Shooting Stars, “Get away from me” ? Thank youuu! - anon

A/N: Y'all when I tell you you're not ready!!! When I say I love this I mean I cannot stop smiling!!! I am Victor Frankenstein and this is my monster lol. Thank you for requesting my love! I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

Get away from me. The words come out as a whimper, barely above a whisper. His features contort: insecurity, rage, struck dumb by your reaction. Despite himself, he smiles, trying make sense of it all. This is what we’ve always wanted. They deserved it, all of them. Why can’t- why can’t you see that? He takes a step closer and you react by moving further back, through the doorway. Your shoe makes a squeaking sound. Beneath the sole something squelches, wet and gummy. You don’t have to look down to know what you’ve stepped in. It’s splattered across the walls and ceiling. The entire room painted red. Faceless, headless, limbless bodies dropped across the floor. You’ve stepped on someones intestines, their insides strewn across the floor like shooting stars. Here and there are articles of clothing, a shoe without their twin, a name tag or Vought issued ID. You don’t recognize them. Many of them new hires. They weren’t around all those years ago. They took no part in what happened to you, to either of you. Bile rises in your throat. It’s the smell that’s the worst. Metallic. You can taste the iron on your tongue. Not just that, though. The heater was still on. Though the body was ash, the stench of burned skin and hair lingers. It’s thick, and hot, and disgusting. The warmth radiates off it, seeping into the rest of the lab. It leaves you fighting your nausea, your hatred, the two churning in your stomach. Why, why are you mad at me? He’s drenched in their blood. It’s dried across his face, his suit and in his hair. How long has he been with the bodies? You killed them, John. You killed them all. 

Despite what the media portrayed, your childhood wasn’t baseball games and apple pies. There was no mother to rock you to sleep or father telling you you were a great kid. There were no little sisters to play with or teasing from big brothers. No white pickett fence or a sweet, yet obedient, dog running around. There was sterility. There were test tubes, and locked rooms, and tests. There were knives, and guns, and fire. You and him, you were invincible. They wanted to test that. They wanted to see just how far you could be pushed before you broke. Your skin was impenetrable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t burn every time they shoved you into that chamber. You’d pound your fists against the door, begging and screaming, every inch of you engulfed in flames. Sometimes it still felt like you were burning. In dreams, maybe when the weather was warm. You were just a little kid. You thought (feared) this time would be the last time. This is how you would die. Your tears evaporated before they could fall. You’d call out for them, for the pseudo father figures. When that wasn’t enough, when they refused to move from their charts and lazy game of paper ball, you’d cry for John. Your companion, your brother, your friend. He’d be enclosed in his own hell. Eventually you learned to be quiet. Eventually you learned you would survive. No one was coming to save you. No one was going to stop this. You’d watch, day in and day out, first your skin, your muscles, until the fire kissed your bones. You’d come to hours, days later, completely healed. Not a single scar carved into your flesh. No evidence except your memories. 

If you were good, if you were well behaved, you might be rewarded. Taught a new game or trick. Tic-tac-toe had been an exciting discovery at the time. You’d liked playing O’s. John liked X’s. Hangman was another. Always with a dull pencil, just in case. You’d be sniffling, hiccupping, leftover from the sobbing, when they’d sit you on the lab table and ask you to guess a letter. They weren’t the kinds of words children should have heard, but how could you have known? Psychopath. Indestructible. Malignant. You didn’t know the meanings or, for a long time, how to spell them, but you heard them a lot. They were household names. If they were feeling generous, kind, they might give you more chances: add a face, a hat, a bowtie. Through tears you’d laugh at the ridiculousness, pointing out that the hanged man could not possibly be as accessorized as they were making him to be. You never liked when the game was over. Win or lose, it always meant the same thing. One man, much older than everyone else, would lift you up and carry you back to your cell as if you were his own. You’d cling to him, his shirt, clutching tight with your chubby, dimpled hands, watching over his shoulder as someone else would discard the pieces of paper, throwing them away. You wanted to keep them, have them to laugh at the silly stick figure when it was dark and you were all alone, but you wouldn’t dare ask. If not the man, then a young woman who’d lead you back, hand in hand, full of promises you both knew she would not keep. Talk of real games, with boards and pieces and cards. But when the time came again, when you did as you were told, all you were allotted was a piece of paper and pencil. 

