#Doll of Dread

[ygoartreviews]

Doll of Dread

"I always get sleep paralysis while sleeping in my dressing room... And inside that the dark, when I look towards my pillow..."

Today's card is based on the Okiku doll legend. A girl named Okiku received a doll as a present from her older brother, and when she passed away the next year, it was said her spirit now inhabited the doll because the doll's hair began to grow. This card combines this legend with the practice of ushi no toki mairi, driving nails into a sacred tree of a Shinto shrine (sometimes including nailing an effigy in the process) in order to place a deadly curse on someone. (This is why the "curse" animation in Pokemon involves a nail being driven into the Pokemon). Thus the implication is that Okiku has taken a sinister turn and begun cursing people for some reason. I'll be honest, the card text on this one just sounds like a bunch of unrelated nonsense. I guess the point is that Doll of Dread is tormenting this guy while they're sleeping? Idk, I'd rather hear about why she's decided to start putting nails in people. I also think, for a combination of these two concepts, they could've leaned a little more into the cursing part. She's clearly got the long hair of the Okiku doll (and is, arguably, a doll), but they could've added the three candle headdress and white clothing that are required as part of the ritual.

Rating: 7/10, Seems like a card Thomas Arclight would use

#Doll of Dread #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #ygo #SEVENS #Toombs #Normal Monster #Dark #Zombie #Realizing that the translated flavor text of these cards have typos (“passed” instead of past for the purple mirror one; #“Inside that the dark” on this one) #I can't tell if they're official or not lol. Since well... The only playable english form of rush duel Just Barely released in Duel Links #And idk what these cards look like in the anime (i.e. if they have the full card details on them)

[marzipanandminutiae]

bone-stealing witch drama? old news

artist who makes zombie baby doll repaints buying human body parts from a doctor who worked at Harvard's cadaver lab, and who sometimes let her come in and examine the donated-to-science bodies to pick the bits she wanted? fresh, new, even more fucking bizarre and horrifying

EDIT: THE DOLLS ARE UNRELATED TO THE HUMAN BODY PARTS

ONLY ONE DOLL WAS EVER SOLD WITH A HUMAN BODY PART (A SKULL) THAT I HAVE HEARD OF

INTERESTING THAT PEOPLE'S MINDS IMMEDIATELY GO THERE, BUT I NEVER SAID THAT AND NONE OF THE ARTICLES INDICATE IT

#current events #like is this a fucking penny dreadful printed in 1850 or a real unfolding case in 2023? #(also am I going to hell for thinking #among other things #'god you're not making doll collectors look better?') #graverobbing #(also I've seen her dolls in stores in Salem. they're tacky as hell. not the point at all but still)

[lutinsdolls]

YALL SOME NEW PHOTOS OF G3 VENUS JUST DROPPED AND SHE’S EVEN MORE GORGEOUS OH MY GOD????

#dollblr #doll collector #mh #monsterhigh #dolls #monster high g3 #g3 venus #venus mcflytrap #THE LOTION??? #THE DREADS????

[xphaiea]

SPRING-HEELED JACK by XPHAIEA

First witnessed in the early 19th century, Spring Heeled-Jack was a menacing spectral fiend, who delighted in terrorising London especially frightening young women whose clothing he would tear and personages he would maul at, as well as jumping in the pathway of coaches and causing dreadful accidents.

Jack was popularly imagined to be a tall, thin figure in a long black cloak, with clawed hands and fearsome eyes that "resemble red balls of fire" whilst also also commonly depicted as breathing blue or white flame and emitting a maniacal devilish laugh.

This urban prankster was often depicted in Penny Dreadfuls and other sensation fiction of the Victorian period.

#springheeled jack #spring-heeled jack #british folklore #london #supernatural #spectre #penny dreadful #victorian #victorian london #art doll #xphaiea #textile artist #doll art

[firespirited]

I've found my Lagoona, my definitive Lagoona! Lagoonafire and freshwater/13 wishes have clicked with me from the start.

but actual Lagoona Blue? I've had dozens in hand and almost kept Picture day or Black carpet. I thought it might be signature Lagoona, I liked her the best.

I've been looking at exchange student Lagoona's for a while but many had eyes too low or too high, worse wonk than this one.

The moment she was in hand I knew she was a keeper. And once I got sig out, I think it's the more forward facing eyes and different shape: less fishy, bigger eye shines: she's actually making eye contact with both at once LOL.

The icing on the cake is that she's made in Indonesia and won't require glue treatment.

