* TEMP PINNED POST ! just for while i’m still setting up a theme. welcome to #BELLHUNG : a heavily headcanon based portrayal of the bellhop from little nightmares. indie. selec. priv. CARRD HERE !
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@bellhung
* TEMP PINNED POST ! just for while i’m still setting up a theme. welcome to #BELLHUNG : a heavily headcanon based portrayal of the bellhop from little nightmares. indie. selec. priv. CARRD HERE !
* ON PHYSIOLOGY !
i’ll properly format this later when i’m not so tired / have redone my graphics, but, i wanted to talk about the bellman’s anatomy and all of it’s oddities for a bit !
his flesh is somewhat waxen in texture, though very clammy and a little sticky to the touch. the melted parts aren’t exactly malleable, though they’re softer than the rest of his body ; also more tender. they’re remnants from where his flesh both quite literally melted in some parts, later hardening after a while, and others being from sickly boils. they’re nothing more than just that, remnants, as of now, but there was a time where they practically oozed pus and infection. also, despite being mostly concentrated on his face, these globs of skin can be found scattered about his chest, back, arms, and legs.
the bellman’s spine is a blessing to his work, but a curse to his body. it’s naturally much longer than that of the average human man, and possess a series of extra joints that allow it to fold inwards, making it easier for him to navigate the narrow passageways inside the vessel’s walls : not unlike the teacher’s neck. though it’s certainly . . . not as fluid. as stated, it has plenty of drawbacks, punctuated by bones cracking and straining under even the most simple of motions, misshapen posture, bone curvature, etc. possibly even a few hairline fractures. he’s mostly used to this by now though, it’s only a harsh pain on bad days, typically it’s an ache.
he does possess a mouth somewhere, under the sagging flesh, but the way it’s covered paired with the way the infection affected his throat has left speech as something . . . difficult to do. he can speak, though not very often, and some days are worse than others.
bellman’s eyes, while not covered, are pushed up far back into the flesh rolls and are generally not visible, appearing only as little black pits. his eyes are discolored and misshapen now, though his sight is surprisingly unaffected. they were a deep brown, almost black, before his deformation.
* A STROLL / @gecsha whispered : ❝Would you be so kind as to hold the wagasa above us?❞ Pale hand offered a blackened umbrella handle, grip so dainty it teetered on slipping from her fingers entirely. The Lady loved to dress demands as requests - whether it was for cruelty’s sake or his, the mask would never reveal - but she, master to all flesh with soul, did not need to look to know a servant’s answer.
————— ₍ 🛎️ ₎ bones shift, bending as if their marrow had gone soft beneath the strain of his toil, an attempt to accommodate to the smaller stature of his Lady as he trailed her stride like a shadow. BUT THE BELLMAN OF THE MAW IS STILL NOTHING IF NOT TOWERING, even when folding his body into itself as a snake would coil : he knows this, feels little embarrassment in it, though he’d be amiss to say it never made him keenly aware of his own form and the space it took / She knows this too, and whatever she may think of it, the bellman does not know.
but what he does know is orders, humble servant he is.
a clammy, gloved hand carefully raise from where he held it clasped over his front ; FUMBLING for only a moment before thin digits found their grip on the wagasa’s smooth handle. near silently, he sighs, the sound rattling in narrow ribs. ( nerves, he’d say, if the muck and phlegm - ladened excuse for a throat he possessed could could always find the strength to summon up words. his nerves and shaky hands were one of the few possessions he did have, besides steady shoulders and a loyally bent back. )
no, the eyes of the maw can’t quite find the strength in him to speak today, be it that poor gullet, or cold feet. but the bellman still finds that with the sharp CRACK of his vertebrae, he can still bend his head forward in a silent affirmation. of course, my Lady.
Send a "🗒" to see a note written by my muse!
i KNOW i have drafts and i do really want to get to them , but just for the sake of getting back into the swing of things , small starter call ? mayhaps ?
🎆🎆🎆🎆
i know i’m not here as much as i would like to be but it’s ln1′s anniversary and i just Have to say happy birthday to one of my favorite horror games and pieces of media in general , not to mention a big inspiration
i get so mad when i hear things scuttling inside the walls. like yeah yeah we get it…youre a creature. you dont need to rub it in my face that youre capable of scuttling
The Wax Bellman
I hope we get to meet him in Little Nightmares 3
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————— ₍ 🛎️ ₎ ┊ … ring the bell : what kind of ghost are you ? › ⟩
i know the bellhop being associated with wax + candles was 100% a fanon thing just based on how melty his face is and normally i don’t go with fanon but ngl i vibe w/ it..........not in the literal sense but more symbolically , like , “burning the candle at both ends”
shimainoakumu:
@bellhung liked for a starter x
The rush of guests had finally died down, and so it was Sister’s job to clean the rooms and prepare them for the next time the hidden vessel would rise from the water to welcome in more monsters customers.
Though she was taller and stronger than the small children in the nursery, she was smaller and weaker than some of her coworkers. And so, she was forced to seek one of them out for assistance. And the perfect one for the job seemed to be the bellman.
Anxiously, Sister approached the front desk of the Maw and cleared her throat and peered over the counter top. “E-excuse me, bellman? There’s several large suitcases left behind by guests. W-would you mind moving them so I can clean the rooms?”
————— ₍ 🛎️ ₎ the bellman tips his heavy head down slowly , weary and empty eyes portrayed no sign of emotion , let alone thought as the maw’s little helper spoke , but the way his head slowly tilted left—merely an inch—was a complete sentence to those who knew him well enough , or simply had the time to observe the melted man’s idiosyncrasies . suitcases . guests . move . a simple , familiar request ; one he knew well . with a thin sigh through the nose , the steward held up his hands in a stiff , plaintive gesture before stepping from behind the desk and letting them limply fall to his sides , folding behind has back .
it’s only when he’s taken a few silent steps ahead of the girl does the bellman pause , look over his heavily padded shoulder and wheeze in a blubbering voice : “ will that be all ? ”
The Post-Register, Idaho Falls, Idaho, January 18, 1949
might fuck around and disappear under mysterious circumstances