Her body was the first you recognized. Faceless yes, but you knew her as well as you knew yourself. Barbara. She was like a mother to you. Albeit, a terrible one. A cold, uncaring, aseptic woman who studied you, who created you, made you the person you are today. Wasn’t that all mothers? She’d hush your cries, ask why you were so upset. You didn’t have the words, the vocabulary, and so she’d grow tired. Bored. When you could articulate yourself better, then you would be worthy of her time. Truthfully, you weren’t all that sad she was dead. She must’ve known what was going on. She must’ve seen or heard something. At night, when they came into your room. When they made you promise to keep it secret. Couldn’t she tell? Couldn’t any of them? Armies of psychologists couldn’t get the truth out of you, not that they were trying to. Their alliances rest elsewhere. Fear of abandonment had been ingrained into you. You’d cry even harder, begging her not to leave, not to go. She’d pretend she had no other choice, that it was your fault. You were a crybaby. A sissy. An imbecile. If you could not pull yourself together and act like an adult, she would have no choice but to get up. Beneath the hurt was a fury, a burning, but they had you trained well. Instead you screamed, begged, throwing yourself to the floor, into walls, harming yourself for an ounce of her attention. Affection. Circles of red stained the walls where your head had been bashed. Your clothes ripped and torn. Your tantrums were spectacular. Fantastical. Eventually you’d grow tired, exhausted. Bloody, you’d sit very still and breathe and wait for her to come back. Then, and only then, would she grace you with her presence.

You hoped the bitch suffered. 

Marty rests limp, his face crushed in, a hole lasered through his groin. You knew the story, the nickname. He tried to get you to call John that peculiar name, too. Try to get you in on the joke. You never did. He had names for you, too. Just as vulgar and perverted. No one ever stopped him. No one ever said it was inappropriate. You guessed when you were being gutted, sliced from collarbones to pelvis, turned into a living autopsy, harassment wasn’t such a big deal. You stepped over his body without a second though. Footsteps to follow from his skull (what was left of it) to where John stood. This is very bad. You find your voice again, inspecting the lab around you. The cake sits melted in it’s pink box. The lights flicker. There is an unsettling silence. But I, I did it for you. His eyes are wide, his pupils dilated. His grin is hysterical. John, you start, but the rest of your sentence clatters to the floor. He watches you, desperate for your approval, your appreciation. They did terrible things to you. They let terrible things happen to you, unspeakable things. Why should you be upset? Why should you mourn them? Why should their gruesome deaths fill you with anything but satisfaction? They deserved it. They were asking for it. You slide away the mans large intestine, wiping the blood from your shoe.  Thank you, you say finally, placing your hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Thank you, it means a lot.

[fluidstatick]

Balloon SMP is like a baby alligator clamped onto my brain stem, and the more I watch of it the more heartwrenching it gets. This shit is Rashomon from thirty six different angles and I'm sick with grief over these characters, man.

I've gotten to the part of Kuu's perspective of the SMP that's just completely smashed my heart. Having seen Sophie and Robby's VODs already, I wasn't expecting this angle to hurt Even More, but "This is not happening" (the first day of the final week) is so frustrating and sad.

Robby's angle of this day annoyed me, because they left Bee and Char at the citadel and went to fetch Kuu, who explicitly had been shut out of the meeting, then fucked off to work on milk automation. I kept muttering "come on, bro, this shit is important."