Better photos on my camera, to be edited later, maybe tomorrow.

I'm starting to feel a bit better from the flu but don't look like it. Huge purple eyewells and swollen eye bags. I've been checking the oxymetre, that's fine so it's probably blood pressure and general exhaustion *greek chorus yells well duh, what an understatement *

#dolls #saf #lagoona blue #Monster high #Exchange program or student or something. Spain. Ma-dread of course.

[ohitslen]

As I finally got around watching Across The Spiderverse today, I realized that y’all really pulled spiderdads out of fucking nowhere I’m so proud of you guys, have a little happy face sticker and a cookie as a reward for your delusions you did awesome :) ⭐️ 🍪

#it’d be bold of me to say nowhere when Miguel was so clearly very fed up with Peter #so maybe you guys did take it from somewhere. #it’s like.peak fandom in a way yk. where did that come from? the fans thats were #Miguel was like on the edge of a breakdown and being haunted by existential dread the whole entire time #Peter b was doing his best as a dad he really is a girl’s dad #and then it’s like. when you grab two dolls and make them kiss like… 👍 ⭐️ #across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #spiderdads

[unknownarmageddon]

Wrote a little proximity thing :] there’s not too much going on but I like it and I like them so. anyway

AU belongs to me and @denieatsart

Cross kicked an empty, rusted can so it clattered over the rubble he traversed. He crouched to rummage through a particularly promising looking pile of trash and debris, only to find nothing of value. He stood and moved to another, pushing through this one with the tip of his boot. 

         Silence hung over him as he worked. Unnatural silence. It had come with the bombs, when the hum of civilization was killed. The hum of its machines and inhabitants. Without that hum the buildings around him seemed stories taller than they had been before the bombs. Everything seemed so big with it being this empty and motionless. 

       As he was in the middle of untangling and bundling a wad of string he heard another pair of footsteps in the rubble. 

        He paused, froze, then whirled toward the source, muscle memory and habit urging him to pull his machete from its sheath. He thrust the weapon forward, the string entirely forgotten.

“Woah, woah! It’s just me, wolf.” Killer said hurriedly, stepping back from the blade. 

   Immediately upon registering that it was just him, Cross relaxed and returned the machete to its sheath. His face softened, and Killer’s did in turn.

“Find anything?” Cross asked.

Killer shoved hands into the pockets on his pants, searching. “Oh, yeah,”

“Anything useful.” Cross clarified, and Killer stopped to scowl at him. Cross’s eyes turned up in a grin that was mostly hidden by his scarf. 

   Killer removed his hands, and stuck them in the smaller pockets on either side of his hips. “I did find a big warehouse back there somewhere. Still had some stuff in it. If you’d consider that useful.” 

    Cross shifted his bag on his shoulder, nodded, and motioned for Killer to lead the way.

      He started down the main asphalt road that ran through the the city like a fault line. The silence followed them past the carcasses of storied buildings. 

      Almost immediately Killer then veered down an obscure alley way. 

     The alley was narrow. And dark. The only color was the chicken scratch graffiti over every surface that could be reached, spelling out profanities and who knows what else. The last cries of those who had survived the fall. 

       Even though Killer walked ahead and seemed to follow his own separate path with the way he zigzagged, he and Cross were tethered together by an unspoken cord. A safety line. Not of destiny. God, not of destiny. But of their own making. They both knew it was there, though they never mentioned it. Never spoke of what it meant. It was drawn thin, at times, but never severed. That cord ensured their ever-close proximity.

      From the alley, Killer climbed a rotting, discarded radiator to step past broken glass and through a window. 

     The apartment was almost entirely empty, save for rubble and trash. Cross scanned every corner and searched for anything remotely of value, though he knew someone else had cleaned it out long before.  

        A muddy watercolor wash of dirt and dust spread across every surface, seeped into the crevices.

The sound of Killer’s voice disrupted the silence. “Ran into some other scavengers around here.” 

“They put up a hell of a fight too. ‘m not hurt though. Not bad anyway. Just a bit scuffed.” Killer threw a grin over his shoulder at Cross, as if reassuring him before he got the chance to voice his worries. 

     Even so, Cross scanned Killer for injuries. He certainly was scuffed, though it was hard to tell the new from the old. His eye caught on a particularly bloody, except mostly dried, and particularly large tear in his sleeve. He’d have to mend that later.

“I’m sure you put up a hell of a fight, too.” Cross replied.

Killer laughed. He bounced on his feet to walk backward a moment, eyes sparkling at Cross’s. 