Seeing Kuu's perspective wasn't irritating; it just crushed me emotionally. Bailey talking about the dubious power of mob spawners until Kuu walks into the citadel. Swindy, Katy, Claire and Marc gently and repeatedly saying that everyone should treat the blue balloon with respect and compassion. Bee trying to bolster their message of compassion and respect, getting repeatedly interrupted, her face growing sadder and sadder until she can't find words anymore. Gandalf hinting, not so subtly, that he's an avatar of the blue balloon. Jame harping on weapons and armor and preparedness. Gibson scolding people for trying to be diplomatic and humane. Beepers and Buggle giggling and sniping and arguing with everyone. Through all this, the desperate recognition between Kuu and Gandalf builds and tapers off - They're brothers in this struggle, and they're fighting for Love World, but nobody trusts either of them.

Someone in Kuu's chat wrote "Heal-ium" at one point. I mentioned that in a previous post; Sophie was wrong. The red stuff isn't death, it's rejuvenation, recuperation, respite. When players die, they return with fewer hearts - not because they're being punished, but because they're being asked to rest. "You're fragile, mortal creatures. protect one another, avoid violence, feed each other." All of Gandalf's mini quests involved telling people to bring him food, and he would often give people food in return if they indulged him. If everyone had gathered in the same place, and let Kuu place the healium above a high traffic, comfortable area - the roof of the citadel, Socks' poker den / tv hole, Normie's kitchen, Frog Village - the red balloons could feed the blue balloon and nurse it back to health while everyone enjoys each other's company.

Bee kept returning from death with ten hearts partially because their first few deaths were glitches, but I imagine it was also a message - Bee was never the aggressor in conflicts, and trusted the people around them to be gentle and humane. I imagine Headless!Bee was a hint to protect the vulnerable and confused, and Miku!Bee with four hearts was a huge neon sign - You humanoida creatures like this Miku, don't you? We've made your RenoBee into Miku. Listen to them, love them, protect them, let them lead you.

Wherever the most players were gathered, a huge influx of balloons showed up. When people had spawner parties, and didn't crouch in fear, nothing bad happened - everyone got stronger. Sophie being strong didn't give her an advantage. She could solo dungeons without a problem, but her solitude made her suspicious. She hated Gandalf, and hated the balloons, but the doppelgangers were peaceful. Not!Bailey was kind until Sophie expressed fear and agression. Her own doppelganger warned her that she didn't have much time, but she needed to learn to trust. Sophie doubled down on fear and agression, so balloons stopped showing up at Team E.

We could've had love world.

It pisses me off how deeply moved I am by the archives of a damn rtvs adjacent hardcore minecraft server. I was expecting shenanigans and bits and silly improv decisions, and I got those, but I wasn't expecting anger, fear, despair, hope, tenderness, and Real Tears.

Sophie cried. Robby cried. Kuu cried. Ausk and Bee and Socks and I can only imagine how many others. This shit is Sad, and it didn't need to be, and it's a frustrating mirror of how the world works, how it could work if humanity understood how interconnected we are.

[wisteriainslumber]

twst characters in a haunted house

its a short headcanon this time but its spooky season yayaayyayay!

warnings: cussing 👍 

Ace

talks a big game saying hes not scared, gets the daylights scared out of him, then goes back to talking a big game

he likes to tease his friends by abruptly grabbing them to scare them, but only teases yuu by saying 'if you're scared, you can hold onto me~' because hes a massive loser with a crush

you wouldn't even notice it but if you look closely his hands are shaking and he keeps looking around the room

arguably hes one of the most terrified one in the room so our unbothered king, yuu, just stands by his side out of sympathy

Deuce

close to tears and his last resort was complimenting a zombie's sfx makeup in hopes the Seven are on his side

probably looked like he was going to piss himself so the zombie 'helped' them out by chasing them until they stopped running in circles like headless chickens

flight or fight instinct goes haywire

it's either 'no means no!' or 'chase me i dare you!' and it solely depends on whether or not there are people in his group more afraid than him

because he will absolutely protect his loved ones awww

Jack

designated 'protector' of the first years (?)

its mostly self proclaimed but he is actually the most scared of the bunch

his ears pick up on EVERY little thing so he hears screams from all the other groups in the house

and that is unnerving!!