“‘Course I did. Sent ‘em running.” 

He turned back around in a similar motion. He pulled his knife from its sheath around his waist and twirled it between dexterous fingers. 

“How many?” Cross asked.

“Two? Maybe three, I dunno.” Killer responded.

Cross hummed, and nodded. He was glad his trust in Killer being able to handle himself was holding up. 

“It was the same guys from the other day, too. Guess they didn’t learn their lesson.” Killer continued. Cross listened to every word he said, glad to have his voice to disrupt the silence.

“If you see them again, get me.” Cross said.

Killer laughed. “Aw, wolf, I can handle ‘em just fine.”

“Mm.” 

Still, Cross didn’t want him being more reckless than he needed to be.

“You find anything good?” Killer asked now.

Cross was reminded of the string. “No.” 

“I guess I win then,” Even though Cross could only see his back, he was sure Killer was grinning to himself. 

“It’s not a competition, raccoon.” 

Killer turned his head to stick his tongue out at him. “Killjoy.” 

Cross chuckled, and then Killer laughed. 

“You gotta have some fun sometime, y’know? In a world this fucked over.” Killer added, a tint of solemn in his voice. 

A pause. Their shoes scuffed on the concrete below. 

“…Race you.” Cross decided.

    Killer looked at Cross like he had just recited the entire Declaration of Independence to him from memory. Then a grin split all the way across his face. 

“Yeah?” He asked eagerly. 

Cross nodded. 

     He shifted his bag again and picked up the pace, quickly overtaking Killer before he could start running.

       Killer sheathed his knife. He chased him through the rest of the room, past cries of despair painted in graffiti and crumbling windows showcasing the blotted out muddy sky. 

         Cross’s companion passed him and clambered through a rough hole that had been blown in the building’s wall. Cross lost sight of him as he followed through the gap, then caught sight of him again as he dropped down a broken off metal flight of stairs into another alley. 

       This alley was wider than the last, and just as cluttered by spray paint. The world was dead. Cross knew that well. But at least he and Killer were alive. Alive enough to still share something as menial and silly as a game of tag. Gotta have fun sometime. 

         Immediately Cross was running again to tail Killer as he glimpsed him turn a bend. When he passed the corner he saw Killer sitting atop a sheet of metal propped against a mound of rocky debris. Cross approached him, and Killer leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His soul whirred. It’s red light illuminated the alley with his triumph. 

“I win again.” Killer boasted as he jumped down from his perch to continue walking beside Cross.

“So you did.” Cross replied.

“Why don’t we do that more often? That was kinda fun.” Killer asked.

Cross paused to consider his response. He checked his surroundings. “…don’t get very used to it.”

“Killjoy.” Killer complained. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the ground.

     Through the alley, they past a handful of shoddy structures built like spider webs; made just for one night and then abandoned. They were wedged in corners and unnaturally made caves. Anywhere out of sight. 

        Distantly, the crackling of fire and the chatter of other people grew louder as they neared. Cross even saw the glow of their camp bouncing off stone. He couldn’t make out an exact location. He made the mental note to steer clear of the source.

Cross made a small hiss, a brief gesture, and Killer quickly picked up on their neighbors. 

   He nodded and detoured to push past a torn tarp, into the open bottom floor of another building. The voices got quieter. Though, they didn’t fade completely, and instead remained in the back of Cross’s mind. 

      This building was one of many that was a mystery how it stood upright. Countless craters and gaps and holes were windows for the murky hazel hue of the sky. The whole thing had fallen with the bombs, too, meaning everything was flipped sideways. So now this once-tall skyscraper was only a body in the dirt. 

      Cross and Killer traversed its entrails with little thought, as they had long since been desensitized to death. They had desensitized themselves, anyway. If one dwelled on the decimation it’d only make it unbearable. 

“Over here.” He called. He hadn’t shouted, but his voice was startlingly loud in the quiet, and it echoed off stone. 

Cross followed.

“We should be gettin’ close now. Couple feet, maybe.” Killer commented as he twirled the drawstrings of his jacket between his fingers. 

    Cross picked up his pace, so now he was beside his smaller companion. It occurred to him, based on how scattered their path was, they must be directly retracing Killer’s steps. Following the path he had taken hours before when he found the warehouse. 

        Suddenly Killer devolved into a short coughing fit. It was raspy, shaky, and made Cross press closer to him in uncertainty. 

“‘m fine.” Killer replied, but his soul wobbled and flickered. Cross wondered how bright it had been before the bomb-haze dimmed it. 

He coughed again. Cross extended his hand, then retracted it. Killer took it.

    They turned a corner, then another, went up a ladder and through another building, before Killer stopped abruptly at the doors to a rectangular, metal structure tucked between two apartment buildings. 

“Aaand Here it is.” Killer said, gesturing dramatically to the warehouse. His hand let go of Cross’s.

      The structure’s sign had fallen at some point, and now laid half buried in the debris littering the ground. The text had long been rusted off, and rust infested the rest of the structure’s edges. The few windows that remained even the slightest bit intact were dirtied and cloudy. 

    Killer moved to the side of the building, and nodded to the nearest window, which was now nothing more than an empty hole in the wall. “The roof’s caved in, blocks the door from inside. We gotta get in through here.” 

     Avoiding the bits of glass, Cross clambered through the window, and Killer was not far behind.

      The inside of the warehouse was only mildly in better condition than the exterior. The roof had indeed caved in, which at least allowed for a bit of light, though it did mean there was an unstable, several foot wide hole directly above their heads. 

       Cross unconsciously searched the rest of the building from where he stood. It was expansive, the roof was high, and it consisted of one singular room. Shelves and pallets lined the walls and formed aisles that went all the way up to the ceiling. On these shelves crates and boxes were stacked, many of which were torn and thrown to the ground. The evidence of previous visitors’ pillaging. 

“There’s probably still something useful in here, yeah?” Killer said and the newfound echo of his voice made Cross realize he had already left his side and was now weaving between aisles. 

        Cross caught up with him, and they dug through the remains. They talked as they did. Well, Killer did. Cross listened.

“This reminds me of when I was a kid.”        Killer commented from two shelves over. “When I’d be at home by myself and so I’d go running around old abandoned buildings with my buddies. Never found anything good in ‘em though.” 

    He held up a half-emptied package of soup cans. “Not quite the same now.”

   He pried a dented, though intact, can from the package. He tossed it to Cross, who added it to the bag he carried. 

     “You ever wish you could go back? To, y’know, before everything?” Killer asked. He retrieved another can that was also tossed to Cross. 

“…Sometimes.” Cross replied after a moment’s consideration. He had stopped thinking much about it once it became cumbersome. 

“Only sometimes?” Killer replied.

“Do you?” Cross looked at him. 

“Yeah.” Killer murmured. “If I could just… go back. I’d do it. In a heartbeat.”

He looked up at Cross, saw him. And then his eyes went soft with a newfound uncertainty. That look alone spoke a million sentences. 

    Mostly there was silence. 

      But it wasn’t like the vacant silence in the city. Because there was Killer. The shuffling of his shoes as he moved, the noises he’d make and the things he’s whisper to himself, his shaky breathing, his coughing, the way he’d fidget with his knives and drawstrings. The humming of his soul. All sounds that indicated his presence. 

       And, there was the silent, always ongoing conversation between them. There were the glances that they’d give each other, the gestures. Every little thing they silently spoke. Everything they understood like it was second nature. Because at that point it was. 

This silence was comfortable. Normal. 

        They moved through the building quickly. Cross surveyed their surroundings. Killer threw him cans and made conversation. This was their process, that they did day in day out. 

 “Hey, check this out.” Killer called. At that moment he was standing staring up at a rusted, folded metal ladder that led up to a hatch in the ceiling.

“Think that goes anywhere?” He asked. 

     He didn’t wait for a response before he kicked at the ladder and it clattered the rest of the way to the floor. He nodded to Cross and, one after the other, they climbed it. 

        Killer forced through the hatch at they top and they clambered into the much smaller room that sat above the warehouse. The far wall had crumbled away almost entirely, making for a good view of the city. 

         There was very little in that room. Either it had been cleared out already, or it had been abandoned long before the bombs. 

        It wasn’t quite as decimated as the outside, either. Like it was its own little pocket away from the ruin, barely touched by it. 

      Killer was the first to move. He started wandering the space. “The hell’s this even for?”

Cross didn’t know. And he didn’t care to know.

    He slid his bag off his shoulder, and dropped it beside him as he sat against a wall. He crossed his legs, and Killer, pulled by their invisible tether, wandered back over to him. 

      When his companion joined him Cross passed one of their spoils to him. Killer stabbed the can open with his knife and lifted the edge to his mouth to drink its contents like a beverage. 

        Cross opened his own can, and together there they sat, eating almost tasteless cold soup from battered cans. The darkness of the attic sat over them. The silence of the city bled through the hole in the wall, but Killer’s silence made it bearable. 