hes got a pretty good poker face but his ears and tail are standing up on end. and his tail is REALLY fluffed in agitation

height disadvantage. many dangly things getting caught in his hair and ears and tail. if he runs too fast and forgets to bend down, he's getting his head hit.

grim clung onto jack's tail after a bad scare and since then, has been jack's accessory

Epel

lost a bet and now he has to hold ace's hand throughout the house (let's be honest, this is for the safety of everyone else. its only the fight instinct for our poison apple)

sings random pop songs with ace for him to feel less scared because 1. epel likes his friends and 2. this is the only time he's allowed to be off-key for giggles

loves karma. when ace tries to scare him, epel will simply let go and carry on without ace until he apologizes

everyone and he means EVERYONE can catch these fists

'these arent screams these are battle cries'

creates new profanity out of freight. but he's always at the front of the group (so brave)

Ortho

literally taking notes throughout the haunt

intrigued, kinda wants to recreate it in a VR so his friends can experience it again

except when he does recreate it is literally SO much worse in terms of horror level

because he really does make it feel like the hunger games. its not even a game of survival its a battle of attrition

it gives everyone such a freight

but thats the point isnt it? he just found parts that could be improved on

like, the actors should be given chainsaws so the run for your life can feel more exhilarating!

and the rest of the doors should be removed so the players can use their problem solving skills to get to the one remaining door!

it does not get very popular sjdfjkgihuoij

Sebek

unbelievable that he cannot bring his baton but whatever

putting his life on the line to defend his friends

not because he cares, smh, he could live without their company! but fewer students in NRC would mean that lord malleus couldn't get the true school experience!

big brain moment (advice from lilia) he wore a scary costume in hopes that he scares the actors off before they scare him (he uses the cape to evade)

his body is on auto pilot and he knows what to do, but if you look at his face for too long, this dude is pissing himself silly

he did have a brave moment, though. he said a polite 'hello' to a vampire before demanding them to stop screaming so he could concentrate. slayed

Yuu & Grim

LMAOOOOOO scared?? *them*??? after all they've seen?

literally so unphased

in fact, since they live with ghosts in ramshackle, they might slink off somewhere and reappear alongside the actors to scare their friends

grim pees himself but denies it

in fact grim is like the first one to notice that yuu was not by his side

by the time they make it out of the house, they know all the actors by name???

yuu likes to offer bits of their hair as sacrifice if the actors leave them alone (sometimes they even offer grims fur)

the actors all look so sad to see yuu go??? favourtism smh

you know damn well yuu's getting a job offer for the house here. they'll even invite the rest of their friends to dress up and set them loose upon the haunted manor

Riddle

i would love to say he gets his brain rattled from fear but that is so not true

a childhood of seeing various floating, seemingly severed, limbs thanks to a certain che'nya has rewired his freight system

'its not scary because i know we're in a simulated situation. the actors are fake, the props are fake, the-' you get the jist

startled when something jumps in front of his face and gets mad when his group laughs at him

the actors are kinda scared of *him* because they interrupted him while he was in the middle of a long explanation and that was very rude!!! >:( come back after he's finished, thank you!

Ruggie

RUN LIKE THE WIND

he compliments all the props in the midst of the scare and chaos, who would notice something missing, fr?

a masked murderer would be crawling out of the closet and ruggie would casually ask them about the material the spoons were made of

his strength comes in when he's accidentally(?) sacrificing riddle to the haunters so he'll live

halfassingly playing smash or pass with jade aka jade says smash to everyone and ruggie questions the logistics of his every choice

accidentally remarks how the smell reminded him of his home growing up and doesnt that open a can of worms

Azul

joins ruggie in asking about the material of the spoons, except he's weirdly enthusiastic about it

also takes notes on the atmosphere and decorations

cant take the scare, his brain fizzles out and his muscle memory shakes the hands of the haunters (introducing himself was entirely intentional, however)

biggest loser in terms of he tries to huddle up to EVERYONE for 'safety' purposes. buddy-buddy system duhh