Better than starving, at least. Though there was a gap neither of them spoke of, but knew. The gap were a nice dinner with nice food in a nice restaurant, just the two of them, would’ve filled. Something they couldn’t get back.

But it was better than starving.

        Killer leaned against Cross, legs tucked to his chest. His can had long since been crushed and discarded. Cross, in turn, leaned his head on him. His face was brush by the fur of Killer’s jacket and scratched by the twigs tangled in it. Killer’s body was cold on his, but his soul was warm. 

“I think there’s some more backrooms down there we haven’t checked.” Killer commented. He gazed absently at the hole in the wall. 

   He coughed again. Cross’s arm went around him. For a moment Killer’s soul flickered brighter and hummed with his. 

“Play me somethin’” Killer asked. 

     Cross reached for his ukulele, and pulled it from where he had attached it to one of his bag’s straps. The instrument was in surprisingly good condition, though it was scraped and dirtied in places. It was one of his few materialistic belongings he actually cared for in a way other than necessity. It was oddly pretty, in some way. Something of meaning in the sea of garbage.

He held the ukulele and plucked at its strings absently. “Anything specific?”

“Play what you played the other day,” Killer responded. He settled further against Cross. 

Cross dug through his memory of previous days. He strummed a chord, and another. He looked at Killer.

    The flickering of Killer’s soul evened out. He nodded. “Yeah.. yeah, that.” He murmured. 

    Cross continued with the ditty; a melody with a mellow tempo composed of the strumming of calloused fingers. Though, it wasn’t without energy. Killer had said the night Cross first played it that it sounded like porch music. It was the warm firefly-lit nights from before the bombs. When the wild grass would sway with the wind. It brought back those buried memories, and disrupted the city-silence.

      Killer relaxed against him. Cross hadn’t realized he was tensed. Cross’s eyes focused on his fingers and the instrument, but he was aware of Killer’s proximity to him. 

    A second sound joined the ukulele. Killer’s quiet, rough humming. 

#Didn’t edit it that much cause it was mostly me playing with the guys like they’re dolls for fun /silly /j #so apologies if it’s kinda rough I just wanted to get it posted cause I like it a lot and currently I’m not dreading posting it #so might as well take advantage of that cause that doesn’t happen a lot /silly #Armageddon’s fanfics #apocalyptic cross AU #Cross x Killer #sanscest

[nulltune]

old edits _(:3」∠)_ but i like imagining hakuno in different hairstyles HNGGHH 😩😩❤️💗💓💞 would she ever style her hair tho? sadly no </3 she thinks she's too plain for that + doesn't care about her appearance outside of just enough to look neat and presentable (we do see her hair in low twintails if she needs em tied up tho! tis a very cute look 🫶)

bUT LIKE- if someone wants to play with her hair or style her up then 👀 hakuno vc i don't mind. (<- girl who tends to go along with what others' want because she has no desires of her own tbh-) (METHINKS IT HAS DA POTENTIAL TO BE SO WHOLESOME THOOO and her hair's long and silky yknow ✨️ it'd b nice 2 touch ! 😌✨️) or alternatively- let hakuno do your muse's hair! ✨️ (she brushed nero's hair in last encore and it was such a soft moment it must've been so nice 🥺❤️)

#&&. out of #don't mind me i'm thinking soff thoughts 2 cope after my dreaded exam 2day....... p.epe inhaling copium.png #on the positive side tho- 😤 at least that's over and done with GDKGJWKF #i have one more exam 2 goo but i'm not tew worried abt that one so i am 😼 here for a lil bit !!! (menacing) (affectionate) #I HOPE U'VE ALL BEEN WELL WHEE 🫶💖💓 #/also i have more of h.akuno hairstyle edits im not normal abt her 🥴 #BUT HI YES i like for those soft normal domestic kinda moments -CLENCHES FIST- #i hc h.akuno being like a living doll frfr tho; so like- her hair (and just herself in general tbh) doesn't rlly need maintenance #BUT HEY NOW DONT LET THAT STOP U(R MUSE) (ФωФ)✨️✨️ !!!! CURSED EMOJI GRAB.GIF

[bigassbowlingballhead]

ignore me

#i should care more about this #but i've been so annoyed by fans of both nick and taylor lately #and everyone's shit takes #i can't enjoy this the way i want #because i know it's going to be full of even more shit takes #and they're all going to find their way to my inbox #i want to enjoy this so much #because it's what i've wanted for months #it's come to the point i dread anytime either one of them do anything #because people treat taylor like a porcelain doll who need to be protected and ignore reality and try to make him something he's not #then there's the dick nick fans who act like he's on top of the world when he hasn't worked in the same amount of time #it's just #annoying

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I love how writing is sometimes like this:

“I… care about you very much, Sky,” Time continued. “You, all the others… I know I tend to seem a bit… distant. I've had many people leave in my life and it has made me hesitant to let others in."

Time pauses, a sour look on his face as the scenery of the story freezes. "Okay, now wait, that doesn't sound like something I'd say."

I stare at the screen, frowning. "Wait, what?"

"I wouldn't admit to something like that!" Time protests. "I'm much more private than that. Fix it."

I sigh, already hitting the delete key. "Yeah, I know, you're right, sheesh."

“I… care about you very much, Sky,” Time continued. “You, all the others… I know I tend to seem a bit… distant. But I truly appreciate having all of you here with me. You are just as much a Hero as the others, Sky, and I care about you as I do the others.”

I look at Time, eyebrow raised. "Better?"

Time smiles. "Better."

And other times writing is like this:

Legend scurried around the elder Link to face him, nearly dropping him against the rock. Warriors opened his eyes with a jolt, startled.

Shoving the milk in his face, the veteran hero hissed, “Drink.”

Warriors harumphs, crossing his arms. "Nope. I refuse. Not doing it."

I groan, glaring at the screen. This is the third time tonight. "Will you just cooperate you butthead, I am trying to finish this story!"

"No!" Warriors protests, rising and pacing around the camp as Legend rolls his eyes. "I've been subjugated to at least two different illnesses by this point, both of which have laid me out and you want to do it again?! I refuse! I will cease to cooperate! I quit!"

...

So anyway, what writing adventures have y'all had with the characters? :P

#CAPTAIN I SWEAR I WILL MAKE YOU WORK WITH ME #I HAVE TWO SICKFICS LEFT AND I WILL FINISH THEM DANG IT #Sky is a doll and is just waiting patiently for his sickfic #probably with dread #I'll give him hugs later #writing #share your arguments with the characters it's fun!

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

another take on my KitN!Jon based on a cool idea by @aemontargaryen-bloodraven about jon having a weirwood crown in twow (cos I read it and immediately became obsessed 😭)

#also I have this headcannon/theory/intense dread #that ghost is gonna die in wow #mainly cos ‘only death can pay for life’ but also cos warg stuff #and I was thinking what if one of the free folk women made a cloak from his pelt for Jon to wear #like maybe some warg custom from a pair bond (idk if there’s anything like this in the extended lore???) #i don’t think Jon would allow it if he knew but if it happened while he was recovering/ waking up I think he’d never be without it #something about skinchangers wearing the pelt like that makes me feel things #also it being in the style of a free folk cloak makes me feel things too #this is what I mean by Jon being my dress up doll #also a aemontargaryen-bloodraven I hope you don’t mind me tagging you #i just read it in your tags the other day and I’ve been obsessed #Jon snow #king in the north #winterfell #stark #winds of winter #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #art #fanart #minsart #also merry Christmas if you celebrate! #and happy Hanukkah!!! #happy holidays in general!!!! #game of thrones #canonjonsnow

[see-arcane]

I might have pitied this deformed woman

With all due respect ACD why is everyone calling someone with a limp deformed... Also to be honest I would have felt more horror from the story if Gilroy found her attractive and/or charming and enjoyed her company and work relationship but also did not love her for whatever (non-physical) reason, because then there could have been a potential inner conflict and guilt, instead of ''this is out of my hands she is icky-looking and a crone (Gilroy you are 35) so I have no self-doubts about being in love involved on top of it all yay''. Having him vehemently dislike her all the time minus during hypnosis removes those layers.

It isn't 'everyone' in the story who calls her deformed, though. It's just Gilroy. No one else is mentioned deriding her for her disability or her looks or anything else beyond Penelosa's talent.

Considering ACD's comparatively progressive track record with the Sherlock Holmes stories--a series notable for how often it takes the side of oppressed parties, including abused or preyed-upon women--I can't see Gilroy's ageist and ableist views as anything but an intentional setup for the narrative payoff of his disgust as well as his anger and fear.