(he's the first to hide under a chair)

Jade

mean girl who flashes her teeth at people then covers his mouth acting like he didnt expose that he could tear out anyones jugular without struggle (he is holding back a coughing fit from the dust)

having such a calm, serene smile the entire time

its as if hes taking a casual stroll

'oh hello there. mind if i borrow this? thanks.' and steals the prop axe from the actors

whether he chooses to chase them back or not solely depends on his whims that day but he becomes a bigger menace because hes smiling with sharp teeth AND holding an axe

Floyd

screams back at the scare actors just Because

doesnt actually register theyre trying to scare them with their screams 'cause?? lmao thats not how u scare people let him teach you-

likes to lurk in the dim lighting to scare other patrons like if he was the one on the job and not paying for the experience

likes to drag out every single actor when riddle's speaking and egg him to behead them all

evil friend who hums in the dark just to get on your nerves

Kalim

screams, then laughs like a good sport about it. you got him good!!

trick or treating is everywhere and this haunted manor is full of tricks! do they get candy after though?

he tries his best to link arms with the actors and chat with them, even if he receives groans and scripted threats in response

he invites the entire cast over to Asim palace because he thinks his siblings would like to experience it (awww)

never worry about losing kalim in the house because he's belled like a cat, so just listen for the jingles of his movement

Jamil

is there really anything scarier than being alive to this guy

he really doesn't appreciate the cobwebs strung up everywhere

nor does he appreciate the sensation of anything brushing on his skin because it makes him feel itchy

the only time theres a reaction from him is if fake blood gets on his own or kalim's clothes because bitch. he will be the one cleaning that so you better fucking not.

the responsible one that keeps azul's glasses safe. not because azul hands them over himself but because silver asked him to (something along the lines of jamil being the kind of person that would ensure personal belongings stay safe or some other ego boosting shit. yeah, it worked slightly, what of it?)

Silver

desensitized to horror

the only time he appreciates the halloweens spent in childhood wetting his bed because of lilia's (psychologically harmful) pranks

if lilia's scares were a 10, this haunted house is like a 3

he proclaims himself as azul's bodyguard and always seeks his hand out so azul can feel a bit safer to go on

silver will also be the first one to locate the emergency exits as well as accompany anyone who needs to tap out (we dont deserve him <3)

Trey

same as riddle except hes even more unphased

in the same year as che'nya and they were together for much more and much longer

and they go beyond just his floating limbs, because he made half of trey disappear into, well, somewhere

che'nya complained about not being able to find his left pinky finger for WEEKS

he accepts like one, maybe two people clinging onto him but more than that and hes kindly telling you to suck it up bc its getting inconvenient to move

sorry 🤷 uh, exposure therapy ig

Cater

managed to sneak his phone in even though no phones were allowed just to film everything

he used a flashlight and still managed to hide his phone (he's able to outrun them, but his screaming instantly puts a beacon on him)

screaming for the life of him but he will never ever EVER forget to do a peace sign for the cams

will constantly ask how the actors managed to make the makeup so realistic and starts handing out friendship bracelets (he made too many with kalim one time with no one to give them to)

those clips of people getting chased in haunted houses then going to hug them is so cater-core (enforcing reverse psychology)

Leona

also pretends he's not affected and sells it very well

he reminds himself that these are props and stuff

he can see much more in the dark, but if you pay attention during a scare, you'd see a visible shiver go up his tail

its gone as soon as you blink though

regularly has a RBF and glares at the actors as if they've wronged him somehow

also an evil friend that will sacrifice you to the scare actors but more than that, he will sacrifice your children and tease them (waving bye bye with a smile and walking away). if only it scared cheka more and not make him laugh and declare he'll protect unca

Vil

plays along because its good to respect the work the actors and staff put into making this experience

still he thinks the sfx blood on the walls couldve benefited from a bit more time assembling

shamefully and accidentally cusses loudly in a moment of freight and apologizes profusely to the actor

taunting leona & telling the haunters to search for him bc he tripped and his ring accidentally snagged vil's hair (petty)

only time vil screams is when he misses a step and thought he was gonna go tumbling. idia laughed at him.