The story does feel slightly karmic at the start and, to give ACD the benefit of the doubt, I agree with you that having Penelosa not be an attractive hypno-dominatrix likely played a part in Gilroy's initial revulsion at her controlling him into playing paramour. I think this was intentional for the character's buildup, but also for the audience's. Even in the present day, there's no ignoring that there are demographics out there who are Highly Interested in the erotic implications of hypnosis. BDSM for the brain, puppet master kinks, et cetera.

If Miss Penelosa had been hot, or even just pretty, I wouldn't have been surprised if the horror story ACD was trying to put together would lose much of its punch in his era's audience. Sure, it's still icky that Gilroy's a man being Controlled By a Woman (!!!), but having her be attractive would 'soften' it for them. Still, all this is only in play if ACD was really truly adamant about selling the horror of 'A Stranger Now Owns My Free Will and Is Planning to Violate My Life in Intimate Ways.'

It could also have just been intended as an eerie scientific*** what-if adventure applied to a then-popular (and wildly overestimated) practice of the time. Or maybe he meant it as a straight-up supernatural escapade in the vein of vampiric mesmerism from a psychic monster. I don't know, I can't ask him.

All of that said, the horror is soured a bit by Gilroy being a haughty skeptic snob who had some comeuppance heading his way in the first place. Similar setups are common in horror flicks today, where we get to cheer at least once in a movie when the Big Villain takes down a more commonplace bad guy. There's no scare there, just vindication.

And me being me, that's not enough. Because I am all about two things.

One, adding more horror to everything, always, forever.

Two, making life harder for Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan 'Holiest Love means I Will Walk Backwards into Hell to Protect/Stay with My Wife Whether She's Mortal or a Literal Monster' Harker is not about to shit on anyone for a bad leg or some crow's feet.

More importantly, we've already seen his reaction to sexy sexy undead ladies trying to hypnotize him into compliance so they can take certain bloody/eternally conscripting liberties with him.

To judge by the 1000+ Dracula adaptations that show the directors' fetishes in full view, Jonathan being preyed on by the hot vampire Brides is seen by many people as...you know. Hot. Enough to rewrite and bastardize his character every time to make him seem like he was genuinely tempted by them.

But He Was Not.

He was being hypnotized into artificial attraction and paralysis so the ladies could take their turns with him without his fighting back or trying to run. Which he does later! More than once! Every time this voluptuous trio tries to hypnotize or corner him again, Jonathan catches on and sprints in the other direction. He is not into that shit no matter how pretty you are, ladies.

Specifically because, as I and Bramothy Stoker cannot stress enough, Jonathan Harker is strictly Minasexual. All Mina all the time. 24/7 Mina lockdown 365 days of the year. Mina, Mina, Mina. Mina? Mina. (I personally headcanon him as demisexual with shades of biromanticism and ace, but that's beside the point.)

The point is, even if Penelosa was a knockout, Jonathan wouldn't notice. He wouldn't care. Just as his love would not have been stopped by Mina turning into an actual monster; he would rather be damned and in love than slay her and be holy. You can bet your ass if Mina suddenly had a handicap he'd still be enraptured with her to the point of blasphemy. You know he's going to still be heart-eyed as they grow older. Jonathan Harker is made of unconditional and extremely focused love. It is all-encompassing and yet it belongs to a single person. It's the kind of love we all wish we had for ourselves.

It's the kind of love that someone like Penelosa--who latched onto a random handsome prick of a professor after she had known him LESS THAN AN HOUR and started plotting to groom him into her personal Ken doll--would do anything to have for herself; Jonathan Harker, the true Prince Charming, the gallant beloved, the guileless charmer who holds the One He Loves above himself, above God and Devil and the world itself...being wasted on some pretty young thing who hardly needs such a treasure.

It isn't fair. Mrs. Harker will never appreciate dear Jonathan like other, more deserving women would. Not like her. She would show him. Help him through the motions until he learned better; learned to love in the right direction.

Her direction.

Only if given the opportunity, of course.

(👁)

In short, yeah, Gilroy was not the best option for a sympathetic horror story protagonist who we could feel real fear and empathy for. We only really get a glimpse of that toward the end, when Penelosa escalates enough to start injuring innocents and tries to make Gilroy throw acid in his fiancée's face. A big scary leap, but also too late in the game for a proper punch. Especially with the abrupt copout of the ending. Bleh.

I think we can do better than that. Say, with a protagonist who can balance on the pro-and-con line of keeping the supernatural puppet master of their life happy enough to not act rashly, who knows the value of dancing on eggshells in a tight spot, who could tug the heartstrings of villain and audience just enough to let fuller and far more frightening machinations come to light as time goes by.