Rook

he chases the actors back

he's all giggly about it too

when hes run out of actors to chase after, he'll start nominating one member of their group to be hunted for sport

another one of the dresses up squad, except he uses it to camouflage himself with the actors

touches everything like this is just a fun little stroll for him

him and trey are having a casual conversation trying to guess the era this ancient candelabra originated from and the background noise is provided by idia sobbing and crying for dear life (leona is trying to sacrifice him)

Idia

somehow both bragging about how fake everything is whilst also cowering behind malleus and screaming the loudest out of the third years

says whatever comes to mind in a panic. no one knows wtf idias aim is. everyone is confused. the art of misdirection, everyone

god forbid he sees a ghost because he freezes out of pure instinct and you'll have to drag or carry him if you need him to move (rip ghost marriage idia)

makes fun of the buff monster costumes because LOLOL LMAOAOA you think thats supposed to scare him??? try harder

no survivial instinct. doesnt run. at all. if he's scared, he's giving up, this is his grave.

Malleus

doesn't get the concept at all

and not in the 'what is so scary about this place' way its more of a 'but the architecture is so magnificent, a little tweaks can get it restored to its former glory'

straight up snatches the floating ghost doll not knowing (or caring..???) that it was decor and rocks it throughout the entire house. does he think its unjustly cursed or does it remind him of silver? who knows

he really likes the aesthetic of the haunted house and everyone that tries to scare *him* are immediately in his good graces. he laughs all evil-like too and scares everyone but dw he's having fun i promise

normal people fall to the floor in haunted houses

malleus falls in love *ew*

Lilia

not that idia needed more reasons to be frightened but lilia fans the fire

shares a rumour about a clown doll that got abandoned so now it hunts people in retribution and of course there's an actor dressed like a killer clown there yk

throwing some bs about how 'oh no, i hope theres not a tall, scary, killer after us with an axe' and when said killer shows up, lilia starts screaming and pulling horrific scary faces at them (the staff leave him tf alone after this interaction)

and if hes feeling particularly mean he'll slink off into the shadows to reappear like a little jumpscare (cmon lilia, you're gonna have to do idias laundry now)

also chills on the ceiling after a chaotic run-in just to give his group some panic when they lose lilia (minus vil & leona, they know better than to worry about lilia's well-being— he's been adjusting too well here)

[quitealotofsodapop]

¿Entonces Destined one es el nuevo hijo de Sun Wukong? (Talvez no lo sea como MK pero ya esbes igual lo considerean su hijo) Aparentemente es mudo o es como Frisk de undertale que los demas pesonajes llevan la conversacion.

Ahora necesito ver como se llevara con MK y Mei y el resto de los jovenes hdsavfbjsa es un gran contraste con ellos, siendo el calladito c:

Este tipo me da cosita... (Me estoy viendo las cinematicas c: )

translated via google;

"So Destined One is Sun Wukong's new son? (Maybe he isn't like MK but they still consider him their son) Apparently he is mute or he is like Frisk from Undertale where the other characters carry the conversation. Now I need to see how he will get along with MK and Mei and the rest of the youngsters hdsavfbjsa is a great contrast with them, being the quiet one c: (*image of the Headles Monk*) This guy gives me the creeps… (I'm watching the cinematics c: )"

I have seen many on twitter joke/headcanon that the Destined One is very much Wukong's "son" in that he was created from part of him. If Sun Wukong were to be revived fully, I feel he would see the Destined One as his child.

I think the Destined One is non-verbal and can only speak "monkey" - he understands "human" but hasn't been able to speak it. I could see Zhu Bajie introducing him as "silent" - only for the Destined One to excitedly chirp and chitter with the other monkeys. XD

MK and Mei would happily accept the Destined One as a "fellow monkey kid" and include him in their activities. Destined One would be very confused, but delighted to be doing anything other than fighting.