Especially with certain other powers lurking in the shadows, which might make a trifle like death a far less permanent end to their ~romance~ than it ought to be.

Don't you agree, Mr. Harker? ❤

P.S. Gilroy's still absolutely getting his ass handed to him in this take, don't you worry. He's been demoted from crush to chew toy to minion. RIP sir, but you're not off the hook just because Jonathan's distracting her with his dreaminess. Get to work.

#I got an ask a while ago that was really focused on whether or not I was 'going to keep Penelosa ugly' #not long after I went into a whole other ramble about how she was Not Described As Ugly #just middle-aged a bit plain and having a limp #a ramble where I also pointed out that Gilroy was the only person who was shown being insulting about her appearance #to be clear: While there will be (unpleasantly) intimate predatory scenes #this is not a kinkfic I'm writing #this isn't 'Jonathan Gets Hypno-Dommed By Sexy Psychic Lady XXX' #it's meant to be taken as a story directly following Dracula's events and happening a third of the way into 'The Parasite' #while also taking some liberties with the amount of time involved rather than killing the story (and Penelosa) unceremoniously #barely a month into the interesting bits #the fact that Jonathan is careful enough to play the long game without pissing off (X) bogeyman/bogeywoman is grounds to let things go on #for much Much longer than Gilroy allowed with his temper getting the better of him and setting Penelosa on vengeance #more time = more dread = Penelosa getting to show exactly how far she's willing to go to own her target's life/love #I don't plan to throw any ageist or ableist shit in the mix #just fleshing out character points we never got to see in focus before #and highlighting the Actual Menace of the premise that Gilroy's plight/personality didn't really sell #'Someone owns your brain and is taking steps to cut you out of your life and make you into their personal doll.' #which is scary! fucked up! absolute nightmare and a half! #regardless if the person making you into a puppet is sexy~ or not #but again: I am not sexifying this story or its characters. Period. #they are who they are and anything I might add to the story will have its roots in the original works #so to any future anons wanting to know: No. No Sexy Penelosa for you. No hot Harker love triangle. The End. #anyway #the parasite #arthur conan doyle #dracula #bram stoker #jonathan harker #helen penelosa #austin gilroy

[roxysmini]

Still working on sanding my 1st doll, by the way. It's just that the weather recently has been only April showers, so I'm slower than expected...

Today I managed to make some progress on the head. I applied a layer of Magic Sculpt over the 3d print to fill holes/imperfections, and got started on sanding. You can see the difference between the headcap (only primer, no magic sculpt nor sanding) and the face. The Magic sculpt was also carved to redefine eyes and some details.

Oh, and I pierced his ears :D

#my dolls #wip #my crafts #bjd #3d printing #magic sculpt #I think I might use this “Magic sculpt over 3d print then sanding” technique more often #it's time consuming but the magic sculpt is much easier to sand and it fills any missprint greatly #anyway my objective is to have my boy ready for painting by the end of the month #I hope I can borrow my dad's airbrush to paint him this summer #....might get started on the 3d modelling and printing of the others soon if the weather stays this dreadful tho

[cybergirl2006]

Source

#deviantart #2007 #mallgoth #dreads #2000s #goth #goth girl #goth girls #alt #alt girl #2000s nostalgia #pre 2010 ONLY #not me #she looks like a Bleeding Edge doll 🥹 #gothic #gothic girls #gothic beauty #2000s goth #gothcore #goth core #goth clothing #goth chick #goth aesthetic

[inaflashimagine]

only nanami fans can make fun of his high school emo hair or else !!

#jjk spoilers #his animated teen version is perfect #lol I’m so hyped for the anime #he def listened to mcr #everyone calling him a depressed Ken doll STOP #you would be depressed if you had to endure the menace that is gojo satoru on a daily basis ! #not to mention almost dying every day!!! #his 7:3 emo hair is perfect it makes his glow up even more amazing #and Haibara😭😭 #how am I both excited and dreading animated spv AHHH

[sadlazzle]

and the main event …. i jst knew abbey HAD to hav lovely wavy hair. idk she never felt quite right w straight hair to me, n when i took out her braids today i knew i was so right. also switched her bottoms for a rainbow high skirt i had laying around, n thank god it fit bc those trousers she had before were just NOT it. the skirt n the top look super cute together though, im so glad it fit her

#n thank god her hair tinsel cooperated #i absolutely hate hair tinsel #it’s dreadful #it’s every customiser and restyler’s nightmare #it sucks so bad #monster high #my dolls #mine