I am not sure if we ever see the Destined One as a child, but it would be adorable if we had. :3

And Lingji can help being headless! XD

[azumasoroshi]

happy 12/24-25! i think too often about the “gege hates gojo” jokes because holy shit it is PERSONAL with gege

like yeah he sealed him and killed him but like. every aspect of gojo’s character is just so. gege really said “i’m going to make you the strongest character in the history of ever and you’re going to be cool and attractive and funny and your fans will love you, BUT:

The entire point of your character is that no matter how much power you have, you are helpless to save the people you truly care about

You’re so powerful that the only way you can narratively exist without destroying every enemy in jjk other than Sukuna is to get snatched away, sealed, get your powers taken away, or die (even in the fucking video game you only get a certain number of turns to act before you get yoinked)

You can never escape the system you were born into because your power has become your character

You’ll think you’re changing the system for the better but end up perpetuating the system anyway in allowing children to go on dangerous missions

You cannot supervise said children on dangerous missions because you’re running around Japan like a headless chicken at the whims of the higher ups

You never got the chance to fully grow up because a part of you died when Toji killed you and a part of you died when Suguru left you and what else is there left

Your own desire for power blinded you to your best friend’s depression and it’s one of your greatest regrets yet a part of you still thinks Suguru wasn’t strong enough to keep up which is why you keep saying you want strong allies who can keep up with you and you are just terribly equipped to handle your students’ emotional challenges and insecurities even though you try your best

You will never make any emotional connections as lovely as the one from your youth which you still cry about on the rare occasions you actually sleep

You will only be able to tell Suguru you love him right before you KILL HIM

No matter whether Suguru was your best friend, ex-boyfriend, crush that you never confessed to, or boy you only realized you were in love with after he left you, you will NEVER be able to get over him and an evil brain will use this against you and several people you care about will get fucked over because you cared too much

Even though your students/coworkers sometimes like you the first thing 99% of them think of when they think of you is “The Strongest” and even in your breakup arc Suguru, the one person you wanted to stand by your side and share the title, began to think of you in that way as well and distanced himself from you because of it.

The narrative requires that you be lonely at the top as a direct consequence of your power - even metaphorically, infinity separates you from the rest of the world and your wide range of destruction makes it so allies are a hindrance in battle and you could destroy the people you dare about in seconds (see: thank fuck todo stopped yuuji from stepping into range of purple)

You are going to fight the boy you may or may not have raised from childhood because of the other boy with Sukuna inside him that he asked you to save and you can’t hesitate because the last time you hesitated about someone you cared about you got sealed and people died

You may or may not have died to the strongest curse of all time and are left forever unsatisfied even in death because not only was your culty/cunty best friend not there to cheer you on, but you think Sukuna couldn’t even go all out against you, the strongest sorcerer of your time, despite strength being your whole thing

and as a bonus, you also “died” after cockily saying “Nah I’d win” which will get extensively memed on the internet at your expense”

like not to woobify gojo or anything but oh my god jesus fucking christ gege

he was like “ill make you hot as a treat mostly for myself because i like drawing hot men but you’re going to be so incredibly fucking doomed by the narrative in every possible way”

like he loves drawing shirtless men but he never drew gojo shirtless like gege!! GEGE!!!! what did he DO to deserve this level of narrative ire omfg

[toa-archive]

Back to Wizards again with this one. Who the heck is this mystery troll you might be wondering? Well it's the Gumm-Gumm General Gnasha!

During Wizards development alongside AARRGGHH there was going to be Gnasha who would have either died during Killahead or have been sucked into the Darklands with the rest. Due to budget (Having to make a brand new model) and story reasons (A brand new character needs time to be developed) this was scrapped and they went with Bular instead. This does not mean what happened to Bular is exactly what would have happened to Gnasha. With character changes and already limited episodes/time in general writing would have been juggled and things scrapped much like what happened with Zoe.

(One day the vindication will come)

One of Francisco Ruiz Velasco's uploads has included an earlier versions of them. Understandably any design process goes through multiple iterations so it's always nice to see where they come from.

Source. May request an account first.

Gnasha had appeared prior to this via his artstation account with the note: Early design for Troll General. not used.

Source

Funnily enough the above was not the first time we saw them! Gnasha was first spotted in this height comparison from the Art of Wizards panel.

If you're wondering about the Arthur, Green Knight and Merlin on there, uh yeah same actually. Merlin is possibly Headless though Arthur won't be... The Green Knight looks like another Fruiz but no confirmation yet. Is a smidge earlier Bellroc not seen otherwise on there though.

[the-s1lly-corner]

hello! Im one(1) of the anons that requested the jane doe reader and i thought of a funny scenario

So the character of jane doe was basically decapitaded so, imagine if reader's head isnt atached to their body, and can take their head off .

The tadc cast react to the reader taking off their head and then putting It back on like nothing. Tyy!!!

( remember to rest and drink wáter) :)

TADC cast x a reader with a detachable head!

oh hoho this one is going to be fun because my TADC oc can do the same thing, can take their limbs and head off at will and as needed; so i may or may not let my excitement show in this post and use my oc as a placeholder.. i definitely will.. which reminds me, i have a sketch of my ocs human design as well as a messy ref of their digital body... i have got to draw them more.. maybe ill finish the human sketch sometime today after this post... speaking of this post! this is the last request in my inbox ! after this im gonna take a break for a bit then reopen requests! do not send in requests at this time, please! (this goes for everyone regardless of fandom </3)

CAINE:

technically i think you could consider him with a detachable head... because i dont... think he has a neck... so technically.. not phased at all, he has seen things from various different circus members.. but lets say you came before zooble, and you were also the first circus member who could do that... i think he would be really into it and be amused. probably flies right up to you chattering about that little trick of yours

POMNI:

uncomfy by it, i think it would take her a while to get used to it... i think she would be the same with zooble thanks to the "these are people" thing, with the only reason she didnt freak out at zoobles dismemberment in the pilot being because she was preoccupied with her panic and confusion of this new setting

RAGATHA:

mildly uncomfortable anytime it happens but no where near as uncomfortable as pomni, since she has had her time to get used to a bunch of weird stuff in the circus; both from the circus itself as well as the people in it.. will guide your body to your head if theres ever a scenario where the two get separated.. hand holding... smiles

JAX:

probably tries to convince you to leave your head in someones room or in a box and have some poor unsuspecting person open it.. i think that would scare anyone, even if they were used to your headless activities... probably laughs at your body wandering aimlessly trying to find your head if theres an occasion where it was forcefully knocked off.. probably nudges your head away... this only really works if your body has to blindly fumble and you having to telepathically guide it towards you instead of it just going into autopilot and knowing where you are automatically and has zero struggle beelining for the head... but fumbling... funny

KINGER:

owoo!! jumpscare!/ref

honestly i think sometimes he just rolls with it and other times hes bothered by it; really depends on how hes feeling that day... but i think the majority is that hes used to it thanks to zooble... has probably run off with your head on accident when he meant to run off with you as a whole, usually in the face of danger during an IHA...

ZOOBLE:

completely unphased by it since they can pretty much do the same thing! there isnt really much to be said since zooble neither feels this way or that in regards to your little decapitation trick... if they couldnt mess with their own parts though i think they would find your thing cool, though

GANGLE:

depending on what your digital body is themed around i think this would determine how gangle would feel about it... like zooble is mismatched and is seen taking out their antennae as well as their limbs being snagged off by jax... with zooble, is makes sense, they look like a mismatched mess of different parts.. so if you were something that could reasonably do the same thing i think she can overlook it... now the first time would still be a shock, no doubt about it, regardless of theme.. very careful whenever theres a reason they need to get close to your head, she does not wanna knock it off and potentially upset you